The field lies fallow, great clods of earth in rich cocoa hues. Yet there’s a furrowed channel – a crease in the brown bosom ready to nurture her young. And in it, a man walks.
His skin is deeply tanned, his hair like the earth below his sandaled feet, and his clothes the simple attire of a farmer. When he looks up, the light and joy that emanate from his eyes, his smile, his countenance, leave no doubt to his identity – it’s Jesus. The sun with skin on. He surveys the land, almost as if waiting. Is he catching his breath or holding it?
A child calls from behind him, and Jesus’ breath escapes as laughter, ringing out in harmony with the young voice beckoning to him. He turns expectantly, and the boy takes off toward him full-tilt, stumbling over mounds of dirt and finally crashing into an awkward embrace of Jesus’ leg.
“Can I work with you?” he asks between heaving breaths. “I want to help!”
“Of course, my child!” laughs Jesus, giving his hair a playful ruff. “You’ve gotten so big. I’m sure you’ll be a great help to me.” Jesus looks as delighted as if twelve able men had stepped onto his field. He loosens the cord at his waist and slips off the satchel of seeds. “There, see if you can carry that while I show you how to sow the seed.”
The boy nods and stands up straighter. “I can do it!” He grins, grabs the satchel the size of his head, and reaches in to scoop a handful of seeds.
“Now just a moment,” cautions Jesus, still brimming with joy. “There’s a bit of technique to it so that the seeds spread out properly.” He dips his hand into the satchel, then sprinkles the seeds ahead of him in short, rocking bursts. “See? Now you try.”
The child jams his hand into the bag and brings it out with such force that dozens of seeds spill out at his feet. Ashamed, he looks up at Jesus with puckered brow. “Ah, it’s okay,” comforts Jesus, “my Father will cause the growth.”
Jesus nods encouragingly, and the boy tries to sprinkle the seeds as Jesus did, but he opens his hand too wide, and most fly out on his first shake. Jesus laughs and bends to squeeze his shoulder. “That’s wonderful! Keep trying!” Brightening, the child tries again, this time with a somewhat better result.
They carry on like this, sprinkling seeds, laughing, and bumping into each other playfully for some time, but when the child looks back over his shoulder, he sees birds descending on the field, gobbling up many of the seeds they’ve just sown. “Oh no! Look, Jesus!”
“Yes, sometimes we feed the birds, too, my child. But don’t worry. My Father will cause the growth.” Jesus notices the boy wiping his brow, still looking concerned. “I think it’s time for a rest.”
They walk to the shade of a large tree together and lean against its trunk. From somewhere, though the child hasn’t a clue where, Jesus produces a flask of water and some fruit. They lean back together, savoring the serenity of the moment while dreaming of the harvest.
“Are you ready?” Jesus eventually asks, that irresistible twinkle ever dancing in his eyes. “I think you might be the right size for this now.” He reaches behind the tree and grabs a hoe.
“I … I don’t know.” The boy looks skyward from his seated position at the long-handled tool. “Are you sure?”
“Why don’t you stand up and give it a try?”
The child rises and finds himself now at the height of Jesus’ shoulder. He begins to open his mouth to comment on the change, but Jesus leans in and whispers, “See? My Father is causing the growth.” With a wink and a chuckle, Jesus hands him the tool.
The young man tests its weight, swinging it easily in his hands. Jesus feigns being impressed, and they both laugh. Stepping back onto the field, the young man swings the hoe at a clump of dirt, and it cleaves beneath his blow.
“That’s it!” Jesus claps him on the back. “Now you can soften the soil before the seeds are sown.” The two take on a new rhythm, punctuated with heaves and thwacks between the easy flow of conversation and laughter.
Eventually they pause to rest again, this time at the young man’s request. Jesus seems pleased. The two have become steady companions, and much of their time in the shade is shared in silence.
Two figures move on the other side of the field. They’re small, possibly children, and their direction seems aimless. Jesus and the man rise to get a better look, and they’re nearly the same height now. “Should I …?” The man glances at Jesus.
Jesus beams. “Definitely.”
The man strides across the field, earthen clods now submitting beneath his weight. He approaches the two children, sees their confusion, and drops down to one knee. “Hey,” he begins, keeping his tone gentle as he often heard Jesus do, “are you lost?”
They nod and cling to each other.
“Well, good news. This is my friend’s field, and he said you’re welcome to join us here. In fact, he’d love it if you’d help him plant some seeds. Want to meet him?”
The children nod, giggling and pointing behind the man. He turns, curious, and lets out a belly laugh himself when he sees Jesus hanging from the tree branch like a monkey, waving at them.
“Come on, I’ll race you!” he says, and the three of them tear across the field toward Jesus, who drops down to crouch in the grass with his arms spread wide, ready to embrace his new children.
The man runs just behind them, playing as if he can’t keep up, lost in the joy of the chase. Their small feet barely make an impression in the soil, but each place his foot lands is enfolded by the earth, and as he lifts his heel, a tender shoot unfurls her head. One sprout after another races to grow skyward in each footprint like an emerald sea-wave rippling after him.
The children tumble into Jesus’ arms as the tree rustles in applause and the field waves her green plumage. Taken in wonder, the man drops to his knees, enveloped in the impenetrable light of Jesus’ laughter.
And the field is fallow no more.
Inspired by Matthew 11:28-30, The Message
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”
