written August 9, 2011
Daily, I beat the dawn. Demanding full control over my body, I jumped, ran & cantered on… In those quiet markers of ordinary collegiate mornings, I often found myself running the perimeter of the cemetery resting directly across the street from my Alma mater.
Zealous youthful days purged themselves into quieter, sometimes darker occasions. As a college student grappling with a deep, personal loss along with an intrigue into the world without, the world within, and the world beyond, I forged for places to tarry alone. Please don’t misunderstand me. I fully immersed myself into study groups, student government, and hilarious friends.
Yet, I had to snitch away from the curious, clever crowds.
Is there a hardiness, an eloquence within this bantering, busy carcass of mine?
Church In The FieldThe sky was one vast ceiling that vaulted out and onDown to starry stain glassed windows of sunsets and of dawnsAn out of doors cathedral day by day revealedI remember church in the fieldI remember church in the fieldThe rain fell like a sacrament on the alter of the soilAnd mixed with sweat that fell from hands content with honest toilThe faith of spring saw harvest that seeds and earth would yieldI remember church in the fieldI remember church in the fieldThere were blazing colorsThere were lovely smellsI encountered passions my poetry can’t tellMere religion hadn’t tamed me yet, my reverence was all realI remember church in the fieldI prayed there without thinkingI worshiped from no cueThe flashing summer thunderstormAnd wild roses fresh with dewAnd to mysteries and music always just concealedI remember church in the fieldI remember church in the fieldThere were blazing colorsThere were lovely smellsI encountered passions my poetry can’t tellMere religion hadn’t tamed me yet, my reverence was all realI remember church in the fieldWritten by Phill McHugh
The song… the stillness…the rhythms… the rising resilience… demands a remembrance. The remembrance demands a response.
“Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
he enables me to tread on the heights.”
Habakkuk 3:17-19 (NIV)