Sermon preached by Rev. Wesley King on Sunday, October 26, 2025
First of all, everybody looks great this morning. Though Sarah Tarpley did say that I was pretending to be a clergy person, so I'm not sure how to take that. Sarah, would you pray with me?
Loving and gracious God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart and everybody’s heart here be acceptable in your sight. Amen.
What makes somebody a Christian?
That's the question that I want you to ponder over these next several minutes. What makes somebody a Christian? Is it their beliefs? When I was growing up, I was taught that all you needed to do to become a Christian were the ABCs. Do you remember these? Admit that you’re a sinner, believe in Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, and commit yourself to following him. But as I grew up, I started to feel like this kind of one-time, one-act, one-sentence thing kind of cheapened my faith.
And anyway, if beliefs are what make us Christians, then which beliefs? Because there are 41,000 Protestant denominations in the world. And so, which beliefs make us Christian? And within our own denomination, to be fair, we actually pride ourselves on not confining our beliefs to some creed that must be adhered to. Instead, we have a big tent of people with a variety of beliefs. And we say, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; and in all things, charity.”
So then what makes somebody a Christian, if not beliefs? Is it belonging? Is it your birthright? That makes sense. It makes sense that if you’re a Christian, it’s because you belong to a Christian community—just like we are Tennesseans because we were born here or we moved here. We’re American because we were born here or we migrated here. And sure, you can be a Christian alone at home by yourself, but so much of Scripture is about community and belonging. But if it’s not belonging, and if it’s not behavior, what makes you a Christian?
Is it behavior? Is your belief connected to behavior? Is your belonging connected to action? It was in the Bible where James said that faith without works is dead. And Jesus says in Matthew’s gospel that many people will say to me, “Lord, Lord,” but only those who have done the will of my Father will enter the kingdom of heaven. And it can’t just be belonging, because belonging is passive, right? I mean, we’re glad that all of you are here today, but your purpose here today is not attendance—it’s action. Belief connected to action.
Let’s run with that for a moment. In our passage for today, Jesus gives us a glimpse into the private prayers of these two people. One is a Pharisee, regarded as a righteous person by all societal standards. The other is a tax collector—someone who had forsaken their own people to pursue wealth and was deeply reviled by the Jewish community of the time. By all accounts, the Pharisee appeared to be this righteous man. He faithfully gave a tenth of all his earnings to charity and subjected himself to rigorous disciplines, actually going above and beyond what the law demanded.
But the focus of his prayer was not on God, but on himself. The word that defined his devotion was “I.” I read that in a commentary this week, and I stopped. The word that defined his devotion was “I.” Rather than expressing his gratitude, he recited his own virtues—his fasting, his tithing, his patriotism, his moral uprightness. His prayer served more as a résumé than a plea. It told God how good he was instead of how good God was.
But the tax collector—the tax collector was known as a thief, as a traitor to his people. But his prayer in this moment was raw and sincere. Overwhelmed by grief and guilt, he couldn’t even lift his eyes to heaven. He just beat his chest in anguish—not so much praying as weeping—and he begged God to please wash away the stain of his soul. While the Pharisee’s prayer revolved around himself, the tax collector’s heart was fixed upon God.
Now, these are two fictitious characters, right? This was a parable—a story that Jesus was telling. The reason he often told these types of stories was to subvert the reality of all those who heard them. This little snippet of a story presents someone that society treasures and someone that society despises—and it makes the person who is treasured the villain and the person who is despised the hero.
Why did he do this? Why does he tell these types of stories? Perhaps it’s to remind us that we don’t know everything. Perhaps it’s to remind us that God still has the ability to change people’s lives. Or maybe it’s to remind us of the humanity of the very people that we despise.
The Pharisee surveyed all those around him and thanked God that he was not like this mass of undeserving individuals—especially the tax collector. He embodied the biases of race and class, showing very little compassion for those who suffered. His righteousness was built by diminishing others. Instead of elevating them, he elevated himself. The Pharisee made himself look taller by pulling others down. And while the tax collector felt unworthy, the Pharisee reveled in his worthiness.
You see, it wasn’t the Pharisee’s beliefs that caused Jesus to scrutinize him. He believed all the right things—everything he was required to believe. And it wasn’t his belonging that made him unrighteous, for he was steeped in the tradition of his upbringing. Instead, it was his behavior.
Now, don’t get me wrong—we need beliefs. Belief is what drives our action. And we need belonging, because belonging is community, and we need each other. We can’t do this alone. But our belief and our belonging must be connected to action if we are truly to live out the gospel.
Now, the cynic might say, “But what about the character’s history of behavior?” Because, to be fair, the tax collector had participated in a system that disparaged his neighbors. It’s probable that the Pharisee otherwise had a history of service to God and neighbor. He said in verse 12 that he gives faithfully back to God and fasts twice a week. That is his behavior, right? Meanwhile, the tax collector prior to this story was betraying his own people to work for the empire—those who had oppressed and occupied his own people. So what gives? What about that behavior? Does that not count for anything?
Here’s the hard truth, friends. The most beautiful and the most frustrating thing about grace—about the love of God, about the gospel message—is that it is freely offered to any and everybody. And that who you’ve been does not dictate who you are or who you will become. This very flawed man with a history of both individual and systemic sin went home justified before God. This passage tells us—and it ends with—all who lift themselves up will be brought low, and those who make themselves low will be lifted up.
In reading this story, we are reminded that we don’t know everything, that God has the power to change lives, and that everyone deserves love. Earlier we sang that they will know we are Christians by our love. But I’m not so sure that’s always the case. Perhaps you’ve seen this rebuttal—this sentence that people use on Facebook, on Instagram, etc. They’ll say, “There’s no hate like Christian love.” Have you seen this?
That’s because the world sees the church—sees Christianity—as backwards, behind the times, slow. One study said the majority of the unchurched—and what they know about the church, about the American church specifically—is Christian nationalism, being anti-women, and being anti-gay. Those are the three things that we’re known for. That’s what people think of us. The study went on to say that a majority of unchurched Americans—about 79% actually—think that Christianity today is more about organized religion than loving God and loving people. Eighty-six percent believe that they can have a good relationship with God without being involved in church.
And what they see the church as is candles, pews, and flowers, rather than people living out their love for God by loving others. And I wish they were wrong—but they are not wrong. We live in a nation in which the majority of our Christian identity is belief and belonging, but not behavior. Across the country, states are trying to force public schools to display the Ten Commandments and teach the Bible as part of their curriculum. Meanwhile, 36.8 million people live in poverty—10 million of those being children. Nearly 1 million people don’t even have housing.
In 2024, our own state legislature made November “Christian Heritage Month.” But now, a year later, this November, we’re kicking 700,000 people off of their SNAP benefits. This is who they think we are because that’s who we’ve shown them we are.
But friends, this is where the gospel comes alive—because who we’ve been doesn’t have to be who we are, and it doesn’t have to be who we’ll become. I’ve told you before, my favorite lyric by Stephen Schwartz is this: “There is no journey gone so far that we cannot stop and change direction. No doom is written in the stars; it’s written in our hands.”
Now, we love to say here at Vine Street Christian Church that everybody has a seat at the table. And friends, before I go on, let me just say that that alone is more welcoming and loving than some of the churches I’ve been at. It is beautiful that we have this belief in the diversity of God’s children. And this belonging that we offer here is something rare. But that belief and that belonging have to be tied to behavior—tied to action.
And we’ve done good work—hard and holy work—but there is so much more to do. And it’s true, this church has a long reputation of being on the right side of history and at the forefront of human progress. But the moment that we think that we’ve done enough, we become the Pharisee in this story.
Yes, we’ve prepared a seat at the table. But some folks can’t even get to the table because they’re working two jobs to support their friends and family, their kids. Yes, we’ve prepared a seat at the table, but they can’t get to the table because they don’t have adequate health care to feel well enough to come to worship. Yes, we’ve prepared a seat at the table, but they can’t even focus on the table because they don’t have housing.
Another call for you to sign up and volunteer for Room in the Inn this winter. We’ve prepared a seat at the table, but some are too afraid to leave their homes for fear of being snatched by ICE, which is detaining people regardless of citizenship status—more so based on the color of their skin. And so maybe it’s time to call our representatives, or show up in their offices, or give to TIRRC—the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition.
Our belief and our belonging have to be tied to behavior and to action. Friends, I think that Jesus was teaching his disciples—and thus teaching us—that everyone is both Pharisee and tax collector in this story. We all succumb to this attitude of being more worthy than somebody else. But it’s only when we humble ourselves—when we lower ourselves—that we can truly be justified before God.
We cannot rest on our beliefs or the community that we belong to. Our behavior has to reflect the love, mercy, justice, and compassion of Christ. And when we do this, we will begin to see the kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven.
So what makes someone a Christian? What makes somebody a Christian? They’ll know we are Christians by our love. Amen.