I’ve just been for a walk and as I crossed the local common a dog ran up to me barking loudly. I like dogs – but I don’t like strange dogs that run up to me barking threateningly. Call me odd, if you will.
It made me think back to an incident when I was five years old. Our family lived on a small council estate, which was built as a large circle, the houses facing into an open grassy area. As children we used to play on the grass and on this particular day, we were throwing stones at a tree. When you are five this seems like a perfectly sensible thing to do, and it is a pleasure that I imagine completely bypasses the X-Box generation.
Anyway, as we attempted to project our stones as high up the tree as possible, we were joined by a large Alsatian, who wanted to join the fun. He would try to catch the stones as they dropped towards the ground. Unfortunately, he got too involved in the game and he and I ended up reaching for the same stone at the same time. I got there first, but the dog objected and showed his frustration by attaching himself to my arm and chewing for all he was worth.
Call me a wimp, but I didn’t enjoy the experience. My friends aimed a few stones at the dog (most of which missed, and one of which hit me) and the dog let go. I ran home crying, with my arm mangled and bleeding.
On arriving home my Mum saw my distress and my punctured arm and asked what had happened. She then said what parents of her generation would say: words to the effect that I shouldn’t have been throwing stones at the tree, and if I hadn’t been doing so I wouldn’t have got hurt. Basically, it was my fault. It didn’t comfort me much to be honest.
(I remember a similar incident when my older sister had taken me to the local woods to collect leaf-mould – another treat that has passed by today’s child. I managed to slip and fall into the small stream that ran through the woods. My sister dragged me home cold, soaked and mildly shocked, to be greeted by an accusative ‘you shouldn’t have been in the stream in the first place. What were you doing there?’ The honest answer was, ‘sinking’, but I didn’t give it).
Parents aren’t perfect (and my Mum had many admirable qualities) but they do unwittingly set the tone for our encounter with God as our Father. We don’t calculate it, or intend it, but somewhere deep down we imagine that parents are parents, and that our treatment by our human parents determines how God will treat us.
So how does God welcome children that have been chewed up, and who have fallen down? Listen to how Paul describes God: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction” (2 Corinthian 1:3,4).
God is merciful – FULL of mercy – and the possessor of ALL consolation. When we run home battered and soaked, even if the circumstances were our fault, that’s what greets us: mercy and consolation.
I have recently enjoyed reading the book, ‘Gentle and Lowly – The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers’, by Dane Ortland. I recommend it for a slow read, especially for anyone who is inclined to think of God as demanding and accusing. Here’s a quote to end with, from the chapter entitled ‘Father of Mercies’:
“As you consider the Father’s heart for you, remember that he is the Father of Mercies. He is not cautious in his tenderness toward you. He multiplies mercies matched to your every need, and there is nothing he would rather do… Your gentlest treatment of yourself is less gentle than the way your heavenly Father handles you. His tenderness towards you outstrips what you are even capable of towards yourself.”