Ps 130

17 March 2002

5th Sunday in Lent / St. Patrick’s Day

“St. Patrick out of the Depths”

            By now, of course, you know that this is not only the Fifth Sunday in Lent, but it’s also the day in which everyone’s supposed to pretend that they’re Irish!  We do that in several different ways:  by wearing green (to avoid the peril of being pinched), by eating corned beef, or by drinking emerald-colored beer!  Some may ask what all that has to do with St. Patrick, and that would be a good question.

Of course, it may be only fitting that the day associated with Patrick has a bunch of unrelated stuff attached to it.  It’s difficult, concerning the man we know as St. Patrick, to know where the line between legend and fact really lies.  He was alleged to have driven all the snakes off the Irish island, the serpents fleeing after he preached a sermon from a particular hilltop.  It’s probably safe to call that a bit of symbolism, since snakes never have been indigenous to Ireland!  Some claim that he even raised the dead!

Then there’s the story of how Patrick used a shamrock to explain the Holy Trinity to the Irish converts.  That may actually be true, but the most interesting aspects of Patrick’s life are the things that we really know did happen.  That’s the opinion of Anita McSorley (who’s a member of St. Patrick Parish in Kansas City!) in her article, “The St. Patrick You Never Knew.”[1]

She gives what she calls “uncontested, if somewhat unspecific” facts about Patrick’s life.  “Patrick was born Patricius somewhere in Roman Britain to a relatively wealthy family.  He was not religious as a youth and, in fact, claims to have practically renounced the faith of his family.

“While in his teens, Patrick was kidnapped in a raid and transported to Ireland, where he was enslaved to a local warlord and worked as a shepherd until he escaped six years later.

“He returned home and eventually undertook studies for the priesthood with the intention of returning to Ireland as a missionary to his former captors.  It is not clear when he actually made it back to Ireland, or for how long he ministered there, but it was definitely for a number of years.

“By the time he wrote the Confession [his brief autobiography] and the "Letter to Coroticus" [an Irish pagan warlord], Patrick was recognized by both Irish natives and the Church hierarchy as the bishop of Ireland.  By this time, also, he had clearly made a permanent commitment to Ireland and intended to die there.  Scholars have no reason to doubt that he did.”  His date of death is believed to be March 17, 461.

I’ll say more about Patrick in a few moments—why he’s such an important figure.  And that’s an importance that has nothing to do with parades or leprechauns, but is of great value to our lives as followers of Jesus Christ.

As we look to today’s psalm reading, which I’m using as our Old Testament lesson, we find a psalm (#130) that was one of Martin Luther’s favorites.  That probably explains why he wrote the hymn, “Out of the Depths,” which we’ll sing later on.  Psalm 130 is one of the so-called “Songs of Ascents” (Psalms 120-136).  No one’s totally sure what “Ascents” is referring to, but it’s likely that these were psalms that pilgrims would chant while traveling up to Jerusalem.[2]  I say “up” because Jerusalem geographically is at a higher elevation than the surrounding area.

In any event, Psalm 130 certainly gives voice to someone in desperate need.  It’s no wonder that Martin Luther identified so well with the psalmist!  If there’s been anyone who agonized over his sins more than Luther, it would be hard to say who that would be.  The good news for Luther, as for our psalmist, is that he eventually discovered the joy of forgiveness.

I’m reminded of the sermon I preached on the Sunday after September 11.  In it, we looked at Paul’s statement in 1 Timothy 1 that he’s the “foremost” of sinners.  I said that I wonder about that.  The question I asked then was, “In light of the genuine atrocity of this past week, how can we conclude anything other than that this is a lot of pious nonsense?”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer is a little more…diplomatic about Paul’s claim when he says, “It sounds like an exaggeration, like an untruth.”  Still, he agrees with him.  “There can be no genuine acknowledgment of sin that does not lead to this extremity [of seeing ourselves as the worst].  If my sinfulness appears to me to be in any way smaller or less detestable in comparison with the sins of others, I am still not recognizing my sinfulness at all.  My sin is of necessity the worst, the most grievous, the most reprehensible.  Brotherly [and sisterly] love will find any number of extenuations for the sins of others; only for my sin is there no apology whatsoever.”[3]  And all this from a man who struggled against the very real evil and sin of Nazism!

Our psalm begins, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord” (v. 1).  Out of the depths.  This is someone who’s under no illusions; these are the words of one who’s clearly in dire straits.  This is a person who would probably agree with Bonhoeffer’s extreme opinion of one’s own sin.  Verse 3 asks, “If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand?”

Still, this isn’t a message of utter despair.  Admittedly, the situation is desperate—even though we really don’t know what the problem is.  For the ancient Hebrews, the phrase “out of the depths” conjures up images of drowning at the bottom of the ocean or of being trapped in the pit of Sheol, in the pit of hell.  (Although for them, that’s not so much a place of punishment as it is the land of the dead.)

            “Out of the depths” can suggest some pretty grim scenarios for us, as well.  We can find ourselves in various kinds of hells—hells of our own doing, hells that have been imposed on us.  Relationships, illness, depression, money—there’s no end to the ways in which we can feel trapped.

            But as I said, this isn’t a message of despair.  The psalmist continues, “But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered.  I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I have hope” (vv. 4-5).  The promises of God are sure; they are, to borrow from a well-known hymn, a “solid rock, all other ground is sinking sand.”

            This is a message of hope.  We might even say that it’s a message of amazed hope.  And what I mean by that is…to me, anyway…there’s the sense that the psalmist has been pushed to the brink.  There’s the sense that this is someone who’s at the end of his or her rope.  This is someone who’s about to say, “I can’t take it anymore!”  The psalmist has almost given up.  Almost.

            But friends, the God who makes covenant with us is stubborn—thankfully, very stubborn.  The psalmist is down to the last iota of hope—faith is down to a fragment the size of a mustard seed—but that’s enough.  “[M]y soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning” (v. 6).

            That repetition in verse 6 about “those who watch for the morning”—whether that’s about soldiers keeping watch or if it’s about priests in the temple, waiting to offer the morning sacrifice—whatever the comparison, it’s a compelling note of emphasis.  Is the psalmist lost in wonder?  Or is it more a feeling of determination to just hang on?  (Although, if it were me, it would probably be a case of simply mumbling to myself the same thing over and over again!)

            If you recall, I said that we don’t know the particular situation of the psalmist.  It often helps to have a flesh-and-blood example of what we’re talking about.  And this is where I return to the saint who is Britain’s gift to Ireland.  Patrick is one who knows what crying to God “out of the depths” is all about.  Being enslaved as a young man will tend to have that effect!

In her article on St. Patrick, Anita McSorley talks about Thomas Cahill, who wrote the book How the Irish Saved Civilization.  And that’s a salvation largely due to St. Patrick.  According to Cahill, one of the most amazing things about Patrick is that he’s very serious about the call of Jesus to take the gospel to the ends of the earth.  We need to remember that until his time, very few Christian missionaries have gone beyond the boundaries of the Roman Empire, to the people who are often considered to be barbarians, somewhat less than human.

“When Patrick decided to ‘willingly go back to the barbarians [to the Irish] with the gospel,’ Cahill explains, ‘he had to figure out how to bring the values of the gospel he loved to such people.  These were people who still practiced human sacrifice, who warred with each other constantly and who were renowned as the great slave traders of the day.’”

Patrick is described as not only the patron saint of Ireland, but also as the “patron saint of the excluded.”  His terrible experience of enslavement helped him to identify with the disadvantaged, the marginalized, be they the so-called barbarians, the poor, or even women.  Patrick is noted for actually complimenting women, for treating them as individuals capable of mature faith.  That’s nothing short of revolutionary!  Cahill indicates that St. Patrick “is actually the first male Christian since Jesus to speak well of women.”  He’s also one of the first people in all of history to denounce the institution of slavery.  Patrick, having himself been dispossessed—of his very freedom—understands in a special way the gospel imperative to welcome “the least of these.”

            We at Westminster have the opportunity to welcome “the least of these,” to welcome Jesus Christ.  We have that opportunity today—even today—St. Patrick’s Day, a day sometimes overwhelmed by foolishness.  It doesn’t matter if we’re Irish; it doesn’t matter how we feel about the color green; it doesn’t matter if we believe in the existence of the wee people.  We are the church, and as such, we have a unique quality:  we’re not like any other group that exists.  We belong to the one who has what our brothers and sisters in “the depths” need—what we continue to need.

            Now, I realize that all of this stuff about “out of the depths,” and saying “only for my sin is there no apology,” and describing the trials and tribulations of St. Patrick—all of this can seem pretty gloomy.  It can seem like a real downer, but then, that’s how some people regard the entire Lenten season.

            But it’s a matter of perception.  To me, Psalm 130 has a liberating quality to it.  But then, that’s how I regard the entire Lenten season.  And I really believe it’s true—the more we immerse ourselves in God’s word—the more we allow it to live in us, the more light…the more freedom we find.  When we see ourselves as truly in “the depths,” we understand all the more how precious is the life that’s only found on the other side of a daily deliberate discovery of the divine.

            It’s then that we can sing the final two verses of the psalm with joy, even out of the depths:  “O Israel, hope in the Lord!  For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem.  It is he who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (vv. 7-8).

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