Luke 18:10-14 -Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican. I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess. And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner.

For much of my life, I really didn’t have friends. The reason why doesn’t matter very much, but the root cause was probably that somehow I didn’t have the necessary tools. Since I became a Christian though there are a few men that I think I can count as friends, although there’s still a long way to go before they are the “friends closer than a brother” that I would wish for.
Of those that I would count as friends, though, I could say this. They’re not perfect! (I’d rate most of them better than me, but still …). One common tendency is that most of them, like me, walk the boundary between grace and legalism, and some are planted firmly on the legalist side. Whenever I come across this parable in Luke I think about that. And then I chide myself for worrying about the mote in anybody else’s eyes before I’ve shifted the log in my own. You see, I am definitely standing with the sinner with his eyes to the ground, pleading for mercy.
I love the “Jesus Prayer”, much beloved in Orthodox Christianity, but not so much — for whatever reason — in Western churches, that says simply “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, the sinner.” This beautiful prayer, to me, is the direct and natural child of the publican’s prayer.
I have an enduring vision of the afterlife. It has no Biblical foundation, so I suppose I should think of it as a loose allegory. To be sure, I am in heaven. The parade of the saints is marching by to the palace of the King. There, at the front, on His white charger is Jesus. Behind Him are the apostles, the martyrs, the prophets and the blessed. On and on the parade goes. It is a sight to stir the heart to see the heroes of the faith in glory marching by. I am a ragamuffin. I stand in my dirty rags and wave, and cheer … and watch the parade passing by.
I am a sinner. Somehow I am in the crowd, watching the parade passing by. But then a hand reaches out. A voice says “Don’t just be standing by. You’re wanted at the palace.” My rags are robes, my face is clean, and I am marching by.
This is the end of my prayer. The hope of my heart. “Lord let me, a sinner, tag along in the parade … not because of who I am, but because of who you are. And can my friends come too?”