Fields of Gold (Part I)

“Come, my beloved, let us go out into the fields…There I will give you my love.”  –Song of Songs 7:11-12

“Therefore we will not fear…Be still and know that I am God.”  –Psalm 46

   There was a glimpse of sanity in the 80s, imagery in song that recalled golden fields, labor and love, and a reminiscing on tender memories shared with those who are yet present with us, and will share our future.  Sting was a renaissance of all that Hardy and Tolstoy tried to capture for us in their stories:  all that unshakeable beauty that was “far from the madding crowd.”  a beauty that modernity has cruelly trampled underfoot in its orc-like pursuit of material and social ‘progress.’  His “Fields of Gold” paints, through word and melody, a world of memory and presence, of longing and contentment, of desire and wonder. 
   We can all sense it:  the fear and apprehension of losing the structures and edifices of clay and iron that we have propped ourselves up on.  But if we are to see unshaken and abiding Beauty, those shakeable things that obstruct our view must be removed:  bow and spear must be shattered; chariots and shields burned; swords beaten into ploughshares; towers, temples, mosques, and churches smashed so that not one stone or timber remains on another; mountains (an ancient symbol of capital cities and national power) must be thrown into the untamed sea, and those who love all such things must be borne away on the wind like chaff.     
        What remains will be unshakeable and abiding Beauty:  a river of life whose sparkling ripples make glad a golden city, while watering fields of golden grain.  It is a place for affection between Christ and His people, a place where all that glitters serves only to enhance mutual love, which then overflows to all creation.   There the beloved Bride and Lover take their rest together after day’s labor:  they “walk and spend their long love’s day,”

passing hands over tassled tops,
plucking, rolling, popping, savoring
plump kernel by plump kernel.
They gaze on the dancing stalks
lightly bent under the caresses of whispering wind.

Whispered words,
kindness’ gentle breeze,
bend thoughts to love.
Eyes like deep pools
gathered to spheres,
now pierce one another,
pouring into one sea.
Deep calls to deep.

Fingertips trace lightly
through tresses of hair,
trailing thrill along face, arm, and hand,
and fingertips touch.
Lovers kiss,
and embrace in sacred stillness.
“Be still and know…you will find rest for your souls.”


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