For all of my fathers…
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I watched "Field of Dreams" with my wife the other night – a movie she had somehow never seen before. At the end, as the camera panned out and the seemingly infinite stream of cars arriving at the ball field in Iowa comes into view, she stared at me aghast, mouth open. "THAT'S IT!," she said. "People like this movie?" I love it, but hey, I've got a man-crush on Kevin Costner so it's to be expected.
Seriously though, the movie is called 'Field of Dreams' – not 'field of actual events' or 'field of analytical history' or 'field of non-metaphorical, objective truth.' NO! It's "DREAMS!" The story requires a bit of interpretation – looking beyond the script to the broader narrative driving it.
It is truly a story of resurrection – new life that arises from the meaning of another in death. Costner's character, Roy, is introduced as a man in the midst of personal crisis. He finds himself in a liminal position – caught between his past and an uncertain future as a novice farmer amidst an Iowan cornfield. You know how the story goes. Working in the corn he begins to hear voices from beyond – initiating a journey that leads him to cut down prime acreage to build a baseball field, kidnap a famous author and open his mind and heart to possibilities beyond the pale of orthodox existence. In his vulnerability Roy takes action to fill the void within his being. He creates a place of welcome for the outcast and excluded from baseball's past. He creates an opportunity for a hardened and now-recluse revolutionary to find his way again – to be re-awakened to the living out of his true calling. Roy awakens even his own family to the possibilities beyond. His daughter embraces it with innocence, his wife with some hesitation (having her feet in both worlds), and eventually even the asshole brother-in-law's eyes are opened – recognizing that there's more to life than money, and that sometimes the true worth of something can't be seen in it's typical use and setting.
"Ease his pain," the voice said. In the end it is not Shoeless Joe or even Roy's father whose pain needs easing…it is Roy's. It was the pain of a love held within. The pain of never speaking it, never showing it, never offering it to a father he had cut out of his life. And when his father died, the possibility of ever giving that love away had seemingly been cut off. Love is a strange and dynamic force. In operation it has the power to transform lives, societies and even the world. But, left stagnant, it becomes like a festering poison – destroying us and our ability to move forward. Yet, the voice and the field gave Roy a chance – an opportunity to release that love held within. He risked his own sense of certainty (some might call this 'faith') to ease the pain of others. Eventually in that, he found a peace for his own pain – a metaphorical 'one more catch' with dad in the backyard. And I think that's where the truth of this story lies.
The power of resurrection is not in making things again as they were before. Rather it is in the transformation of what is into what might be – the transfer of dreams and hopes from one who is no longer here into new life in those who remain. Our loss hurts so badly because we loved, and were loved, so much. When the object of our deepest affections has moved beyond our reach where then do we return love? It seems that in risking our love toward others, we have an opportunity for continuing love lost – bringing life to those in desperate need of our touch now, and continuing the life and meaning of the one whom we can no longer embrace.
My grandfather died ten days before I was born. I've yet to fully grasp the tangled web of emotion my father must have felt at my birth. Laying his beloved father to rest one moment, then welcoming a new – and unexpected (I've never been told this, but I can do the calculus) – child in the next. Yet, if there is one thing I am certain of, it is my father's love – his deep, abiding affection for this wandering soul who is in many ways still a baby boy. My grandfather never held me, but I've felt his embrace. My grandfather never told me a bedtime story, but I've felt the whisper of his voice upon my ear. My grandfather never shared a bit of timely and timeless advice with me, but his sage wisdom has graced the shuffled pages of my bibliography. I have experienced my grandfather's love...because my father loves me. The dust and dirt grandpa trod are continually upon my own feet because my father continued his journey with me, my brothers and mother and those others he has met along the never-ending road. For my father, I pray my life and my love will 'ease his pain.' – D. Christian Nix, 6/19/10
