Reading John Piper’s blog today proved gold. God sends 9 year-old sons to lay bare the weakness of a father towards his wife. Impatience. That’s all the 9 year old son saw. But it was enough to provoke this question: “Dad, does God want you to treat mom like that?”

Immediately I thought of Francis Thompson’s poem, The Hound of Heaven. God is so terribly near us, so terribly desirous to be involved in the deep recesses of our hearts, that He will use any holy means possible to win over our stubborn affections. These two lines from the poem in particular stand out to me, though the whole thing is like apples of gold in settings of silver: “yet was I sore adread, lest, having Him, I must have naught beside” and, “fear wist not to evade, as love wist to pursue.“

The glory of it all is that God desires our entire being. That’s the demand of true love, that’s the glory of a true covenant. Because the reality is: God gave us His entire being on the cross. There is nothing more He could have given. If we have said yes to Him, if we have entered into His new covenant, then He has a demand on us, and we have a demand on Him. If we grow fearful and try to evade Him, His love is stronger than our fear, and His love never fails.

Here’s a portion of The Hound of Heaven:

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 chasmed 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’.

I pleaded, outlaw-wise,
By many a hearted casement, curtained red,
Trellised with intertwining charities;
(For, though I knew His love Who followed,
Yet was I sore adread
Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.)
But, if one little casement parted wide,
The gust of His approach would clash it to:
Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.

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