Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 1652
“Your statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage.” Psalm 119:54.
THE 119th Psalm is said, by many, to consist of detached sentences and to be rather a casket of gold rings than a chain of united golden links, yet the position of this verse is somewhat remarkable, for the verse before it runs thus— “Horror has taken hold upon me because of the wicked that forsake Your Law.” Most of you know for yourselves what that sentence means, for if you hear a man swear in the streets, your blood runs chill with horror. And when you think of what has been said by blasphemers against the Person of our Divine Lord and against the Divine Truths of Revelation, you are horrified that men should have had the audacity to think—much less to say—such wicked things against the Most High God.
David rightly said, “Horror has taken hold upon me,” and then he added our text, as if he would say, “I am horrified that they should break the Law of God and tread it under foot, for to me it is an intense delight—‘Your statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage.’ That which is their scorn is my song. What they count dross is gold to me. How can they treat such precious Truths of God contemptuously?” He is horrified at the thought that what is, to him, the very soul of his life, and the life of his soul, should be to them a castoff and a hate. Surely some connection is visible here—these rings are evidently linked to each other.
It is well to notice the following verse. David writes, “I have remembered Your name, O Lord, in the night, and have kept Your Law”—as much as if he had said—“It is not always daylight with me; but when it is, Your statutes are my song. My sun is not always above the horizon; but when it is dark with me and I am in trouble, I do not forget You. You are still my solace. I remember Your name and I am comforted. If I may not see Your face, it is a joy to remember Your name, for they that know Your name will put their trust in You. If I can but remember Your name when my spirits sink, I shall have my soul stayed and upheld until the daylight shall again break in upon my spirit.” Is there not much sweetness in this hopeful assurance, much to make our text overflow with meaning?
And now I invite you to consider the text itself. It seems to me to talk about three things, three things which concern us. The first is a pilgrim, who is, secondly, a singing pilgrim. And this brings before us, thirdly, his songbook—“Your statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage.”—
“Sweet strains to me Your Laws have been, Sweet music in my heart, Where on my lonely pilgrimage I sojourn all—apart.”
I. First, here is A PILGRIM. David was a type of all who are true disciples of Jesus. They are all pilgrims. A pilgrim is a person who is traveling through one country to another. If we are true to our profession, we are pilgrims with an emphasis, for, first, we belong to another country. We were not born here as to our highest nature. When we were born in the most emphatic sense, we were born of another country altogether—“not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, but of God.” “Except a man is born again”—“from above,” says the margin—“he cannot see the kingdom of God.” We have been born from above. Our birth makes us citizens of the City which has foundations, whose Builder and Maker is
God.
We are aliens, foreigners, strangers in this world. One said of old, “I am a stranger with you, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.” And another said, “I am a stranger in the earth.” Indeed, all the faithful confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. Jesus, our Leader, said, “You are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.” And the beloved Apostle said, “You are of God, little children, and the whole world lies in the Evil One.” We are hurry-
ing through this world as through a foreign land. We are in this country, not as residents, but only as visitors who take this country en route to Glory!
Ungodly men live as if they never meant to die. All their plans and preparations are evidently arranged for tarrying in this country. But if God has instructed you aright, you know assuredly that you shall die and you have become familiar with the thought of departing from these shores. Here you have no continuing city, but are like the tent-dwelling Patriarchs, who, by their very abodes, confessed that they looked for a possession yet to be given them. You look not only upon all other men as mortal, but upon yourselves as such—nor do you at all regret it—you would not stay here forever if you could! You know that you are emigrants to the laud of the unsetting sun and these lands are but traversed on the road to your eternal heritage.
This is a rare knowledge, peculiar to the godly. You may bring an unconverted man to be conscious of his mortality, but you cannot get him to realize that he is going to another land. No, he is going, he is going, he is going where he would not. He is hurried to the land of confusion and dismay where the shadow of death forever rests on hopeless spirits. You do not wonder, therefore, that he tries to avoid the remembrance of this troublesome fact, and that he journeys on with his eyes shut, trying to forget that his life’s voyage will ever end. To you, dear Friends, your passage through this world is not a transit to somewhere or to anywhere, for you know where you are going! As Jesus said to the disciples, “Where I go you know, and the way you know”—you know which way Jesus went and you know that you will go the same way—for He has promised that where He, is there you shall be, also.