Chapter 1
THE HOUND OF HEAVEN
Rapid travel and the electronic media have made us all aware (as never before) of the multiplicity of religions in the world. So how on earth can we decide between them? There is a Babel of voices competing for our attention. To which are we going to listen? We are presented with a veritable religious smorgasbord. So which dish are we going to choose? In any case, do not all religions lead to God?
It is against this pluralistic background that I want to answer the question: Why am I a Christian? Some readers will expect me to answer like this: âIâm a Christian because I happen to have been born in a largely Christian country. My parents were nominally Christian, I went to a school with a Christian foundation and I received a basically Christian education.â In other words it was the circumstances of my birth, parentage and upbringing that have determined the fact that I am a Christian. And that is, of course, perfectly true. But it is only a part of the truth. For I could have repudiated my Christian inheritance. Many people do. And there are many others who become Christians who have not had a Christian upbringing. So that is not the complete answer.
Others may expect me to reply something like this. âOn 13 February 1938, when I was a youth of nearly seventeen, I made a decision for Christ. I heard a clergyman preach on Pilateâs question, âWhat shall I do with Jesus, who is called Christ?â Until that moment I didnât know I had to do anything with Jesus, who is called Christ. But in answer to my questions, the preacher unfolded the steps to Christ. In particular, he pointed me in the New Testament to Revelation 3:20, in which Jesus says: âHere I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.â So that night, by my bedside, I opened the door of my personality to Christ, inviting him to come in as my Saviour and Lord.â
That also is true, but it constitutes only one side of the truth.
The most significant factor lies elsewhere, and it is on this that I intend to concentrate in this first chapter. Why I am a Christian is due ultimately neither to the influence of my parents and teachers, nor to my own personal decision for Christ, but to âthe Hound of Heavenâ. That is, it is due to Jesus Christ himself, who pursued me relentlessly even when I was running away from him in order to go my own way. And if it were not for the gracious pursuit of the Hound of Heaven I would today be on the scrap-heap of wasted and discarded lives.
FRANCIS THOMPSON
âThe Hound of Heaven.â It is a striking expression invented by Francis Thompson, whose story has been told, and his poem expounded, by R. Moffat Gautrey in his book This Tremendous Lover.1
Francis Thompson spent a lonely and loveless childhood, and failed successively in his attempts to become a Roman Catholic priest, a doctor (like his father) and a soldier. He ended up lost in London until a Christian couple recognized his poetic genius and rescued him. Throughout these years he was conscious of both pursuing and being pursued, and expressed it most eloquently in his poem âthe Hound of Heavenâ. Here is its beginning:
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat â and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet â
âAll things betray thee, who betrayest Me.â2
At first R. M. Gautrey was offended by the poemâs title âThe Hound of Heavenâ. Is it appropriate, he asked himself, to liken God to a hound? But he came to see that there are good hounds as well as bad hounds, and that specially admirable are collies, which range the Scottish Highlands in search of lost sheep. He also saw that the theme of searching sheepdogs (or, more accurately, of searching shepherds) occurs in both the Old and the New Testament. Thus, the last verse of Psalm 23 reads:
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
Gautrey points out that the Hebrew word here translated by the mild verb âfollowâ should be rendered more forcefully; for instance, âgoodness and mercy have hunted me, haunted me, dogged my steps all the days of my lifeâ.3 âIt is a pursuit, patient but purposeful, affectionate but relentless.â4
Then Jesus himself took up the metaphor of the shepherd:
Then Jesus told them this parable: âSuppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbours together and says, âRejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.â I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.â
(Luke 15:3â7).
Gautrey sees the poem as divided into five stanzas. The first he calls the âSoulâs Flightâ, for the poet sees himself as a fugitive from the demands of discipleship. The second is the âSoulâs Questâ, in which the soul seeks satisfaction everywhere, but cannot find it. The third stanza he entitles the âSoulâs Impasseâ, since he has discovered that life without God is meaningless. Fourthly, in the âSoulâs Arrestâ, he finally surrenders to the love of Christ. Christ speaks to him:
âAlack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
Save Me, save only Me?â5
In every stanza we hear that footfall of âthis tremendous loverâ, until finally the hunt is over:
âAll which I took from thee I did but take,
Not for thy harms,
But just that thou mightâst seek it in My arms . . .
Rise, clasp My hand, and come!â6
Francis Thompson was expressing what is true of every Christian; it has certainly been true in my life. If we love Christ, it is because he loved us first (1 John 4:19). If we are Christians at all, it is not because we have decided for Christ, but because Christ has decided for us. It is because of the pursuit of âthis tremendous loverâ.
If we love Christ, it is because he loved us first.
For evidence that the initiative is his, I invite you to take with me a fresh look at the conversion of Saul of Tarsus, and then at three Christian biographies. Then I shall come back briefly to us, to me, who am writing to you, and to you who are reading.
SAUL OF TARSUS
First, Saul of Tarsus. His conversion is the most celebrated in the whole history of the Christian church. Some people, however, are troubled by it. âIâve had no sudden Damascus-road experience,â they say. But consider. Saulâs conversion was not sudden. Does that surprise you? Of course, it is true that suddenly a light flashed from heaven, and suddenly he fell to the ground and Jesus spoke to him. But that suddenness of the intervention of Jesus was not by any means the first time that Jesus had spoken to him. On the contrary, it was the climax of a long process. How do we know that? Let me refer you to Acts 26:14: âWe all fell to the ground, and I heard a voice saying to me in Aramaic, âSaul, Saul, why do you persecute me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads.ââ
The Greek word kentron could be translated âspurâ, âwhipâ or âgoadâ. Quite frequently in classical Greek, from Aeschylus onwards, it was used in a metaphorical sense. Similarly, in the book of Proverbs we read:
A whip for the horse, a halter for the donkey,
and a rod for the backs of fools!â
(26:3)
In speaking to Saul, Jesus was likening himself either to a farmer goading a recalcitrant bullock or to a horse-trainer breaking in a rather rumbustious young colt. The implication is clear. Jesus was pursuing, prodding and pricking Saul. But Saul was resisting the pressure, and it was hard, it was painful, even futile, for him to kick against the goads.
This raises the natural question: what were the goads with which Jesus Christ was pricking Saul of Tarsus? Although weâre not told specifically, we can piece together the evidence from the book of Acts and from autobiographical flashes in Paulâs later letters.
1. Jesus was goading Saul in his mind. Saul had been educated in Jerusalem under Gamaliel, probably the most celebrated Jewish teacher throughout the whole of the first century ad. So, theologically, Saul was well versed in Judaism, and morally, he was zealous for the law. With his conscious mind in those days, he was convinced that Jesus of Nazareth was not the Messiah. To him it was inconceivable that the Jewish Messiah could be rejected by his own people and then die, apparently under the curse of God, since it was written in the law that âanyone who is hung on a tree is under Godâs curseâ (Deuteronomy 21:23). No, no. Jesus must be an impostor. So Saul saw i...