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Excerpted Inspirations #213

  • Writer: Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
    Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
  • 1 day ago
  • 0 min read
[A two-parter] One night, with Flurry lying in the center of the room, I told the [Christian study] group a true story of Flurry and Gypsy to illuminate the difficult doctrine of the Fall and Original Sin, which next day I wrote down. As I told the tale, Flurry pricked up her ears at every mention of her name. Here is the story I told that night: THE FALL Gypsy, a furry, wheat-colored collie, 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 were not heavy. She was, to be sure, 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 were 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 demeanor: 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 the 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. [Sheldon Vanauken, A Severe Mercy (1977), pp. 132-133 [Continued next week.]

 
 
 

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