Binding to the pasture, Chaining to the plow
There is a lovely song called “Homeward Bound” that you may be familiar with. It’s an expression of the ancient, existential longing for freedom–from expectation, from a life determined by birth and circumstance, and ultimately, from home. But in the song, this longing is coupled with faith that freedom will not result in abandonment. There is a certainty of returning home.
These are the lyrics to the chorus:
Bind me not to the pasture,
Chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling
and I’ll return to you somehow.
My scripture reading the past year has been a return to the pasture, so to speak, after some wandering (and wondering). It’s still early in the cycle of my current season, and I’m not sure yet what it will yield. One of the lines from October conference that most resonated with me was from Elder Uchtdorf’s talk–a line where he described belief not as a painting to be admired, but a plow that we take into the fields and use to create furrows for seeds. This concept of belief (and by extension in my mind, religion and all that it encompasses) as a tool to be wielded rather than a prescription to be swallowed felt empowering to me. Empowering and rich with agency.
At the same conference came Pres. Nelson’s challenge for the sisters to read the Book of Mormon (among other challenges). Others have written about their experiences regarding this challenge both here on Segullah and elsewhere, but at the risk of beating a dead horse (as well as seriously overworking a rural metaphor), I thought I’d briefly describe mine.
In short, I didn’t want to do it. I was happy with, and even felt led to, my current path of study and didn’t want to disrupt it for a fire-hydrant-like three months of gulping the Book of Mormon. Pres. Uchtdorf’s words kept cycling through my mind, and I had to decide how to use the tool of my reading time.
In the end, I decided on a compromise. Rather than read the Book of Mormon, I decided to start reading a commentary on it that I bought a few years ago and have been meaning to get to but had never cracked open. It wouldn’t be the same thing as doing the challenge, but it would help me think about and hopefully gain a better appreciation of the Book of Mormon.
The first morning I opened the book I was greeted by the opening line: This book is a plow.
And with that, I started to cry. Because it felt like a message from God to my wandering, wondering heart that it was okay to be in this field and to choose my tools. It felt like a confirmation that I still belonged in this pasture, despite the sense I often have that I do not. It assuaged the guilt I felt at making a conscious choice to not “obey” the prophet (Is it really about obedience? Advice? Or simply accepting a challenge?), but making a choice that still reached toward light.
The risk of telling this or any story is, I think, the risk of people ascribing meaning. This little story isn’t meant as a statement on following the prophet. Rather, it’s a story about mercy. And for all of the things that I don’t know, there are a few that I do. That God is merciful is one of them. And that we long for both freedom and home, the road and the plow, is another. My hope is that we can be merciful with each other as we walk the edges of the two.
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