Am I Doing It Wrong?

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.

In these difficult days, I often ask myself if I’m doing it wrong. Like, all the time. And I hear many of you asking the same question, almost every day. It used to feel to me (a good history major) as though there were clear instructions for what to do in a time like this. But it turns out, there are still people to care for, bills to be paid, homework to do. There are still physical and mental health needs to be met. There is still joy and laughter in my household and in my church. Even as families are torn apart in our neighborhoods. Even as institutions are distorted, jobs are lost, rights are withheld, safety is threatened, workers are unpaid, border patrol agents roll into our cities, and essential food aid is threatened. Am I doing it wrong?

In another “time like this” long ago, Jesus of Nazareth was on the road to Jerusalem. And he told a story. Two men have come to the temple to pray. One is a Pharisee: a devout member of a religious sect. The other, a tax collector: a man who makes his living working with and for the occupying empire.

The religious man makes a show of his piety, having convinced himself that he has behaved his way into being fundamentally better than other human beings. And the tax collector beats himself up—literally—crying for mercy, having convinced himself that he has behaved his way into being fundamentally worse than other human beings.

I love the riddle of this parable. I can almost see the twinkle in Jesus’ eye as generations of us have thought, “Okay, so the message is: don’t be like that Pharisee—he’s the bad guy.” And then realized, “Oh… wait… that’s totally something the Pharisee would say.”

The truth is, neither of them is capital-R Right or capital-W Wrong. The Pharisee will be humbled to find that, in the end, he is simply human. The tax collector will be exalted to find that, in the end, he is simply human.

And that, I think, is at the riddle’s heart: the point is not who wins holiness — but that holiness is found in our shared humanity.

Our personal piety and moral values matter — but they lose meaning and effectiveness when we practice them in isolation.

In our English translation of this parable, the line “I tell you, this man [the tax collector] went down to his home justified rather than the other” sounds as though our agent of empire wins some imagined competition. But scholars[i] have pointed out that the Greek might be translated this way instead:

“This man went down to his home justified alongside the other,” or even, “This man went down to his home justified because of the other.”

What if they both went home justified, because of the other.

How often do I find myself in a Pharisee place — mouthing off with self-righteous judgment about those who quote “call themselves Christians, yet ignore the Gospel’s messages to love your neighbor and welcome the stranger.” And how often do I find myself in a tax collector place — beating myself up for my choices that harm the planet, exploit workers, or enrich billionaires.

Over and over, I ask: “Am I doing it wrong?”

But this parable helps me see that there is an error in the question itself. And that error is the word “I.” We are not meant to do any of this alone. Whether it’s resisting authoritarian movements or raising children or making sure everyone gets fed; we were designed to do it together. And the insistence of our wider culture to the contrary has caused so much of our collective suffering.

We humans were wired—deep in the material we are made of—to require connection. We need other people in the same way we need water. It is that fundamental.[ii] It is not only how we thrive, it is how we survive. It is where holiness is found.

And so here is the good news today: God’s grace does not happen in isolation—it gathers us together. It pulls us out of both our lonely self-righteousness and our lonely shame, and back into the communion of being human together.

So being “justified” might be thought of as simply going home knowing we will not always know what to do, and we will not always do what we know to be right. We will not be … perfect. But in the end, always, we will belong to one another. We are in fact, bound to one another. By an ever-loving, ever-forgiving God.

“This man went down to his home justified because of the other.”

This is what we practice here at St. John’s. Whether this is your first time here or you don’t remember a time before you knew this place. You are here now, in community. In this temple. Praying. And in this place the question, “Am I doing it wrong” within the broad spectrums of piety and purity is irrelevant. Because it’s not about I here. It’s about we.

We are holding one another accountable and helping expand our viewpoints, values and horizons. We are challenging one another to imagine what might be possible: how we might sacrifice in order to be the kind of neighbor we would expect in the Realm of God.

We are making and packing and delivering meals for unhoused people in our city, we are showing up to protest and to witness, we are providing legal guidance, we are caring for the sick and the grieving among us, we are praying without ceasing, we are singing and making music that heals, we are fixing up schools, we are providing new books reflecting the diversity of God’s children to God’s children. We are doing all the financial and clerical and governance and liturgical work that keeps this “community of we” running and beautiful. We are making pledges to keep this “community of we” funded for this “Banner Year.”

Am I doing it wrong? We are doing it together: imperfect, gathered by grace, holy, human.

[i] Including Dr. Amy-Jill Levine: Levine, Amy-Jill. Short Stories by Jesus: The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi (p. 209).

[ii] There are countless studies demonstrating the human need and design for connection, but here’s one that adds Artificial Intelligence is no substitute. What happens when AI chatbots replace real human connection.