But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.' —Luke 18: 13, NIV
He started: "Thank You, for I am not like the other people around me: liars, beggars, thieves, scoundrels, fornicators, or even tax collectors. I fast twice a week —especially during those horrible market days—, I pray three times a day with the window open so the nation can see an example of Your love, I tithe everything I have and I carefully calculate it so I never fall broke, and I teach my people how to be decent and holy human beings... unlike that tax collector sitting in the farthest pew, looking at the floor as he ponders Your judgment upon him."
This prayer moved the church. They wept. They sang. They took his words as a badge of honor.
But then came the tax collector, the thief, the liar, the scoundrel, the traitor. He was beaten by a zealot because he taxed too much oil and grain from his family's precious crops. Some widow spat at him for repossessing her home due to her late husband's lack of payments. In his command, he was the most efficient tax collector the Empire has ever seen...at the cost of his family's respect and his nation's dignity. But he was human, yes —he was completely human, and he still had a bit of humanity left. He still cries for what he does. He hated it at first. But then he liked it... he liked it too much. If only someone like God would help him through this mess!
"Father", said the tax collector while he beat his breast, "I know You must hate me. I know You may want to kill me. Everybody hates me. And they are right! It may be too late for them to forgive me or to bring them back everything I pried from their hands. But please, forgive me! Have mercy on ME!"
And as he left the temple, he smiled once again, as he never did in a long time.