Blessed be God. Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
Come, Holy Spirit—fill us with joy. Set our hearts ablaze with your presence.
Yesterday, I sat in the barber’s chair—
just a simple moment.
A trim.
A chat.
The kind of place where stories fall like hair to the floor.
And in the middle of that ordinary grace,
someone gave me this warning:
“You’re going to hell.”
And not just me.
They said the same to my barber—
a man who’s cut hair and touched hearts with kindness for years.
Why?
Because we didn’t share his belief.
He believed only his denomination could save.
I came home and told my wife.
She looked at me—her eyes heavy with sorrow.
Not sorrow for me,
but for the wound in the Body of Christ.
She asked,
“Why do people think you have to believe what they believe
for you to get to heaven?”
That question lingered.
And it led me straight to today’s Gospel.
“Two men went up to the temple to pray…”
One stood tall.
Proud.
Polished.
He listed his virtues like trophies:
“I fast. I tithe. I’m not like them.”
The other stood far off.
Head bowed.
Heart cracked open.
He beat his chest and whispered:
“O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
And Jesus says—
it was the humble one who went home justified.
Because here’s the truth:
If we are full of ourselves,
there’s no room for God.
If we are convinced of our own rightness,
we cannot receive God’s righteousness.
If we are busy measuring others,
we forget—
mercy is not a measuring stick.
It’s a gift.
The Lord is a God of justice,
who knows no favorites.
He shows no undue partiality.
He hears the cry of the oppressed.
He lifts the orphan, the widow, the lowly.
What God sees is the heart.
A heart that bows low.
That knows its need.
That cries out, “Have mercy.”
And when I sat in that barber’s chair,
I didn’t argue.
I didn’t defend.
I listened.
And before I left,
my barber said something
that pierced deeper than any blade:
“How can the world know peace
if even those who believe in Christ
won’t come together in peace?”
That’s the ache, isn’t it?
That we who bear the name of Jesus
sometimes forget the shape of His heart—
a heart stretched wide on the cross,
not to divide,
but to draw all people in.
So today, I stand with the tax collector.
I beat my breast.
I bow my head.
And I pray:
“O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
Because I know this—
the Lord stood by me and gave me strength.
Not to win arguments,
but to proclaim mercy.
To live it.
To offer it.
To be a bridge, not a barrier.
So may we be people of peace.
People of humility.
People who make room—
for God,
for one another,
for the mystery of grace
that saves not the perfect,
but the humble.
My friends,
Go now—walk humbly. Love deeply.
Let your life speak the Gospel.
Not with loud words,
but with quiet mercy.
Not by proving you’re right,
but by showing you’re His.
Let your living,
your forgiving,
your loving—
be your preaching.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
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