Judgy Parables
rev. hannah elyse cornthwaite
October 26, 2025
Luke 18:9-14
I love a good judgy parable.
There is something about judging the character – judging the other character – that feels like an episode of The Real Housewives, which I definitely do not watch to disassociate to after church.
This judgy parable cracks me up a bit - because it's about prayer.
The words, the posture, the placement of the heart before God.
But the Baptist in me really gets it. The hours I spent practicing spontaneous prayer as a kid, because I was so afraid to be called on in Sunday school and have prayer that was dull, “imperfect” or too short… was a lot. The shame cycles I enter into if a prayer - especially ones heard by others that are not 100…
The Housewives really help me work that out.
There is no getting around it - this parable is about comparing how we pray. Our posture.
Are we building a wall between ourselves and others? Are we coming with a posture of pride or humility? Are we coming to prayer with an openness to be changed?
This parable reminds me of one of my favorite books that I read every Lent - Shūsaku Endō’s Silence. As someone I know once said - for me, there is the self before reading this book and a me after.
It’s set in the 1600s, when Christianity was outlawed in Japan. The main character, Father Rodrigues, is a young Portuguese priest who travels there to minister in secret. He’s idealistic, courageous — “quietly” proud of his faith.
He imagines himself a hero for God.
He dreams of martyrdom — of dying bravely, like the saints before him.
In the beginning of the book, Fr. Rodrigues' prayers sound like the Pharisee:
“Thank you, Lord, that I am steadfast when others have fallen. Thank you that I will remain pure in the face of evil.”
He so deeply believes that faithfulness looks like strength, dignity, and victory.
But goodness, as soon as he arrives in Japan, his neat theology collapses. He watches Christians die, one by one.
Powerless.
He sees the poor, uneducated.
Powerless.
All — suffering for Christ with their quiet, hidden faiths.
And in the midst of it all, God seems silent.
Obviously, Rodrigues begins to doubt.
For the first time, he cannot hear God in the suffering. He cannot understand why God is not speaking. He begins to wonder if perhaps God is even listening at all.
And the moment of crisis comes.
The authorities tell him: if he will only step on a carved image of Christ — the torture of others will end.
And it’s this battle: To trample on that image, it is to deny his faith. To refuse is to watch innocent people die.
He wrestles with it. Wrestles with God about it. All night. It’s really powerful.
And Rodrigues steps on the image.
It’s apostasy - a sign of abandonment of faith. It looks like failure.
But inwardly, it is humility. It is the dying of himself, and the birth of compassion.
In that moment, Rodrigues becomes like the tax collector.
He no longer stands apart from the broken, the unclean, the fallen. He stands with them — head bowed, heart open — praying only, “God, be merciful to me.”
It turns out that God’s silence was not absence.
It was the space where something had to die, so that mercy could take root.
Endō’s Silence, unsettles me so much because I really believe in the power of prayer. The prayer that comes from our hearts and the collective prayer that happens when we worship together. Sing together. Share our stories. Gather around this table. Beloveds, it annoys me how much sharing in a beautifully scripted liturgy together matters to me. It feels so easy and peaceful to jump in and just rest in prayer from start to finish.
As I was at Open Cathedral on Thursday night, the chorus of the street, the postures of prayer (fear, lament, emptiness, longing, joy, gratitude), the movement, the incense of 16th BART, and looking in the eyes of each other and sharing stories… seeing, knowing, mattering.
On this day that was soo heavy with fear, in which God felt so silent - standing with each other in our anxiety, fear, pain - God’s mercy, God’s grace and God’s love was so unmistakable.
Truthfully, I don’t think Pharisee’s prayer was absent of God as I don’t think Fr. Rodrigues was either. I see righteousness and faithfulness in his short glimpse of his story. While he came holding particular judgements, I feel confident he too, left with a transformed heart.
I feel confident he left that temple with a new understanding of prayer and new way of being in prayer. I feel confident he left better than he came - for me that is God’s grace and love.
Whether or prayers are found in beautifully crafted words, whether they’re in rage or tears, silence or laughter… may we too leave transformed by the grace and love of our Creator.
