Have you ever heard God described as the “Hound of Heaven”? The expression comes from a poem written by Francis Thompson, a nineteenth century British poet. Thompson was the son of a physician and studied medicine himself before discovering his gifts as a writer and poet. Though a Christ-follower, Thompson struggled with homelessness, poverty, and even an addiction to opium. For a period of time, he lived on the streets of London and Manchester, selling matches and newspapers to support himself until an anonymous prostitute gave him temporary lodging. Though he died of tuberculosis in 1907 at the age of 47, the profound depth of his writings earned him the favor of such literary giants as G. K. Chesterton and J. R. R. Tolkien. In Thompson’s renown 182-line poem, “The Hound of Heaven,” he describes the unfailing mercy and compassion of God that relentlessly pursues him:
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 mist of tears I hid from Him . . .
From those strong Feet that followed after, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase and unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat,
More instant than the feet:
‘All things betray thee who betrayest me.’[i]
In his study of Thompson’s life and poetry, J. F. X. O’Conor writes:
As the hound follows the hare, never ceasing in its running, ever drawing nearer in the chase, with unhurrying and unperturbed pace, so does God follow the fleeing soul by His Divine grace. And though in sin or in human love, away from God it seeks to hide itself, Divine grace follows after, unwearyingly follows ever after, till the soul feels its pressure forcing it to turn to Him alone in that never-ending pursuit.[ii]
No words better describe God’s unrelenting love for the biblical patriarch, Jacob, the fugitive who ran from the birthright and blessing already received but not yet experienced (Genesis 27-33). Aware of Esau’s determination to get revenge by killing his brother, Rebekah tells Jacob: “Get out of here. Run for your life . . . go east . . . far away, all the way to Haran where my brother Laban lives” (Genesis 27:42-45).
Frequently in Genesis, the Book of Beginnings, to go east is to move away from the presence of the Lord. Adam and Eve not only hid from God, they also went east (Genesis 3:24). Later, Cain went east “out from the Lord’s presence” (Genesis 4:16-17). Following the Ararat departure, the people migrated eastward in hopes of making a name for themselves (Genesis 11:2). Lot chose the whole Jordan Valley to the east (Genesis 13:11). Figuratively, to go east is to add sorrow upon sorrow to the Lord’s rich blessing in our lives. Jacob is no exception to this. Now persona non grata in his homeland, he heads east. For over twenty years, the heel-catcher will live in the east . . . running from his brother, from his inheritance, from God. Ironically, Jacob is running away from the very blessing God had promised, just as we often do.
But God met him anyway. And he didn’t wait for Jacob to take the initiative.
Hosea, the prophet sums it up when he writes: “He found him at Bethel and talked with him there—the Lord God Almighty, the Lord is his name!” (Hosea 12:4).
The place where the encounter unfolds was relatively insignificant. It was just a “place” near a town called Luz. Yes, an ordinary place. In fact, the narrator repeats the term six times to get across the point (Genesis 28:11, 16, 19). But for Jacob, this inconspicuous, out-of-the-way place became “Bethel,” the very house of God; the stone for his head became an altar; and the fugitive deceiver became a disciple. At Bethel, heaven and earth touched!
Is it not just like God to work in the ordinary places and circumstances of life? With God, ordinary places of trials and suffering can become extraordinary places of spiritual encounter and transformation. Gradually, the veil is lifted from our eyes, and we exclaim as Jacob: “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I was not aware of it” (Genesis 28:16).
Jacob left Bethel with a new gait in his step, finally arriving in the land of the east where he would spend the next twenty years (Genesis 29-31). He was blessed, but not yet broken. Though blessed materially, Jacob suffered relationally. Just as Jacob had deceived, so he was now deceived over a period of twenty years. Promises given, were broken. Wages set, were changed. Demands made, were modified. Jacob went from the status of a son to that of a slave. He wanted blessing, but what he got was treachery. Jacob was forced to drink his own medicine. And it was very bitter.
What we call God’s discipline is simply the expression of God’s love as experienced by a fool. God’s discipline is the form love takes when we run from it, just as darkness is the form light takes when we turn from it and run into our own shadow. We ourselves cast the shadow of God’s discipline and ultimate judgment. God shines ever faithfully with love, as the sun with light. He does not change—we do.[iii] Sometimes love has to leave people alone so they will learn from suffering what they refuse to learn from blessing (cf. Romans 2:4). In all of our adversity, the Hound of Heaven is constantly nipping at our heels, reminding us that God's kindness is intended to lead us to repentance (Romans 2:4).
[i] The Works of Francis Thompson, Poems: Volume 1 (London: Burns Oastes & Washbourne, 1925), 107. [ii] J. F. X. O’Conor, A Study of Francis Thompson's Hound of Heaven (New York: John Lane Company, 1912), p. 7. Available at https://archive.org/details/studyoffrancisth00oconrich/page/6/mode/2up. [iii] Adapted from Peter Kreeft, Making Sense Out of Suffering (Ann Arbor: Servant Books, 1986), 120.
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