Psalm 40 is probably not an especially familiar psalm. Our hymnal, despite its emphasis on singing the psalms, doesn’t include it. It isn’t in my "Top 10" favorite psalms. Yet as I read Psalm 40 over and over this past week, I realized that it captures the essence of what it means to me to be a pastor and preacher. Indeed, verses nine and ten lay out the very heart of what all of us are called to do as ministers of Jesus Christ. I’m told they are sometimes read at pastors’ funerals–"I have told the glad news of deliverance in the great congregation; see, I have not restrained my lips, as you know, O Lord. I have not hidden your saving help within my heart, I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation; I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness from the great congregation."

As people of God, we are called to proclaim grace, to tell the glad news of deliverance. Whatever we do, we are never to disguise…or hide…or get in the way of the steadfast love and saving help of our God. That’s it, period! Proclaim grace always! With that said, I could end this sermon right now. Except… there’s so much more to be found in this "new" psalm.

To begin… At first glance Psalm 40 seems to have things backwards. It starts as a joyous song of thanksgiving, but then the song turns abruptly into a sorrow-filled lament–a desperate cry of complaint and supplication as the singer calls upon God for deliverance. Logically, the sequence seems wrong. The usual pattern in the psalms is to move from complaint and lament to anticipation of deliverance and then, finally, to thanksgiving. The movement in Psalm 40 is so unusual that some scholars suggest it is really two separate songs that became connected, perhaps by accident. Yet a detailed comparison in Hebrew of the language and structure of the two parts suggests to other scholars (such as Walter Brueggemann) that the movement from thanksgiving to lament in Psalm 40 is intentional–that the faith inherent in taking one’s complaints to God has greater power and credibility when rooted in a past experiences of God’s saving grace.

There is no doubt that the singer is filled with gratitude. The song begins in the past tense, for deliverance has already occurred–"I waited patiently for the Lord…[who] inclined to me and…drew me from the desolate pit." Patience…it never comes easily. I long for more patience. I want all the patience in the world… and I want it right now! Patient waiting goes against the grain in our culture with its emphasis on short term, quick fixes and immediate gratification. Patient waiting requires a "letting go" attitude, setting aside our need to be always in control. Such waiting requires an expectant attitude and a whole lot of hope–and indeed, the Hebrew word here in the psalm for patient waiting carries connotations of both intense hope and tenacious expectation.

We never do learn what the singer’s original problems were. The psalm gives us poetry–a "desolate pit" and a "miry bog." I remember the "desolate pit" of alcoholism in my life and the "miry bog" of despair. In an article on Psalm 40 a few years ago, one writer recalled an image from childhood visits with his country cousins. His parents drilled into him warnings about the water well. They knew their city kid was not used to the perils involved in drawing a bucket of water from a well, so they reinforced their message with gruesome stories of children killed or severely injured by falling into wells. He had vivid nightmares about being trapped in a well without anyone knowing where he was. Now he has only to recall his terror to comprehend the horror of being trapped in a "desolate pit."

Having experienced God’s saving help, the singer is filled with gratitude. But it is striking that this gratitude is itself a gift of God. The singer sings in verse 3, "[The Lord] put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God." The new song of thanksgiving for deliverance seemingly comes from somewhere outside the self–seems to have been poured into the self. I’ve heard this kind of gratitude expressed in A.A. meetings, when people introduce themselves with something like, "Hi. I’m Skip, and I’m a grateful alcoholic." Often people add something like, "I never thought I’d ever be grateful saying I’m an alcoholic." And indeed, that really isn’t what people are thankful for. They’re grateful for the gift of recovery, the gift of new life; and that very gratitude itself seems to be a gift.

The result of thanksgiving being a gift rather than being self generated is that it simply must be shared. The experiences of deliverance and of gratitude for new life beg to be sung out loud for all to hear. Grace is public not private… and must be proclaimed. Such proclamation does two things. First, public testimonies of deliverance and gratitude create and nurture new ways of reconnecting and relating with others. My own transition from laboratory to church, from career scientist to pastor, has been fueled by experiences of grace and gratitude. The good news of God’s deliverance is simply too good to keep quiet about.

Second, accounts of grace generate hope, promote expectation, provide the confidence needed to continue to turn to God for help in times of desolation. Life moves on, and all of us will continue to find ourselves at times beset by the fear and despair of the "desolate pit"–family stresses, the loss of a loved one, loneliness, a battle with cancer. To endure, to survive, and to profit from times of trial, we need to hold fast to the promises and examples of grace that come out of our own experience–or, perhaps more importantly, those passed on to us by others from their struggles. The psalms are filled with such messages. Throughout the Old Testament, God is remembered as the one who delivered the people of Israel from bondage in Egypt. In A.A., the primary functions of an A.A. meeting is for people to share their "experience, strength, and hope" with each other.

The psalmist knows how vital it is to proclaim grace while never concealing God’s saving help. Unfortunately, the church of Jesus Christ doesn’t always remember this. There’s too much truth in the unfortunate stereotype of preachers scolding congregations and preaching hellfire and damnation–or, as the comic on your bulletin (of a firehouse dog preaching, "Bad dogs! Bad dogs!") puns it, "Hellfire and Dalmatians." It’s almost as if the church knows more about sin and hell than about grace and salvation.

I’d only been preaching for about two years when Kathy got me a T-shirt from the National Public Radio Catalog with that comic on it. I called it my "preacher T-shirt." Not long after that I read about how the Rev. David Steele, who was known for his sense of humor, wore a T-shirt with that comic while preaching a sermon to his congregation in San Rafael, CA. He punctuated his sermon with the running refrain, "Bad dogs! Bad dogs!" The next week he got a package in the mail from one of his parishioners. Rev. Steele opened it to find a copy of a book, Barbara Woodhouse’s best-seller, No Bad Dogs–a tongue-in-cheek reminder that even in humor grace is not to be concealed.

I suspect that "hellfire and Dalmatian" (er…damnation) sermons are relatively rare in modern-day Presbyterian circles, but the problem still remains of hiding God’s saving help and disguising grace by focusing on law and obedience–on what people are not to do. For example, take the story from John of the woman caught in adultery. For every time someone cites the amazing grace in this story–Jesus saying to the woman, "Neither do I condemn you"–someone else points to the closing statement, "Go and sin no more," as if this were the story’s central point and an absolute law for everyone in all circumstances. Such a legalistic interpretation wipes out all the grace by laying an impossible demand on the woman. Jesus is not about tying this woman up in "nots" by telling her not to sin at all, ever again.

As Paul reminds us in Romans 3, "No one is righteous, not even one…all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." And he could well go on to say that everyone keep on sinning and falling short of the glory of God. Thankfully, we do not, however, fall short of the grace of God. What is needed is to make the grace central–to understand Jesus’ closing words more in the sense that this woman, in receiving grace, now is enabled to live a life of hope and expectation and gratitude, a life freed from the power of sin and death.

This story of grace is powerful and shocking–so shocking in fact that the text had a hard time finding any place in the gospels. Although it is most likely a very ancient story about Jesus, it is not found in any manuscript before the 5th-century, probably because the early Church, with its emphasis on morality and penitence, was scandalized by the ease with which Jesus forgives adultery. Yet this important story of grace was treasured and preserved.

In some manuscripts the story appears late in the 21st chapter of Luke–nearly the final event to be described before the Last Supper. Many scholars feel it found its way into the gospel of John precisely because it illustrates and confirms the message of grace in John–a message that is easily distorted however. Perhaps the best known verse about grace in the entire Bible is John 3:16–"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life." I am dismayed that many Christians take this verse to mean that those who do not believe are condemned. Yet the very next verse says, "Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." Not judgment and damnation, but salvation for the whole world! And Jesus said to the woman, "Neither do I condemn you." Such amazing grace!

The glad news of deliverance simply must be told in the great congregation! The saving help of God must never be hidden from sight! As Christians, we must speak always and openly of the steadfast love and faithfulness of this God who saves. Without such glad news, the psalmist would be unable to turn to God for help from the depths of his "desolate pit." Without such glad news, we would be unable to call upon God from our next "miry bog." Near the close of the lament part of the psalm, in verse 17, the psalmist sings words that can only come out of his past experiences of deliverance. Gratitude and hope enable the singer to sing, "As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought of me."

Takes thought of me… What a lovely idea, that someone (anyone!) "takes thought of us" in life–and even lovelier when we realize that the one who "takes thought of us" is the Creator, Giver, and Renewer of all life. At some fundamental level, we all need to know that our existence is noticed and valued, especially in times of trial and desolation.

Let us share stories of deliverance and gratitude, proclaiming grace so that all may hope and trust in the love of God. And may we always be able to join the psalmist in song, singing to our God: "I have told the glad news of deliverance in the great congregation; see, I have not restrained my lips, as you know, O Lord. I have not hidden your saving help within my heart, I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation; I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness from the great congregation." Amen and amen.