Our dog Sox died on Monday. You see her above dressed in her Halloween costume.  Her death was an incredibly painful experience. 13 years ago my sister Sherry had promised Josiah that as soon as we moved back to South Florida from my studies in Chicago she would get him a dog (we didn’t have any pets in Chicago). In the summer of 1997, as soon as we moved home, my sister (who always thinks of others instead of herself and is one of the kindest people I know) took Josiah to the pound to pick out his dog. He brought home a small black puppy that eventually turned into a large black dog with white feet for socks.

To say that she was loyal and kind is an understatement. Sox always wanted to be near us and I am convinced that she would have done anything in the world for any member of the family. As time went on she began to grow grey in the face and slower to move. Finally, after thirteen years, she had given all that she could, and laid down to die.

To those of you who have never loved a dog, I pity you. Though the pain of losing one is terrible, the kindness and grace that can be learned from a good one is inestimable. Sox was a good one.

George Graham Vest was a member of the Confederate Congress and served as a senator from Missouri from 1879 to 1903. He is best remembered for a speech he made as a young lawyer, representing a man who was suing his neighbor for killing his dog. It is a fitting tribute to all good dogs everywhere, but especially to Sox.
Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us, may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.

The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog. A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer. He will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens.

If fortune drives the master forth, an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies. And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.

     I was reading the first of the sixteen volume set of his works today and happened upon the story of his conversion.  It moved me for several reasons.  One was the similarity to the conversion of another hero of the faith, C. H. Spurgeon, a second was the fact that much good came out of suffering.  In fact, Thompson, writing about the life of Owen writes,

                Nothing is more certain than that some of the most precious treasures in our religious literature have come from the seven-times heated furnace of mental suffering.

                Spurgeon’s mental suffering (detailed in his chapter “The Minister’s Fainting Fits” in his golden book Lectures to my Students was different from Owen’s, but both were used by God.  Let none of us forget that while God may place us in the oven of suffering, he always keeps his eye on the clock and his hand on the thermostat.

     The stories of Spurgeon’s and Owen’s conversion are eerily similar. Spurgeon’s conversion story is well known, as he told it over 280 times in his sermons.  As a young man he was making his way to a congregational church, but because of a great snowstorm, his path was diverted and he found himself ducking into a primitive Methodist church, more for shelter than for spiritual relief.  The snow was so great that the minister did not even show up and unknown substitute lay preacher stepped into the pulpit and read his text—Isaiah 45:22—“Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is none else.” The minister, apparently not being experienced, simply kept repeating the text over and over. 

            As Spurgeon explains the story, ““He had not much to say, thank God, for that compelled him to keep on repeating his text, and there was nothing needed—by me, at any rate except his text. Then, stopping, he pointed to where I was sitting under the gallery, and he said, ‘That young man there looks very miserable’ … and he shouted, as I think only a Primitive Methodist can, ‘Look! Look, young man! Look now!’ … Then I had this vision—not a vision to my eyes, but to my heart. I saw what a Savior Christ was.… Now I can never tell you how it was, but I no sooner saw whom I was to believe than I also understood what it was to believe, and I did believe in one moment.”  The name of that preacher is unknown despite much historical searching, and little did he know of the impact that the conversion of one teenage boy would have on the kingdom of God.

     John Owen’s conversion is less well known but very close to being the same.  Owen had gone to hear a celebrated preacher, Dr. Edward Calamy.  After arriving he realized that the famous expositor was not there, and thought of leaving.  The preacher for the morning was a stranger from the country who preached from Matthew 7:26 “Why are you fearful, oh ye of little faith?”  Owen credits his conversion to that sermon and though he looked long and hard to find the name of the preacher who had been an “angel of God” to him, Owen was unsuccessful and that name, like the name of the preacher to a young Charles Spurgeon, is lost to history.

                The lessons are clear: God uses suffering and the unknown to do great works.  As I teach my students or step into the pulpit for the occasional sermon, I often think that while I can never be a C. H. Spurgeon or a John Owen, I can be a faithful teacher and preacher of the word.  Who knows who may sit in the chair in front of us?  Let us never think of our work as being in vain for as John Piper says “God will hide much of the results of our work because he desires to glorify himself and not us.”

                To you who are suffering and to you who wonder if your work really matters: remember the incredible impact made by two unnamed and unknown men who were faithful and brought to Christ the bright shining lights of Spurgeon and Owen.  You never know to whom you might be ministering.

“For consider your calling, brethren, that there were not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble; but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong, and the base things of the world and the despised God has chosen, the things that are not, so that He may nullify the things that are, so that no man may boast before God. But by His doing you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification, and redemption, so that, just as it is written, “Let him who boasts, boast in the Lord.” ” (1 Corinthians 1:26–31, NASB95)