Sermon for October 13th, 2019

Psalm 51:6-14 (OT p.520)

6 You desire truth in the inward being;
    therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
7 Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
    wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
8 Let me hear joy and gladness;
    let the bones that you have crushed rejoice. 
9 Hide your face from my sins, 
    and blot out all my iniquities.

10 Create in me a clean heart, O God,
    and put a new and right spirit within me.
11 Do not cast me away from your presence,
    and do not take your holy spirit from me.
12 Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
    and sustain in me a willing spirit.

13 Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
    and sinners will return to you.
14 Deliver me from bloodshed, O God,
    O God of my salvation,
    and my tongue will sing aloud of your deliverance.

Anne Locke: Translator and Poet

The story is told of a distinguished lady who was refined and elegant, especially in her language. After years of persuasion, her less-than-elegant husband finally convinced her to accompany him on a camping trip, so she composed an email to the campground where they would be staying, asking for a reservation. She wanted to make sure the campground was equipped with what you and I would call a "Porta-Potty." However, she just couldn't bring herself to write the word "potty" in her email. After much deliberation, she finally came up with the more refined sounding "Portable Commode," but when she typed it, she thought even that was too much. So she rewrote the entire email and this time referred to the portable commode merely as the "PC". "Does the campground have a nearby PC?" is what she actually wrote.

Well, the campground owner wasn't old-fashioned at all and when he got the email, he just couldn't figure out what the woman was talking about. That "PC" business really stumped him. After worrying about it for awhile he showed the email to several campers, but they couldn't figure out what the lady meant either. So the campground owner finally came to the conclusion that this obviously refined lady must be asking about the local Presbyterian Church. He sat down and replied to her email as follows...

"Dear Madam, I regret very much the delay in answering your letter, but I now take great pleasure in informing you that a PC is located nine miles north of the campground and is capable of seating 250 people at one time. I admit it is quite a distance away, if you are in the habit of going regularly, but no doubt you will be pleased to know that a great number of people take their lunches along and make a day of it.

They usually arrive early and stay late. It is such a beautiful facility and the acoustics are marvelous; even the faintest sounds can be heard throughout the facility. The last time my wife and I went was six years ago, and it was so crowded we had to stand up the whole time we were there. I would like to say it pains me very much not being able to go more regularly, but it is surely no lack of desire on my part. As we grow older it seems to be more of an effort, particularly in cold weather. If you decide to come down to our campground, perhaps I could go with you the first time you go, sit with you, and introduce you to all the other folks (remember, this is a very friendly community)."

Today's sermon is about an entirely different distinguished lady, no less refined and elegant, but associated with the Presbyterian Church in a different manner.

Show mercy, Lord, not unto me alone: But stretch thy favor and thy pleased will, To spread thy bounty and thy grace upon Zion, for Zion is thy holy hill: That thy Jerusalem with mighty wall May be enclosed under thy defense, And builded so that it may never fall By mining fraud or mighty violence. Defend thy church, Lord, and advance it so, So in despite of tyranny to stand, That trembling at thy power the world may know It is upholden by thy mighty hand: That Zion and Jerusalem may be A safe abode for them that honor thee.

Have mercy, God, for your great mercy's sake. O God, our God, unto our shame we say, Being fled from you, so as we dread to take Your name in wretched mouths, and fear to pray Or ask the mercy which we have abused. But, God of mercy, let us come to you Not for justice, since justly we're accused And that word, "Justice" so rings true, That scarce we dare your mercy ask again. But mercy, Lord, yet suffer us to crave. Mercy is yours: Let us not cry in vain, Your great mercy for our great faults to save. Have mercy, God, pity our penitence With greater mercy than our great offence.