Homily for the Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

October 26, 2025

There was an old Hasidic tale about Rabbi Naftali. Now it was the custom of the rich people of his city, whose homes were on the outskirts and sort of isolated, to hire men to watch over their property at night. They began the security guard protection business, which is thriving even today.

But back to the tale. Late one evening, as was his custom, Rabbi Naftali was out for a walk, and he met one such watchman walking back and forth. The rabbi asked, “For whom do you work?” The guard told the rabbi who had hired him, and then the guard inquired, “And for whom do you work, Rabbi?”

The watchman’s words struck at the heart of the rabbi, who replied, “I’m not sure whether I work for anyone or not.” The rabbi walked along with the watchman for some time in silence. Then he asked, “Will you come and work for me?”

“Oh Rabbi, I should be honored to be your servant,” said the watchman, “but what would be my duties?” Rabbi Naftali answered, “To keep reminding me with that question [“For whom do you work, Rabbi?”].

The position of the Pharisee in Jesus’ story today is similar to that of a rabbi. The Pharisees were religious leaders who studied the religious law, helped to interpret it, and them worked to make sure that the law was understood and obeyed. It seems to me that the Pharisee allowed pride about his position go to his head. He lost a sense of humility and service. And, at a deeper level, he had forgotten for whom he worked, namely God. The clearest indicator of that is found in Jesus words: “The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself….” He wasn’t praying to God; he was speaking to himself about himself.

A second problem I see in this story is that the Pharisee dared, not to examine his own conscience to determine how he honestly stood before God; rather, he examined what he thought was the conscience of the tax collector, and condemned him.

The failing of the Pharisee relates to his position in society. He had worked all his life to gain his position of honor. And so, he created a kind of public persona for others to see. He didn’t dare to look beneath the shining example of himself that he created. He was blinded to any sin he had committed, and any accountability for it.

The other man was a tax collector, a Jewish person who collected taxes for the Roman occupiers, making a profit by over-charging. And thus, he would have been despised and avoided by most people. But this man looks inside himself. He dares to admit his condition before God. Not even raising his eyes to heaven, he prayed, “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

Here, in the case of the tax collector, we have a real breakthrough, a real conversion of mind and heart. To pray as he did, he had to admit that, ultimately, he didn’t work for Rome or the Roman Emperor—or even himself. He worked for God, the God who had given him life, and who offered him salvation.

So, by means of this short but powerful story, the question the property guard asked the rabbi is now aimed at us. When all is said and done, when the outer veneer is stripped away, the question is: For whom do I work?

A practical and fruitful way to flesh this out is to put yourself into Jesus’ story. Ask yourself, whom am I like—underneath the makeup, underneath the appearances? Who am I when I am naked and alone before God? Do I tend to be self-righteous and judgmental, focusing on the faults of others? Or am I concerned about my own relationship with God in an honest and humble way? For whom do I work? For whom do I exist?