Print this Page

The lost sheep who runs from the shepherd

The tax collectors and “sinners” were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law were whispering among themselves. They said, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Then Jesus told them a story. He said, “Suppose one of you has 100 sheep and loses one of them. Won’t he leave the 99 in the open country? Won’t he go and look for the one lost sheep until he finds it? When he finds it, he will joyfully put it on his shoulders and go home. Then he will call his friends and neighbors together. He will say, ‘Be joyful with me. I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you, it will be the same in heaven. There will be great joy when one sinner turns away from sin. Yes, there will be more joy than for 99 godly people who do not need to turn away from their sins.” (Circa AD 30 Luke 15: 1-7 New International Readers’ Version)
 
In his poem ‘The hound of heaven’, Francis Thompson (1859-1907) wrote (rather cryptically) of the way in which the Lord Jesus Christ pursued him and of the way in which he, Francis, fled from Him – until overcome by Jesus’ love. The first and last verses of the poem are below in italics. The words which Francis attributed to the love of Jesus towards him are in bold italics.

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, 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 -- and a voice beat 
More instant than the Feet --
"All things betray thee, who betrayest Me."


"Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me." 
   

"Lo ! naught contents thee, who content'st not Me."

Now of that long pursuit 
Comes on at hand the bruit ;
That Voice is round me like a bursting sea : 
"And is thy earth so marred, 
Shattered in shard on shard ?
Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest me!"
    
"Strange, piteous, futile thing !
Wherefore should any set thee love apart? 
Seeing none but I makes much of naught" (He said), 
  
"And human love needs human meriting: 
 How hast thou merited --
Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot? 
Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!”

“Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee, 
Save Me, save only Me?”

 
“All which I took from thee I did but take, 
Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might'st seek it in My arms.”

“All which thy child's mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home: 
Rise, clasp My hand, and come!" 

Halts by me that footfall: 
Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly? 

"Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest, 
I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest me." 

 
Sinner Syvret

Email this newsletter to a friend
*All mandatory fields must be filled in

Friend`s name
Friend`s email address *
Your name
Your email address *
Message

Send comment
*All mandatory fields must be filled in

Your name *
Your email address *
Your comment *