Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 1141
“He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayer.” Psalm 102:17.
OBSERVE that the verse which precedes the text describes the Lord as appearing in His Glory. His Zion is to be built up and therefore her King puts on the robes of His splendor. The imagery sets forth the Lord as a great Monarch, superintending with great pomp and state, the building of a sumptuous palace. We see Him commanding the architects and the workmen, and passing from point to point amid attending courtiers. Trumpets are sounding, banners are displayed, princes and nobles glitter in their array and the King appears in His Glory.
But who is this, whose mournful wail, disturbs the harmony? From where comes this ragged beggar who bows before the Prince? Surely he will be dragged away by the soldiers, or cast into prison by the wardens for daring to pollute so grand a ceremony by such wretched presumption! Were there not streets, lanes and dark corners enough for beggars? Why need he thrust himself in where his rags are so much out of place? But look! The King hears him! The sound of the trumpet has not drowned the voice of the destitute.
His Majesty listens to him while he asks for an alms and in matchless compassion pities all his groans. Who is this King, but Jehovah? Of Him, only, is it said, “He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayer.” The verse is enhanced in its beauty by its connection, even as a fair jewel receives an added beauty from the lovely neck upon which it sparkles. Let us read the verse, again, in this soft silver light. “When the Lord shall build up Zion, He shall appear in His Glory. He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayer.”
It is clear that the heart of the Lord delights in the cries of needy souls and nothing can prevent His hearing them. No occupation is so sublime as to distract the Lord’s attention from the prayer of the most humble of His mourners. The songs of seraphs, the symphonies of angels, the ceaseless chorales of the redeemed are not more sweet in the ears of the all-merciful Jehovah than the faint breathings of poor dying wretches who confess themselves condemned by His Justice and, therefore, appeal to His lovingkindness and tender mercy!
This morning I am going to preach about the destitute. I hope there are many of them here. At any rate many are here who once were destitute, and would be so now, if it were not for the riches of Divine Grace. Hear me, you poor in spirit, and may the Lord comfort you by my words. Our first work, this morning, shall be to speak about a spiritual pauper, the “destitute.” Then we will talk of his special occupation—it is clear that he has taken to begging, for the text speaks twice of his “prayer,” and prayer is the essence of begging.
Then, thirdly, here is a very natural fear of this spiritual beggar, namely, that his prayer will not be regarded and will even be despised. And then, fourthly, the whole text is a most comfortable assurance to this spiritual mendicant that his begging will be successful, for the Lord of whom he begs will regard his prayer and will not despise his supplication.
I. First, then, let us go down among the beggars and look upon THE SPIRITUAL PAUPER. It will do you good to have your spiritual gentility shocked for a while. And it will be a lasting benefit if you are made to feel, anew, your own poverty, and to cry, “I am poor and needy, yet the Lord thinks upon me.” The spiritual pauper is, in our text, described as destitute. And you may take the word in its extreme sense—the spiritually poor man is not only positively—but utterly, thoroughly—terribly destitute!
He is destitute of all wealth of merit or possession of righteousness. Time was, years ago, when he was as good as anybody else, in his own esteem, and perhaps a little better. He was rich and increased in goods, and had need of nothing. True, he had some faults, but he considered them to be outweighed by his excellences. And if he fell, sometimes, into error and sin, he had most ingenious excuses with which to shift the blame—either some companions beguiled him, or else his circumstances necessitated the fault.
He was a sinner, he admitted that, but he put his own meaning upon the title, so that he did not feel degraded by it. He was no vagrant or pauper in the universe of God, but rather a fellow citizen with the worthy, and of the household of self-satisfaction. He was at least as good as the average of men and possibly better than, under present circumstances, men may generally be expected to be. And if he did not actually claim anything of God by way of merit, it was because he deferred to the crotchets of the Protestant religion. But in his inmost soul he really thought he could have maintained a decent position on the score of good works—and have shown up a very presentable righteousness had it been asked for.