It’s possible for us to look like we’re praying while never actually speaking to God at all. That’s the example we see in the parable that Jesus has just shared in the Gospel. The Pharisee begins his prayer by thanking God, but before we know it, he starts listing all of his accomplishments. He shares how he has been faithful to fasting, to tithing, to following the rules. He’s not like everyone else, especially not like that tax collector standing there in the back. On the surface, he’s praying; but, in actuality, he’s not speaking to God at all – he’s speaking to himself. You could even say that he was speaking to his own reflection in a mirror. He’s using God’s name as a backdrop for a speech congratulating himself.

And yet, it’s easy for us to point fingers at him while forgetting how easily we fall into the same trap. We all have moments when our prayers are more about maintaining an image than going deeper in relationship with the Lord. And it’s almost as if we’re trying to convince ourselves that we’re good people. We try to sound good, to appear strong, to assure ourselves that we’re doing better than others. When we do that, we’re praying to our own reflection. Sometimes we even do it without words. We do it when we justify our sinful actions rather than going to confession and owning up to those mistakes and failures. We do it when we measure our faith by comparing how much we pray as opposed to someone else, or how we receive communion rather than by true conversion. We do it when we talk to God while secretly admiring how we seemingly have it all together.

The truth of the matter is that the Pharisee’s prayer wasn’t evil; it was just empty. It wasn’t completely honest. It wasn’t about being vulnerable with the Lord. It was all polished. There’s no room for grace in a heart that’s already full of itself.

But then we look at the tax collector. He doesn’t even bother trying to look holy. He’s painfully aware of who he is. He knows the things he has done…and he owns them! And maybe that’s the very thing that saves him. It’s his humility. We have to remember that humility isn’t about shame; it’s about truth. It’s standing before God without excuses, without comparisons, without putting on a performance. It’s letting God see what’s real. When we come before the Lord like that, there’s nothing left to defend and our hearts finally have room for mercy.

What strikes me most about this parable is that both men went to the same temple. Both prayed to the same God. But only one left changed. The Pharisee went home full of himself; the tax collector went home full of God’s grace and healing. The difference wasn’t in their words, but it was in their hearts. The first came to be seen, the second to be saved.

There’s a quiet warning in that for us, especially those of us who serve the Church in different ministries and roles: those who lead, who preach, who do acts of service. The more active we are in the life of faith, the easier it becomes to confuse activity with intimacy, reputation with righteousness, holiness with self-assurance. But God isn’t impressed by our spiritual résumés. He doesn’t want to hear our accomplishments; He’s the one who made them possible! He’s moved by our honesty. He listens when we finally stop performing and start being real.

St. Paul, at the end of his life, could say with confidence that he had fought the good fight. But even in saying that, he didn’t boast of his own strength. Instead, he pointed others to God’s faithfulness. That’s the difference between pride and gratitude. The Pharisee says, “Look at me! Look what I’ve done!” Paul says, “Look what God has done through me.” One prays to a mirror; the other to the Savior.

So maybe the question for us this week is pretty simple: Who are we praying to? When we kneel down, are we turning toward the God who knows our hearts, or toward the reflection that we’ve created of ourselves? God isn’t asking us to appear perfect; He’s asking us to be honest enough to let His grace make us holy.

This week, let’s make the prayer of the tax collector our own. Each day, let’s pray: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Don’t dress it up. Don’t defend our mistakes and shortcomings. Just let those words be enough. Because when we stop talking to the mirror, we finally give God space to speak, we finally give Him space to work, and we finally give Him space to make us holy. And that is what truly matters in the end.

Painting: The Pharisee and the Publican, Barent Fabritius (1661). In the Rijiks Museum, Amsterdam. SK-A-2959. Wikimedia Commons. Used under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.