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The Plough, testimony and poem

by Anne Linington⁽¹⁸⁷⁾ Red Star

In April 2006, as part of the Foundation course in Christian Spirituality, a week of guided prayer was arranged. We met as a group at Portsmouth on Sunday afternoon, and would meet up again one week later. Each weekday in between, the participants, about 20-30 of us, would meet individually with an “accompanier”, for half an hour per day. In my case this involved travelling some 24 miles each way, one of the longest possible journeys on the Isle of Wight.

I appreciated the amount of time Mary was committing to me during her busy schedule, and though this was my first experience of this type of “retreat”, I decided, as I often do, that, “In for a penny, in for a pound”. I had no desire to waste either Mary's time or my God-given opportunity, so I would be as open and honest as I possibly could.

The first Sunday introduction had encouraged us to be open to God communicating to us in any way He might choose, and this, along with the knowledge that He would do so in a different way with each participant was exciting. Travelling on Monday morning, I saw a ploughed field, the furrows of which were catching the early morning sun. As I spoke to Mary later, I told her that I had been very moved by this sight, even bordering on tears, and felt that this had touched me at some deep level. I also recalled a dream from the night before, which seemed to highlight some of my fears about the week ahead.

As the days progressed, I worked through various exercises, Bible passages and prayers that Mary had selected from material given to her. I should add that there was also a good deal of on-going support available particularly in prayer. Over the next few days, we explored various areas of my life, some of which were particularly painful. We also looked at possible future ministry, and that these painful experiences can often be used to help others. The concept of a “Wounded Healer” was specially relevant. I found the process very tiring as many retreats are residential with meals provided and no travelling involved.

By Thursday, I was considering the choosing of an object which we had been asked to take to our final session back at Portsmouth on Sunday afternoon. On a table I spotted a horse brass, one of the items I had chosen when Russell's family home was being sold. His family had sold agricultural machinery, and my father had ploughed with horses in Devon. I decided that this brass of a ploughman and a pair of horses would in some way symbolise my week of prayer, and I shared this with my husband. He then found a piece from, “The finishing touch”, a book of daily readings by Charles Swindoll, himself quoting A.W.Tozer's Path to Power:-

“There are two kinds of ground: fallow ground, and ground that has been broken up by the plough.. the cultivated field has yielded itself to the adventure of living. The protecting fence has opened to admit the plough.. the field has been upset, turned over, bruised and broken, but its rewards come hard upon its labours. The seeds shoot up into the daylight..Nature's wonders follow the plough.

He then proceeds to speak of two kinds of lives, the safe yet fallow life, and the adventurous ploughed life that yields fruit through pain. I was so encouraged by this passage, and glad that my husband had been able to find it at that moment.

On Friday, I stopped en-route at a Christian Healing Centre, and popped in to see some friends. I wanted to share with them something of what I believed God was saying to me that week. As I entered the office, Colin was sitting at his desk reading a prayer letter he had received that morning. We were amazed at God's timing, as the publication in his hand was entitled “The Plough”! Inside there was also a quotation from “The Everlasting Mercy”, John Masefield's beautiful poem, where he likens Christ to the ploughman:-

.. I kneeled there in the muddy fallow

I knew that Christ was there with Callow

That Christ was standing there with me,

That Christ had taught me what to be,

That I should plough, and as I ploughed

My Saviour Christ would sing aloud

And as I drove the clods apart

Christ would be ploughing in my heart

As the weeks have passed, I have taken great delight in watching the crops grow in the previously ploughed fields, right though to the Harvest which has just taken place. It is sometimes a painful process to admit the Divine Ploughman into the fields of our lives, but without it there is no growth and no harvest. So when given the opportunity, be brave and let God turn over the soil of our lives, breaking up and breaking down, in preparation for sowing and eventual reaping.

Later I expressed these events in the following poem:

The Plough

How could I have known

That when I opened the creaking gate

Of the field of my life

And invited you in

To do the necessary work

That your activity would be so painful

And yet ultimately

Bring about a harvest?

Setting your plough

To dig down deep

To turn over

And break up

Almost touching the deep bedrock

Of my soul

Revealing me in all my created

Rawness.

Leaving me exposed

Rich pickings for hungry gulls

Whilst all that I had previously

Thought worthwhile

Is torn from its root

Dies

And is re-interred

In the soil

Of my life

Now I lie open and naked

As my neat furrows are

Rained upon

Reduced

Frozen

Broken down

Emptied of all former life

Waiting

Then one day

The returning sun of your love

Gently warming

O'er lengthening days

Begins my re-awakening

Precious seed sown

In prepared ground

Watched over

Anticipated

And the Autumn pain

Brings life

And hope.

Article submitted Sunday, November 01, 2009 & read 65 times.

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