THE GLORIOUS GOSPEL OF THE BLESSED GOD
A Sermon Preached by Rev. James D. Brown
The Celebration of the 150th Anniversary of the
Dedication of the Sanctuary of
Market Square Presbyterian Church
March 7, 2010
1 Timothy 1:1-7, 11-17
We have gathered today to celebrate the completion of our sanctuary 150 years ago this month. Our sesquicentennial coincides with that of Harrisburg’s incorporation as a city. Looking back we can imagine what a significant occasion this was for our congregation.
A great Civil War was soon to engulf the nation. Churches would divide along the Mason Dixon line, as would the nation. But on March 18, 1860, this congregation was caught up in the euphoria of having recovered from the catastrophe of a fire that destroyed its building on the corner of Chestnut and 2nd Street where the Executive House is now located.
Let’s take a step back in time and read about what happened the night of March 30, 1858, as recounted in an article in the Harrisburg Daily Telegraph on April 1, 1858.
Last night at a quarter before 10 o’clock our citizens were startled to a
cry of “fire!”—not that uncertain, half-reluctant cry which carries with it
the conviction that it is a false alarm—but that short, quick, thrilling
utterance which bespeaks danger and loss. Ere there was a movement
made by the fire companies, a bright, lurid blaze gave token of the
destructive work begun; and the rapidity with which the flames spread
to neighboring buildings, we have scarce seen equaled. Toward the scene
there poured a continuous stream of people, of both sexes, grown and small,
and the gleam which the greedy flames sent abroad, illumined the whole neighborhood, presenting such a night picture as is never seen but on the
occasion of some destructive fire.”
What follows is a detailed account of how the fire originated in a small, frame stable, and then spread to neighboring buildings, finally consuming the Presbyterian Church located at the corner of Second and Chestnut Streets. “The Presbyterian Church, which was totally destroyed, was insured…for $7000. The library was saved; together with two melodeons, and nearly all the cushions and furniture.” Listen to what comes next in this dramatic account from the Daily Telegraph :
The fire was the work of an incendiary, and certain suspicious circumstances
occurred which will be zealously investigated. An attempt was made on last
Friday morning to fire the same building; and it is to be hoped that the
miscreant or miscreants may be traced to their fancied security, and that
condign [suitable] punishment meted out to them which their dastardly act
deserves.
There’s more to the story:
Whilst the firemen were hard at work, some fiends in human shape, were
busily cutting the hose of the firemen, and they were frequently interrupted
by the stopping of water, whilst they thought their hose had bursted, but on examining the hose of the Hope company this forenoon, it was discovered
that it had been cut eleven times with some instrument, probably a razor.
Burning alive would not have been too severe a punishment for such men.
Don’t you just love the emotional journalism of the day! It sounds a bit like what we’re hearing of late from some of our TV and radio pundits.
The fire sets the stage for the building of the church in which we have come to worship this morning. In the short space of two years, this magnificent sanctuary would be completed and then dedicated on March 18, 1860, 150 years ago.
It’s to the dedication service we now turn. The sermon that morning was delivered by Rev. R. D. Hitchcock of Union Theological Seminary in New York. I suspect the same writer who reported on the fire wrote the article about the dedication that appeared in the Daily Telegraph on March 20, 1860. O that there could be a like-minded journalist from the Patriot-News to report on my humble efforts this morning:
The dedicatory sermon was preached…from the text—“The Glorious
Gospel of the blessed God.” The sermon was an able discussion of the
“great topic,” abounding in brilliant illustrations, strong logic, and earnest appeals. Both the manner and matter were very marked, showing unmistakably the power of a man of genius, scholarship, eloquence and piety.
What struck me as curious was that not one single illustration from Rev. Hitchcock’s sermon made its way into the newspaper account. And a copy of the sermon cannot be found in our archives.
All I had to go on was the title, and this led me to chapter one of Paul’s first letter to Timothy, where in the King James Version that would have been read on March 18, 1860, we find the Apostle Paul attesting to “the glorious gospel of the blessed God, which was committed to my trust.” [verse 11] This has led me to ruminate on what Rev. Hitchcock might have preached to the congregation gathered here in 1860, and what that same text might mean for us today.
I’m quite certain that verses 12-17 hold the clue, for they reflect the core theology of this congregation that we will experience in a few moments as we partake of communion in the fashion followed throughout the 19th century. Let’s examine the text.
Paul is dumbfounded and amazed that he, who had been a rabid persecutor of the followers of Jesus, could suddenly have been set apart by God as a preacher of the Good News ushered into human history by this very same Jesus. He’s clear that through no merit of his own, “the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.” We’ve come the nub of his testimony:
The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came
into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the foremost. But for that
very reason I received mercy, so that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ
might display the utmost patience, making me an example to those who
would come to believe in him for eternal life.
Our Presbyterian forebears who gathered here on March 18, 1860 would have been nodding in appreciation as they heard this text explicated by Rev. Hitchcock. As you will discover in our communion service taken from this era, they were steeped in a theology that held that all human beings are caught up in the throes of sin, that all fall short of the glory of God, and that our rescue comes from the grace of the Lord overflowing into our hearts. Paul dared to emphasize that he was sinner number one (prōtos in the Greek), the foremost, the prototype of a human being gone bad. It’s no wonder he ends this passage with a shout of joy to the King of the ages who had set him free.
On Friday night Nina and I and a group from Market Square attended the musical, Urinetown, at CD East High School. Some in our community were offended by the title of this play about a mythical community where water is in such short supply that a rapacious company was able to monopolize the distribution of water and require that everyone had to use public bathrooms for a fee. The play is actually a very good vehicle for reflection on what it means to live in a world of scarcity and act responsibly. And surely the word urine ranks way down the list of offensive words that fill the air these days.
I mention the play because at one point a character, talking about human foibles, draws a gasp from his compatriots when he declares, “No one is innocent.” That’s Paul’s point. That’s the point of the language of our communion service today. It’s the great leveler, the invitation to look in the mirror and say, “I am not innocent. I will be set free by grace alone.”
Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk who left his mark on the 20th century, once observed that it troubled him that North Americans, that we, seem preoccupied with the question, “Am I happy.” He felt that this leads to “needing things we do not really need, exhausting ourselves for what we secretly realize to be worthless and without meaning in our lives.”[i]
Merton challenges us, with Paul, with our forebears in this place, to ask, not “Am I happy?” but “Am I free?”
Ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair,
but ask me what I think I am living for, in detail, and ask me what I
think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for.”
As Kay Lynn Northcutt observes regarding Merton’s challenge, this “is Lent’s terrible gift: an examination of our living.” And I would add, an examination that can lead us to gasp just as actors in Urinetown did when they heard it said, “No one is innocent.” To gasp and then claim this truth is our first step toward freedom.
I’m certain that the word urine did not fall from Rev. Hitchcock’s lips 150 years ago. I’m also certain that we’re on the same page with him as we celebrate this place, not for the sake of the building alone, but for the sake of the Gospel that has been preached here year in and year out for a century and a half.
“To the King of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.”
[i] Quoted by Kay Lynn Northcutt in The Christian Century, March 9, 2010, p.13