So I'm just going to give you a heads up. The message today is a little bit on the heavy side. I know. So I'm actually... I'd like us just to start with prayer. It's very interesting how the Lord spoke to you with that verse because it's very what we're talking about in some ways today. So let's just pray for the Lord to be able to soften our hearts, to really listen and and accept his word today. Heavenly Father, we come to you today and we just want such a powerful connexion with you. Soften our hearts, God. Allow us to really have our ears opened and our minds open to really receive what it is you would have us learn, but not just learn, to really be able to take your word today, God, and be able to have it change us from the inside. So God, I know for myself, it's easy to put up barriers when messages can be a little uncomfortable. Just knock those barriers down, God. Because it's all we know that you are bringing it to us in love. So let us just hear it in that way. In Jesus' name I pray.
Amen. So we're actually going to start with the scriptures today. Because we're going to Luke today, and we're in chapter 18, verses 9 to 14, which is the parable of the pharisee and the tax collector. So to some who were confident in their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable. Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a pharisee and the other a tax collector. The pharisee stood by himself and prayed, God, I thank you that I am not like other people. Robbers, evildoers, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and I give a 10th of all I get. But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner. ' I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exaltet. So here we are, the second Sunday of Lent. And the time is to ready our hearts and our minds and our bodies to celebrate the resurrection of Christ.
That's what we're pointing towards. And as part of our Lent in practise, we're concentrating on a sermon series that points us in the direction of release. So for 40 days, we have the opportunity to practise letting go. Not because things are bad in themselves, but because our grip has become too tight. So we can let go of noise, we can let go of distraction, and we can let go of comforts that quietly control us. And each week, if we're paying attention, the spirit gently asks, What are you gripping? What are you hanging on to so tightly that you can't truly experience the freedom that God is offering? Last week, we looked at letting go of control, the control that can lead to us developing superhero complexes, the control that points us in the direction of self-reliance instead of relying on God, the control that is in complete opposition to the gospel message that we claim to live by. And it was a topic that caused many of us to feel rather uncomfortable, and it made us think. So this week, as I said, the question becomes a little more uncomfortable. What if what we need to let go of is not just unhealthy habits, but our need to be right?
Everyone says they hate self-righteousness, but if we're honest, we don't hate it as much as we think, especially when it's our own. It's easy to point out self-righteousness in other people. It is certainly easy to see it and label it in so much of what is going on in the present political climate. It's much harder to see how naturally it rises in us. Left unchecked, self-righteousness can become our default setting. We assume we're right. And when someone disagrees, it's tempting to label them as power hungry or judgmental or naive or a particular favourite these days. They're just misinformed. Many people today are deeply sensitive to hypocrisy, and some have distanced themselves from Christianity because of the self-righteousness that they've witnessed. In many cases, that criticism isn't imagined. There have been moments where the church has acted with pride instead of humility, and that is something that we must honestly confess and repent of. But it's also important to understand what self-righteousness really is. At its core, self-righteousness is the belief that we can establish our own goodness, that we can stand before God on the strength of our morality, our convictions, or our performance. And here's the truth.
You cannot cling to self-righteousness and cling to the gospel at the same time. The gospel begins with admitting that we are not righteous on our own. It calls us to confess our need to trust entirely in the righteousness of Christ. Christianity is not about proving ourselves worthy. It's about receiving what we could never earn. Self-righteousness says, I am enough. The gospel says, Christ is enough. Those two ways of living cannot co-exist. Exist. We are not partially dependent on Jesus. We are completely dependent on his righteousness from beginning to end. And that complete dependence reshapes not only what we believe, but the posture with which we believe it. Lent invites us to examine not just what we believe, but how we hold on to those beliefs. And when our need to always be right becomes more important than being humble, self-righteousness quietly takes root. Because self-righteousness does not shout, I hate you. It whispers, At least I'm not like you. And that whisper creates distance in families, in friendships, and in churches. So we're going to discuss three things that can happen when we allow self-righteousness to take root instead of letting it go. So the first one is self-righteousness turns disagreement into moral superiority.
So as we heard in the parable from Luke, the pharisee doesn't just believe he's right. He believes he's better. God, I thank you. I am not like other people. That one sentence exposes the heart of self-righteousness. It compares, it categorises, and it ranks. The pharisee stands by himself, separated. Even his posture is revealing. He rehearses his spiritual resume before God. He thanks God that he is not like the tax collector. Prayer, which is meant to be communion with God, becomes comparison with others. And can we not all be guilty of this at times? We try to convince ourselves and God that while we may not be doing all he's calling us to be and to do, we're not all that bad. I mean, I may not be giving as much as I could, but at least I'm giving more than some other people. Or, Okay, God, I know I'm not helping with that ministry you were nudging me to serve, but it's not like I was spending my I'm doing something illegal. Or perhaps the clearest example I heard once was from someone I knew who would always insist that just because they didn't go to church didn't mean that they weren't a good person.
After all, they had never been arrested, and they always paid their taxes. But it is more than trying to convince God or make excuses to him. Because self-righteousness doesn't simply say, I think differently. It says, Because I think differently, I am morally and spiritually superior. Now, before you shut off from listening because you think that doesn't sound like you, there is more to understanding what this looks like. The Pharisee is so focused on not being like them that he completely misses his own need for mercy. His real problem isn't that he fasts or that he tides. Those are good things. His problem is that he uses obedience as something to use to compare himself favourably to someone else. He isn't using spiritual disciplines as a way of moving closer to God, he's using them as a way of proving himself worthy, of showing that he's better than someone else. In other words, righteousness for him has become a scoreboard. His prayer sounds less like worship and more like a verdict. I am right, I am superior, I am justified. And that dynamic isn't confined to the temple in Jesus's parable. We are living in a moment where being right has become a identity.
We're holding the correct you posting the sharpest response or winning the argument can feel like proof of our worth. Who's ever seen the Big Bang theory? If there is one character who represents a constant need to be right, it's Sheldon. And the thing is, he is almost always technically correct, but he will absolutely also make sure that you know it. And the problem isn't intelligence, and he certainly likes to remind everyone that he is a genius. The deeper issue is his need to prove it all the time. His need to be right often becomes more important than being kind. He doesn't pause to consider how his words land, and in his arrogance, he ends up hurting people and pushing them away rather than strengthening the very friendships he claims to value. And self-righteousness often looks like that. We may even be correct. But when being right matters more than mercy and more than relationship, then something in us has shifted. Whether it's Sheldon or the Pharisey, it's the same attitude that can be seen in any one of us. Any time being right matters more to us than being humble. Any time proving our self-correct feels more urgent than admitting that we still need mercy.
South of the border, political divisions have hardened into something that almost feels tribal. Disagreement about policy easily becomes moral suspicion. People assume that how you vote reveals whether you are compassionate or corrupt, informed or ignorant, faithful or compromised. Here in Canada, though we often pride ourselves on politeness, the fractures are real, too. Over leadership or economics, national direction and cultural shifts. Conversations that once felt secure and unguarded to be able to have now feel careful and tense, as though everyone is more concerned with defending their position than with understanding someone else's perspective. Across North America, something has shifted. We are quicker to label, we are slower to listen, we are certain of our position, and we are suspicious of everyone else's. And here's the danger. When conviction quietly becomes superiority, self-righteousness takes root. Disagreement is normal, but self-righteousness turns disagreement into moral failure. You see it in how conversations unfold online about politics or climate, immigration, public health. Instead of saying, I see this differently, the tone becomes, If you don't agree with me, you must be ignorant, evil, or dangerous. When someone feels morally superior, they stop listening. And when someone feels judged, they stop engaging.
The result is not dialogue, but fractured community and hostility. Division doesn't grow simply because people disagree. Disagreement can actually be healthy when handled respectfully. Division grows when one assumes that they are standing on higher ground. And once we begin standing above someone else in our hearts, we have replaced love with self-righteousness. We have turned disagreement or different views and opinions into an attitude of superiority, into self righteous indignation. And self-righteousness doesn't just damage how we see other people, it also distorts how we see God. Because the moment we start standing above others, we eventually start standing before God the same way, confident, composed, convinced that we're doing just fine. And that's where the deeper danger begins. As we move into our next point, self-righteousness replaces relationship with performance and binds us to our need for mercy. The Pharisee doesn't come to receive grace. He comes to remind God of his performance. He stands confidently. He recites his resume. He lists his spiritual disciplines. He doesn't ask for mercy because he doesn't think he needs it. And that's the danger, when faith becomes performance, when we draw attention to our spiritual practises, when we want others to see that we are praying, that we're giving, that we're serving, our posture toward God quietly changes.
We stop Stop coming as needy children and start coming as spiritual achievers. We are no longer seeking mercy, we are managing an image. And when our faith is shaped more by how it appears to others than by our dependence on God, we may still be talking to him, but we're no longer truly surrendering to him. The Pharisee wasn't doing obviously sinful things. He fasted, he tithed, he prayed. He was religiously impressive. But his righteousness had become performative. He wasn't praying to connect with God. He was praying to distinguish himself from others. And that is the difference between religion and relationship. The only way any of us can come to God is by admitting that we need him. We don't come showing our accomplishments. We come asking for mercy, trusting what Jesus has done for us, not what we've done for ourselves. But this drift towards performance can happen so easily, even in faithful people. We read scripture daily, serve faithfully, give generously, defend sound theology, and still be comparing. When faith becomes performance, we start measuring who serves more, who knows more, who sacrifices more, who appears more committed. And even in churches, self-righteousness can quietly surface in ways that divide rather than build up.
It can show up in competing ministries instead of collaborating when leaders assume that they can function in isolation thinking, We know what we're doing. We don't need help from anybody else. That attitude can cause friction within the church and even extend outward as congregations begin to compete with one another, wondering if their programmes are good enough or feeling pressure to keep up with other churches, feeding a consumeristic approach to ministry instead of focusing on where God is actually leading. It can also appear in theological certainty without humility. When people speak as though they have all the answers and that there is no room for questions or growth or other perspectives, treating scripture like a fragile house of cards that will collapse if even one belief is reconsidered. Self-righteousness can creep into correction as well, turning what should be a moment of restoration into a display of superiority or in how we measure spiritual maturity, valuing visibility and confidence over heart and character. When someone insists that they know without a doubt what scripture says, they're usually wrong. That is not coming to the scripture in humility, allowing God to speak to you through it. Someone leading worship confidently or volunteering publicly might be praised as being more spiritual while another quietly serving behind the scenes or wrestling with their faith goes unnoticed, even though their heart may be growing just as deeply, if not more.
But the church was never meant to be a stage for proving righteousness. It was meant to be a community of people who know they need mercy. When righteousness becomes something that we perform, mercy becomes something we stop seeking. Instead of relationship, we offer God a report card. Instead of confession, we offer comparison. Instead of dependence, we offer achievement. And slowly, subtly, our spiritual life shifts from, God, I need you, to God, look at me. And that's the pharisee's blindness, not that he is immoral, but that he believes his morality makes him acceptable. He cannot understand the fact that despite his religious practises, he is still spiritually dead. He stands before God as if he need not bow before God. And he walks away thinking he is right with God, but he's fooling himself. And that is a dangerous place to be, feeling spiritually secure while missing your need for grace. Meanwhile, the tax collector doesn't perform. He pleads. He stands far off. He won't even lift his eyes, and he simply says, Have mercy on me. And Jesus says, That man goes home justified. Why? Because mercy can only be received by someone who knows that they need it.
Trying to earn God's approval by being good enough will never work. No matter how hard we try, our goodness always falls short. But there is something beautiful about bowing down and saying, God, I need your mercy. When we come that way, honest and humble, trusting in Jesus, we don't walk away rejected, we walk away forgiven. And self-righteousness is dangerous not because it makes us look bad, but because it convinces us that we are fine without grace. And it is a terrible thing to think that you are right before God when you're not. But it is a beautiful thing to admit your need and discover that mercy was waiting all along. Which brings us to our final point. Letting go of self-righteousness makes room for grace. Jesus says it clearly, Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exaltet. The parable of the pharisey and the tax collector is not just about avoiding pride. It's about how we approach God. Our goodness, our efforts, our spiritual accomplishments, all of it fall too short to earn God's favour. We have no case to present. And Letting go of self-righteousness means that we stop building our case, that we stop comparing ourselves to other.
We stop defending our spiritual resume. And instead, we come humbly and simply say, God, please have mercy on me. Like the tax collector, we may come feeling broken or uncertain, and yet we leave restored. And that is the beautiful reversal of God's kingdom. The one who exaltss himself is humbled, the one who humbles himself is lifted. Self-righteousness keeps us standing tall on our own, trying to prove that we're enough. Humility brings us to our knees, and grace lifts us back onto our feet. We see this in everyday church life. I've witnessed what happens in churches where leaders take on all the responsibility of a ministry, never asking for help, always subtly making sure others know how much they sacrifice. On the outside, it looks impressive, but inside it can be exhausting, and it keeps them distant from God's mercy, not to mention that the ministry itself suffers. But I've also seen the opposite. I've seen what happens when a leader lets go of self-righteous striving, when they admit that they don't have all the answers, when They invite others into the work when they pray not, Lord, watch what I can do, but Lord, lead us.
Something shifts. The burden lightens and the community strengthens. The ministry becomes less about preserving one person's image and more about participating together in what God is already doing. Because humility doesn't weaken leadership, it roots it in grace. God's grace changes everything. It restores what we thought was broken. It lifts the weight that we've been carrying alone, and it transforms our hearts so that we can live differently with humility and compassion and love for others. Because grace doesn't just forgive, it shapes us from the inside out, freeing us from the need to measure ourselves or others, and giving us the courage to follow Jesus fully, not just to appear righteous. So what have we seen today? First, self-righteousness turns disagreement into moral superiority. When we measure ourselves against others, we build walls instead of bridges, and division grows where unity should be. Second, we learn that self-righteousness replaces relationship with performance, and it blinds us to our need for mercy. When faith becomes all about proving ourselves and about serving more and knowing more and appearing more spiritual, we stop coming to God with open hands and a humble heart, and we offer him a report card instead of a prayer.
And third, that letting go of self-righteousness opens the door for grace. When we stop defending our spiritual resume, when we stop comparing, stop standing above others, we kneel before God in honesty and humility. And that's where mercy meets us, lifts us, restores us, and transforms us from the inside out. When we lead from a position of self-righteousness, we suffer, ministry suffers, and the church suffers. Letting go of self-righteousness allows us to need from a position of reliance on God instead of ourselves. The Pharisee walked away thinking he was righteous, but the tax collector went home justified. The Kingdom of God is full of reversals like that. And the same is true for us today. Every time we release the need to prove ourselves, every time we let go of pride, every time we let go of that need to be right, we make room for God's grace to enter, for mercy to restore, for humility to heal, and for love to lead. So when we leave today, let's remember what we've seen in God's word. Self-righteousness twists our faith into comparison, turning disagreements into judgement, turning spiritual disciplines into performance, and hearts away from dependence on God.
The Pharisee thought he could stand tall on his own merits, but the tax collector reminds us that true righteousness comes only when we let go of pride, stop proving ourselves and simply say, God, I need you. When we let go of the need to be right, when we stop performing for others, we open the door for God's grace to enter. In God's Kingdom, the way up is not standing above others, but by bending low, humbling ourselves and receiving his mercy. The God who stoops to lift the humble is the God that we follow. And the grace he gives is enough for all of us in every stage of our journey. Let's pray. Gracious and merciful God, we come before you today, aware of how easily our hearts drift, how quickly we compare, how subtly we begin to measure ourselves against others, how often we care more about being right than about being righteous in your sight. Forgive us for the ways that pride has shaped us. Forgive us for the moments that we have performed instead of prayed, criticised instead of listened, defended ourselves instead of depending on you. Lord, we need your mercy far more than we need to win an argument.
We need your grace more than we need to prove a point. We need your spirit to soften what pride has hardened in us. Teach us to let go, to release our grip on self-righteousness, to bend low before you, not with rehearsed words, but with honest hearts. Give us the humility of the tax collector who simply prayed, God, have mercy on me, and remind us that your mercy is not reluctant. It is ready. Shape us into a people who care more about love than about being right, more about mercy than about image, more about your kingdom than our own reputation. And may your grace restore us, transform us, and send us out differently, gentler in spirit, quicker to listen, slower to judge, to reflect the humility of Christ. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen.
