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In a deeply insightful moment, the titular hero of G.K. Chesterton’s “Father Brown” mystery series reveals the secret of his powers of deduction to his friend, the former thief Flambeau.

The sleuth-priest says that he can figure out the likely actions and motives of the various criminals they come across because he knows that he himself is a sinner. “I have done each of these things myself,” he says, not in the sense that he has actually carried out a whole series of robberies and murders, but rather because he knows that those things leading to wicked deeds, namely, pride, vanity, greed, anger, envy, desperation, discouragement, and all the rest, are in his heart just as much as in the hearts of those whom he investigates. He continues, saying to his friend, “No man’s really any good till he knows how bad he is, or might be.”

This is precisely the difference between the two characters in the example Christ gives us in the weekend’s Gospel. The Pharisee may in fact have some virtues, behaving well for the most part in his own life, but he holds on to his pride, and so cannot receive mercy from God. The tax collector, on the other hand, whatever strengths or weaknesses he might have, confesses only his humble need for forgiveness, and so can receive the good gifts of God’s pardon. Christ teaches us that whatever else might be present in our moral lives, only pride, the worst of all sins, keeps us from mercy. This should not surprise us, since pride touched with envy is the great, and perhaps even the only, sin of the devil. The devil, as an angel and a spiritual being, is not lustful, gluttonous, greedy, wrathful or slothful; he is simply envious of God’s kingship, and proud of his power, entranced by the idea of autonomy. This alone suffices to produce in him a bitter hatred for all things.

So then, Christ’s example prompts in us a choice: will we stand on pride and autonomy, or will we, mindful of our failings, open up in humility to the one who loves us with mercy? We all face the temptation to build ourselves up, to assure ourselves that we are good people, that whatever our sins are, we are not as bad as the real criminals, the real sinners, those whom we perceive as monsters. As much as there might be truth in that fact, that we might not ourselves be murderers and great thieves of the sort that literary detectives like Father Brown are wont to pursue and catch, we are so by only God’s mercy working in our freedom. We gain nothing from giving in to this temptation to stand on our virtues, and by choosing pride, we close ourselves off to the influence of grace and the touch of God in our hearts.

And in the end, becoming perfect people is not the point of Christianity. The point of Christianity is union with the good God. If we become perfect but close ourselves off to the God who loves us, we have lost everything of worth. If we face up to our failings in humility, like the tax collector in Jesus’ story, we can receive the mercy of God who loves us even when we are sinners. If we let this forgiving define us and our worth, then we will not only find it easier to grow into perfection anyways, but we will become free to love the other, God and neighbor, and so begin to taste the life of heaven even now.