Humbly Exalted

As human beings, we live in a world of measurements and standards. I am not talking about the imperial system versus the metric system of weights and measures. Rather, we live in a world of standards that civilizations have collectively established to maintain order. We can see this in every stage of life. When we are younger, we must reach a certain age or height to ride particular attractions at an amusement park. Recently I was with my children at a local carnival—the Green Corn Festival in Bixby—and my eight-year-old has finally pretty much achieved the height needed to ride all of the attractions there. We must reach certain ages to obtain a driver’s license, to vote, and to purchase restricted items. In adulthood we must meet specific standards to practice medicine or law, or to work as an electrician or plumber. For most of these requirements, having standards is logical. It creates an environment of order and safety. We are all glad that our doctor attended medical school rather than simply printing a certificate and hanging it on the wall. The same is true of the electrician, the plumber, or the carpenter building our house. We want competence. We want a standard.

Yet there are also silent standards that we seek to achieve, often without conscious awareness. I call this the “standard of comparison.” It is social rather than written. It is part of human nature that remains even in those who are Spirit-filled, because we still live in fleshly bodies. We allow culture and society to define what success looks like in any area of life, and then we measure ourselves against that arbitrary community standard.

We do this with celebrities. People look at their wealth, fame, clothing, and lifestyles as they appear in magazines, on television, and on red carpets. Society places them on pedestals as objects of envy. Even those of us who do not particularly care about celebrities—who may enjoy actors in films but take little interest in their personal lives, clothing, cars, or homes—still encounter the same dynamic closer to home. The way society elevates celebrities is simply a snapshot of how many people experience ordinary life: we compare ourselves to those we perceive as successful, good, or perfect. This comparison can touch virtually every aspect of life.

I know I do it. Consider “Big Joe” at the gym—muscular, shredded, lifting heavy weights, and running on the treadmill for what seems like hours. We walk in and think, “I wish I could be like Big Joe. What a specimen!” Or there is “Stephen” at work, the colleague who always has the right answers in meetings, who speaks eloquently, who is extremely knowledgeable, and to whom everyone turns for help. We may never say it aloud, but in our minds we think, “I wish I could be like Stephen.” Then there is “Melissa,” the high-school friend who constantly posts her dream life on social media—trips to Europe, the Caribbean, and Hawaii, a surgeon husband, and honor-student children who win academic and athletic awards. Whether the person is male or female, the pattern is the same. In our minds we form a standard of comparison for success in health, work, or family, and subconsciously we dislike the feeling of looking up from below. We would rather be the one looking down.

So, what do we often do? We reverse the comparison. We find people who make us feel better about ourselves. We notice “Bob,” new to the gym, out of shape, overweight, barely able to walk ten minutes, and we think, “At least I’m not like Bob.” We observe “Wes,” always late to work and unreliable with projects, and conclude, “At least I’m not like Wes.” Or we remember the high-school buddy “Jonathan,” who dropped out of school, is on his fourth marriage, and has filed bankruptcy three times in ten years, and we tell ourselves, “Thank goodness I’m not like Jonathan.” We do this subconsciously.

I have been reminded of this dynamic in my own life. Last week in Bible study I shared an example that I will mention again. When I was in school I participated in athletics and always enjoyed it. This summer, in early June, I experienced what I suppose was a midlife crisis and began a new hobby: jujitsu, a form of submission grappling. It is a very humbling endeavor, especially at forty-two years of age. I often find myself getting thoroughly defeated. There are no punches—only submissions—and I frequently catch myself comparing my abilities to those who have trained for years. It pricks my ego. I think, “I wish I were like that guy. If only I had started ten years ago. I can’t wait until six months from now, when some new beginner walks in the door.”

This standard of comparison does not stop with social status, workplace competence, or skill in various activities. It often permeates how we see ourselves in relation to God. Jesus dealt with this tendency repeatedly. I will use the Pharisees as an example—not to single them out unfairly, but because the New Testament presents them this way. In first-century Palestine they were regarded as the gold standard of righteousness. They were experts in both the written Torah and the oral tradition. They came from the ordinary working class, unlike the aristocratic priestly Sadducees, and therefore enjoyed the backing of the general populace. If you had lived as a Jew in that time and place, you would have viewed them as spiritual and religious role models. Josephus tells us the Pharisees numbered somewhat more than six thousand. Paul himself was a Pharisee. The name “Pharisee” comes from a word meaning “separate,” reflecting their focus on distinctiveness.

I have no doubt that many—most, to be fair—were genuine seekers of God who desired true righteousness for Israel. Some at the top may have become misguided, but the attitudes Jesus confronted are not uniquely a Jewish problem or even a Pharisee problem. They are a human problem. Pride and self-righteousness appear throughout history, in every religion, in politics, and within Christianity itself. This problem can creep into any church and any denomination. This article’s message title is drawn from a well-known parable Jesus gave in Luke 18:9–14:

“Also He spoke this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, “God, I thank You that I am not like other men—extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I possess.” And the tax collector, standing afar off, would not so much as raise his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, “God, be merciful to me a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.’”

Just before this parable Jesus had spoken about prayer through the story of the persistent widow. Pharisees and tax collectors (also called publicans) stood at opposite ends of the religious spectrum within Judaism. The Pharisees were considered the epitome of righteousness; tax collectors were among the most hated groups. The setting is the temple, the place where God had chosen to place His name. (We know from John 4 and the conversation with the Samaritan woman that Jews regarded Jerusalem as the proper place of worship.) Eventually, with the coming of the Holy Spirit, God’s temple would dwell within believers, but at the time of the parable the temple was still the central place of worship.

Jesus was clearly addressing those who trusted in their own righteousness and looked down on others—those who neglected or disregarded people they considered inferior. Looking back over forty-two years, I can recall times when I probably looked down on certain people without recognizing it at the moment. Later life experience and difficult circumstances revealed that I had held a self-righteous attitude.

Craig Keener, a New Testament historian writing in the IVP New Testament Background Commentary, offers a helpful observation:

“Jewish people considered it pious to thank God for one’s righteousness rather than taking credit for it oneself. First hearers of the parable would not necessarily have thought the Pharisee boastful; they might have regarded him as grateful to God for his piety. Keener is not defending the Pharisee; he is simply illuminating the cultural context. What may not have seemed extraordinary to a regular listener was nonetheless a learned attitude that Jesus came to correct.”

The Pharisee’s trust is revealed by both the content and the manner of his prayer. The text says he “stood and prayed thus with himself.” Translations vary—“prayed about himself,” “prayed thus with himself”—but the consensus, reflected in the NET Bible, is that he stood and prayed about himself. Notice what is absent: he never refers to the character of God or to any dependency upon God. Contrast this with the model prayer Jesus gave in Matthew 6:9–13:

“In this manner, therefore, pray: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”

When I played football in high school, we recited this prayer before every game, but it was largely rote. Only later, as I studied Scripture, did I begin to grasp its meaning. The model prayer expresses deep dependency: hallowing God’s name, longing for His kingdom and will, acknowledging that daily bread comes from Him, confessing the need for forgiveness, seeking protection from temptation, and focusing on God’s power and glory. The Pharisee, by contrast, mentions God only at the beginning in order to thank Him for how good the Pharisee himself is. His focus remains on his own separation and consecration. He uses the standard of comparison—measuring himself against extortioners, the unjust, adulterers, and the nearby tax collector—and cites his outward practices (fasting twice a week on the traditional Mondays and Thursdays, and tithing everything) as proof of righteousness.

We still do the same thing. When we tell a white lie, we may reassure ourselves, “At least I don’t go around lying all the time.” When a restaurant offers free drinks with a “take one” sign and we take two, we may think, “At least I’m not robbing the place.” When we fail to treat a spouse with respect, we may say, “At least I’m not committing adultery.” The list is endless. We use the standard of comparison to justify ourselves and protect our self-perception. The Pharisee was doing exactly that—lifting himself up and making himself the center of the prayer rather than God.

Jesus addressed this issue at the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount. After the Beatitudes and the teaching about salt and light, He said in Matthew 5:17–20:

“Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfill. For assuredly, I say to you, till heaven and earth pass away, one jot or one tittle will by no means pass from the law till all is fulfilled. Whoever therefore breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches men so, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does and teaches them, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I say to you, that unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.”

We rightly emphasize that Jesus upheld the Law and that it is not done away with. Yet the concluding statement is striking: our righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees—the very people regarded as the epitome of righteousness. That would have been hard to hear. How could anyone be more righteous than the experts who dedicated their lives to the Law? Jesus goes on in chapters 5–7 to expound the Law, focusing especially on its internal dimensions. External obedience is important, but it must flow from inward transformation—the writing of God’s law on the heart that the prophets foretold—rather than mere external regulation performed so that one may appear righteous.

Much of what the Pharisees emphasized was strict adherence to the Law. Obedience to God’s law is good and something we should strive for. Yet, as I interpret Jesus’ interactions with them, many had moved away from the Law’s intent: love for God and love for neighbor. They built extra traditions (the oral law) around the written Law and positioned themselves as the necessary interpreters—priests within a system that already had priests. When Jesus spoke of “one jot or one tittle,” He was referring to the smallest strokes of the written Hebrew text, not the oral traditions. This pattern has been repeated throughout history. In virtually every church tradition—Catholic, Baptist, Methodist, and even our own church background—it is easy to begin interpreting Scripture through the lens of our traditions and styles of practice. If we are not careful, we can subconsciously convince ourselves that we are the standard and the gatekeepers of righteousness. We must keep the focus on the Bible, on God, and on His righteousness—not on our traditions or the particular ways we do things.

In contrast to the Pharisee stands the tax collector. Tax collectors were despised for several reasons. Employed by the Roman government, they were permitted to collect more than Rome required and keep the excess. Many were Jewish and therefore viewed as traitors who enriched themselves by oppressing their own people. The taxes funded Roman roads, bridges, and buildings—meaning Jews were paying their oppressors to continue oppressing them. Tax collectors were regarded as sinners and thieves. From the bottom of the social and religious ladder, a tax collector would have found few groups against whom he could successfully compare himself.

Yet look at his approach in verse 13: standing afar off, he would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and said, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Dwight Pentecost, in his book on the parables, observes that the tax collector recognized he was a sinner and unworthy to come into God’s presence. He dared not approach the temple closely and would not even look upward—outward signs of his sense of unworthiness. His attitude was the polar opposite of the Pharisee’s. Commentators have noted the echo of David’s prayer in Psalm 51 after the affair with Bathsheba: “Have mercy on me, O God... for I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me.”

Jesus’ conclusion is decisive: the tax collector went down to his house justified rather than the Pharisee. “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” The point of the parable is clear. God desires humility and the recognition that righteousness comes only through Him and through the ultimate standard, Jesus Christ—not through comparison with other people or with what the world defines as righteous or pious.

Even Jesus’ own disciples fell into this trap. In Matthew 18, before they were indwelt by the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, they came to Jesus asking, “Who then is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Jesus called a little child, set the child in their midst, and said, “Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

As carnal human beings, we can relate to the disciples’ question. We want to know who is best, who holds the top position. Jesus did not rebuke them harshly; He answered by pointing to a child. In the ancient world, children were regarded as inferior—loved, yet possessing no status, power, or privilege apart from total dependence on their parents. Keener notes that the most powerless members of society were little children. Today we still understand that young children depend on adults for almost every provision. (They may think they know everything at thirteen, only to need us again later.) That simple, trusting dependence is what Jesus highlights. Children accept help without the burden of pride. They know they have no resources of their own. Christ desires the same complete dependency upon Him. Unlike the prideful Pharisee who trusted in external conduct, God desires the attitude of David and the tax collector—realization that we stand at the complete mercy of the One higher than ourselves.

This runs contrary to human nature. We do not want to admit dependence. We want the credit. We prefer the idea of independence and self-sufficiency. We like feeling better than others. Many of Jesus’ conflicts with the religious leaders centered on their pride and their refusal to admit they might be wrong or that they did not have everything figured out. It is hard to admit error, especially about matters we regard as important. Human nature wants the name on the trophy, the titles beside the name, the opportunity to boast about what we have done or will do, and the honorable seat of importance. Yet the way we gain favor among people is not the way we gain honor with God. Jesus and the New Testament writers demonstrate the exact opposite.

Consider the Apostle Paul. He was himself a Pharisee with impressive credentials—schooled in the relevant languages, a scholar of the Torah. Yet in 1 Corinthians 2:1–5 he writes:

“And I, brethren, when I came to you, did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony of God. For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. And my speech and my preaching were not with persuasive words of human wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.”

Despite his background and abilities, Paul refused to boast in them. He trusted the power of God over his own skills and self-perceived righteousness. He understood that everything he possessed came solely by the grace of God.

Earlier in the same letter, Paul addresses the Corinthian tendency toward boasting and factionalism—“I am of Paul,” “I am of Apollos,” “I am of Cephas.” People treated the identity of the one who baptized them as a badge of superior status. Similar attitudes appear in every tradition, including our own. I have met people who mention that they were baptized by certain high-profile leaders, not merely as a historical detail but as a subtle claim to greater authenticity or deeper roots. There is nothing wrong with historical connection, but even converted members of Christ’s body can fall into accumulating such badges. We must fight against it.

In closing, let us consider a few questions. First, what is the source of the human tendency to think too highly of ourselves in comparison with others? The answer is clear: it is part of being human. That is not an excuse. We must fight against pride, arrogance, and the false standard by which we measure ourselves. The Pharisee’s confidence rested on comparison with tax collectors, adulterers, and extortioners. Jesus demonstrated a different attitude that God treasures—humility and dependence on God for righteousness. When we acknowledge this, we can exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, because we recognize that our righteousness comes from God through the propitiation made possible by the blood of Jesus Christ. God’s righteousness is not based on human metrics, group standards, or extra-biblical rituals and observances.

Paul, the highly educated former Pharisee, would be the first to admit his own sins—he had persecuted the church. In Philippians 3 he writes:

“Beware of dogs, beware of evil workers, beware of the mutilation! For we are the circumcision, who worship God in the Spirit, rejoice in Christ Jesus, and have no confidence in the flesh, though I also might have confidence in the flesh. If anyone else thinks he may have confidence in the flesh, I more so: circumcised the eighth day, of the stock of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of the Hebrews; concerning the law, a Pharisee; concerning zeal, persecuting the church; concerning the righteousness which is in the law, blameless. But what things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ. Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead.”

A second question follows: In what areas of life do we struggle with pride, boasting, or arrogance? I used to desire to know the Bible so thoroughly that no one would know it better. Study is important, but head knowledge without heart appropriation is meaningless. Many atheists know the Bible’s background, history, Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic extremely well, yet they regard it as rubbish. Perhaps we are overly focused on what others are doing wrong.

I leave you with the example of John the Baptist. In John 3, when some of his disciples reported that people were going to Jesus for baptism, John did not become jealous or protective of his own following. He answered:

“A man can receive nothing unless it has been given to him from heaven. You yourselves bear me witness that I said, ‘I am not the Christ,’ but, ‘I have been sent before Him.’ He who has the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly because of the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore, this joy of mine is fulfilled. He must increase, but I must decrease.”

That final statement is a motto worth living by: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” As we reflect on the parable and on the standard of comparison—whether in personal life, professional life, physical health, or spiritual life—let us ask whom we are measuring ourselves against. It is freeing and liberating when we recognize that it is not about us but about Christ. It is not about living up to a human standard; it is about the standard that was lived for us. As new creatures in Christ, He is molding us into His likeness. One day we will reach the fullness of the stature of Jesus Christ when He returns, when we are resurrected, and when we are invited into the kingdom of God that we joyfully anticipate. Therefore, as the Scripture says, let us strive to be humbly exalted—meaning that Jesus is exalted and God the Father is exalted, not us.