Jesus gives us one of His shortest stories — but it cuts straight to the heart.
Two men go up to the temple to pray.
One leaves justified; the other doesn’t.
Both speak to God, but only one is heard.

The Pharisee stands tall.
He thanks God — but only for himself.

“I’m not like the rest of men: greedy, dishonest, adulterous — or like this tax collector.”

He’s talking to God, but looking in a mirror.
His prayer isn’t worship — it’s self-advertising.

Then comes the tax collector.
He stands at the back, won’t even lift his eyes.
He beats his breast and says seven simple words:

“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

And Jesus says — shockingly —
that man went home justified.

The professional religious man went home unchanged.
The broken sinner went home forgiven.

The first reading from Sirach already told us why:

“The prayer of the humble pierces the clouds;
God will not be deaf to the cry of the oppressed.”

Heaven has perfect hearing for humility.
The proud pray loudly but bounce off the ceiling.
The humble whisper — and pierce the clouds.

Pride shuts God out.
Humility opens the door.

That’s why the saints begin every prayer with confession:
“Lord, I am not worthy.”
It’s not false modesty — it’s spiritual realism.

St Paul gives us a living example.
He’s near the end of his race.
He says,

“I have fought the good fight,
I have finished the race,
I have kept the faith.”

That’s not pride — that’s gratitude.
Paul knows the victory isn’t his achievement; it’s God’s grace.
He even says,

“The Lord stood by me and gave me strength.”

The Pharisee boasted about himself.
Paul boasts about the Lord.
That’s the difference between vanity and victory.

Jesus isn’t condemning prayer, fasting, or tithing —
He’s warning about pride inside religion.
The Pharisee’s problem wasn’t doctrine; it was ego.
He believed in God but trusted in himself.

That temptation never dies.
We can come to Mass and think,
“At least I’m here — unlike those who never come.”
We can look at sinners and say,
“Thank God I’m not like them.”

And the moment we do,
we’ve swapped grace for comparison.

The Pharisee didn’t need mercy because he thought he was already fine.
And if you don’t need mercy,
you can’t receive it.

God’s mercy isn’t cheap.
It cost the blood of Christ.
But it’s available for everyone who asks.

The tax collector came with nothing to offer —
no good record, no reputation —
only honesty.
And honesty is all mercy needs.

When we kneel in Confession,
we are that tax collector.
We don’t justify ourselves; we ask to be justified.
And the miracle happens again:
the sinner goes home forgiven.

Humility is the only key that fits heaven’s lock.

The tragedy of pride is that it isolates.
The Pharisee prayed “I” five times in two sentences.
His whole universe had shrunk to one person.

Pride always shrinks the soul;
humility expands it.

Pride says, “I’m fine.”
Humility says, “I need You, Lord.”
And that’s when grace can rush in.

We often think sin keeps us far from God.
In truth, it’s pride that does.
Because sinners who know they need mercy
run to Him;
the proud stand still.

Sirach says God “judges with justice and listens to the cry of the oppressed.”
So if you’ve been praying a long time with no answer —
don’t lose heart.
He hears.
But He answers in the right time,
not necessarily our time.

The proud demand; the humble trust.
Faith waits — not because God is deaf,
but because God is wise.

True worship isn’t “Look at me.”
It’s “Look at Him.”
That’s why at every Mass we say,
“Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.”
It’s not ritual repetition — it’s the Gospel in three words.

Every time we bow,
beat our breast,
and say, “Through my fault, through my fault,”
we’re standing beside the tax collector.
And every time the priest lifts up the Host,
we’re standing before the God who says,
“This is My Body — given for you.”

Grace is free — but only to the humble.

Paul says,

“The crown of righteousness awaits me.”
But he adds,
“Not only for me, but for all who have longed for His appearing.”

Heaven isn’t a reward for the proud achiever;
it’s a crown placed on the head of the forgiven.

The race we run is not about finishing first —
it’s about finishing faithful.
The only losers are those who never admit they need help.

So today, the Word of God gives us a choice between two prayers:

The proud man’s: “Thank you that I’m better.”

The sinner’s: “Lord, have mercy on me.”

Only one of those prayers reaches heaven.
Only one makes a heart alive again.

If you want to know whether your prayer is real,
ask: does it make me softer, kinder, more aware of others?
If yes — it’s grace.
If not — it’s self-talk.

At this altar, the same mercy waits.
The Pharisee stood far off from sinners.
But Jesus comes close to sinners — so close He gives us His Body.