The Field of Pearls

There was a farmer...

There was a farmer named Elias and his wife, Hannah. They didn't have much. A little house, a patch of dirt, two oxen and enough faith to plant seed and trust God for the rain. Then one of the oxen died. Right before planting season. Elias tried to borrow another, but everybody needed what they had. Then the rain came. All around him, fields were being ploughed. Everybody was moving. Except Elias. He sat at home watching the season pass him by. Hannah finally looked at him and said. "Get up." Elias told her there was no point. One ox couldn't pull the plough. Hannah looked toward the field. "Then you've got two." She walked outside, harnessed the ox to one side of the plough and put herself on the other. They had a field. They had seed. God had sent rain, so they were going to plant.

Everybody saw the burden. Nobody picked up the rope.

Everybody saw them

The ox pulled. Hannah pulled. Elias pushed the plough through the mud. People stopped along the road. Some stared. Some whispered. Some probably had opinions about what Elias should have done differently.But nobody stepped into the field.

The Next Field

The following planting season another farmer lost his ox. Elias heard about it. This time he didn't stand on the road. He took his extra ox and walked into his neighbour's field. The neighbour said, "I can't repay you." Elias smiled. "I know." Someone had once stepped into his field. Now it's his turn. Maybe that's Church. Not a building full of people talking about the field. People walking into it. So this harvest season, look around at your street, your neighbourhood, your town, your parish because somebody is carrying something heavy. Don't just notice them. Don't just talk about them. Don't just drive past.

Somebody stepped in

A wealthy landowner named Nathaniel came down the road, harnessed beside the ox and shouted: "Stop! Untie her!" Elias looked at him. "It's easy to tell somebody to put down their burden. It's another thing to help them carry it." Then he held out the rope. "If you really want me free, take her place." There it was. A rope lying in the dirt. Nathaniel had a choice. Keep walking, or pick it up. He picked it up, murmured and, stepped into the the mud and pulled. Soon he was sweating. His hands hurt. His clothes were filthy. And suddenly Nathaniel understood something he couldn't understand while standing on the road. Eventually one of Nathaniel's servants arrived with another ox. Nathaniel gave it to Elias. "Finish your field." Then he continued down the road.

Then came the harvest

Weeks passed. The field grew. But one small patch remained bare. It was the place where Nathaniel had pulled the plough. Elias took his spade and began digging. He struck something. A pearl. Then another. And another. Elias gathered them and brought them home. Hannah looked at the pearls. "These came from where the stranger worked." So Elias went looking for him. Only then did he discover that Nathaniel was one of the wealthiest landowners in the region. Elias placed the pearls before him. "These belong to you." Nathaniel refused. Elias smiled. "If I'd known your sweat turned into pearls, I would've had you plough the whole field." Nathaniel laughed. Then he pushed the pearls back toward Elias. "Keep them." And somewhere in that conversation, both men understood: the pearls weren't the greatest treasure. The lesson was.

I've been thinking about that rope

After forty years of ministry, I keep coming back to the same thing. Jesus rarely stayed on the roadside. He moved toward people. The sick, the lonely, the grieving, the rejected. The people religious folks sometimes preferred to talk about rather than sit beside. Jesus entered their fields. And that's where this little parable starts bothering me, because I can preach about compassion. I can teach about mission. I can talk about loving my neighbour. I can wear the shirt. Put the sticker on the car. Attend another meeting. Write another mission statement. But sooner or later somebody hands me a rope. And then I have to decide whether I actually believe all the stuff I've been preaching.

"Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ."

Galatians 6:2

Sometimes love looks like mud

I've learned something over these years. Love isn't always dramatic. Sometimes it's a hospital chair. Sometimes it's answering the phone. Sometimes it's coffee across a kitchen table. Sometimes it's listening to the same story again because somebody needs to tell it again. Sometimes it's showing up when everybody else has gone home. Sometimes it's standing beside someone when you can't fix a damn thing. No spotlight. No applause. No great sermon. Just presence. Just somebody saying: "You don't have to pull this alone."

What are we harvesting?

We talk a lot about numbers, programs and growth. But maybe there is another harvest. Maybe every time we step into somebody else's field, God grows something in us too - compassion, patience, humility, mercy, courage and love. Maybe those are the pearls.