Driving home from work yesterday, I glanced to my left and noticed this once snowy white husky mix. She was wallowing in a ditch full of water from a day of rainfall. I noticed her collar and called her over to the car so I could contact her owner. But she was too busy or too shy to come my way. Then, this morning on my way to work, the same dog ran right in front of me looking a wee bit hungry and lost. I’ve thought a lot about that once white dog.
My book club, The Lit Wits, just read A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanuaken and this dog reminds me of an allegory Vanuaken told through the perspective of his two dogs, Gypsy and Flurry. I hope you take the time to enjoy it and are blessed by the truth that true freedom can only be found when we reside in the bounds of Christ.
The Fall
"Gypsy, a furry, wheat-colored [husky], found herself in possession of several hundred acres of hills and woods, full of good things like rabbit trails and streams and intriguing burrows, and she delighted in it all. She was given a comfortable bed and good meals. Perhaps she rather took it all for granted. Of obligations there were few, and they not heavy. She was, to be sure, supposed to worship her Master and be right joyous to be with him. She knew she must not chase the chickens. While she must obey certain commands -- to follow, to come, to lie down -- there was no unreasonable ones, and no tricks. After all, to obey and to worship were natural to her dog nature.
There came a day when, as Gypsy was prowling on the far hill past the springhouse and pasture, two things happened at once: the Master called her and a rabbit fled across the hill. Gypsy wheeled and raced towards the Master, as she had always done. Then she stopped. It entered her mind that she didn't have to obey. Perhaps the Master didn't understand about that rabbit. Anyhow, these were her hills. The rabbit was hers, too. Very likely it was all lies -- that story of everything, including herself, belonging to the Master. How did she know that the food in her dish came from him? -- Probably there was some natural explanation. She was a free dog and that was the end of it. These thoughts went through her mind swiftly while she stood irresolute. Again came the Master's command; the rabbit crossed the hilltop. Gypsy whirled and raced after the rabbit. She had made a choice. She was free to choose.
Hours later she came home. She saw the Master waiting for her, but she did not rush gladly to him, leaping and frisking, as she had always done. Something new came into her demeanour: guilt. She crept up to him like a snake on her belly. Undoubtedly she was penitent at the moment. But she had a new knowledge -- the knowledge of the possibility of sin -- and it was a thrill in her heart and a salt taste in her mouth. Nevertheless she was very obedient next day and the day after. Eventually though, there was another rabbit -- and she did not even hesitate. Soon it was the mere possibility of a rabbit. And then she dropped the rabbit thing altogether and went her way.
The Master loved her still but trusted her no longer. In time she lived in a pen and went for walks with a rope round her neck. All her real freedom was gone. But the Master gave her, from time to time, new chances to obey of her own free will. Had she chosen to obey she would once again have had perfect freedom to wander her hundreds of acres. But she did not return to the obedience. She always chose, if she were out of reach, to run away. The Master, knowing hunger would bring her back to her pen, let her run. He could have stopped her; the rifle that would have ended her rebellion with the crack of doom stood in the corner. But while she lived she might still return to the obedience, might still choose the obedience that was freedom.
One day, during a journey by car, Gypsy and her good little daughter, Flurry, were taken into the edge of a wood. Always Gypsy had limited disobedience to her own hills. But now, coming back to the car, she suddenly felt the old thrill. She turned and fled. The Master called with a note of sharp urgency. Flurry, with the courtesy that always ruled her, came at once. Gypsy, her ears dulled to the meanings of the Master, continued her rush into the dark forest. After hours of search and calling, the Master sadly abandoned the lost one and, with Flurry beside him went home.
There Flurry continued to live in freedom under the obedience. She was right joyous to be with the Master and gay when she did a thing that pleased him. She knew that in service was perfect freedom. She obeyed gladly of her own free choice.
But lost Gypsy, if she still lived, wandered the woods and roads an outcast. She became dirty and matted with burs. No doubt stones were thrown at her and she was often hungry, but she had lost the way home. If she had puppies, they, too, and their children had lost the way home, for Gypsy's perilous and bent will to disobey must infect them; and the comforting hand of the Master would be unknown to them, except as a tale. This is the way Gypsy chose on the Day of the Rabbit and continued to choose until, suddenly, there was no more choosing."
Selection from A Severe Mercy: A Story of Faith, Tragedy, and Triumph
by Sheldon Vanauken
