Last weekend I graduated from the Foundations Training Course for Gestalt Pastoral Care that I have been taking this past year, and as part of that work we looked at our ancestry.
Many of my ancestors, both Celtic and German, were farmers. So, I shouldn’t be surprised that working the land, getting my fingers in the dirt and watching things grow, is “in my blood.” I know that both sets of my grandparents always had gardens and fresh produce was a normal part of life with them.
Today, I want to focus on the soil and what it means to work with it. Our scriptures for today reminded us that God created the earth.
This means it is sacred! It is holy! And when I work the earth, particularly when my hands are in the soil, I recognize that I am just a small piece in the ongoing story of God, the land, and humanity.
The Bible is rich with agricultural stories as the first peoples relied on the ground for all their food. Even in Jesus’ time, he used so many agricultural metaphors because that was what the people knew –that was what made sense to them.
When I work the land, I am also often barefoot. Yes, it means my feet get dirty – but there is something about being that close – that close to what is real and that close to what touches the inner parts of my being. You see, I am a panentheist, which is a big word that means that I believe God is in or with everything.
The land is not God, and God is not the land, but God is with the land, and the land is with God.
So when we work with the land, when we touch the ground with any part of our body, we are connecting with God through our bodies and the land.
A farmer, Forrest Pritchard, in his book Gaining Ground1, described it this way: The soil…was soft and dark. I slid my fingers into the dirt, cupping a handful of earth to my nose. The aroma of the broken ground was profoundly rich, at once mysterious and inviting. In the depths of winter – with the pastures grazed low, the sycamores stark and leafless, the creek banks rimmed with ice, and the sky a gray blanket spread from mountaintop to mountaintop – here the earth abided. The soft warmth spoke to me saying, “I’m waiting now, but I will be ready. We are mutual participants, you and I, intertwined.” Indeed, the ground was waiting and now it is beginning to share it bounty.
The definition of soil is: the loose, dynamic layer of Earth’s surface consisting of a living, complex mixture of minerals, organic matter, gases, water, and microorganisms.
The living matter is a combination of worms and bacteria decaying plant and animal matter or humus – “of the ground or lowly.” Humus is where we get our spiritual discipline of humility – not thinking more highly of ourselves – recognizing that we are a small part in God’s great creation.
Humility is also a trait exhibited and valued by Jesus, who was known to lift up those considered to be “lowly” – who said, “But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” (Mark 10:31) He also said, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5)
Humility is not self-deprecation, but rather it is acknowledging what is real and true – as human beings, we are selfish and make many mistakes. In Paul’s words, “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:15) So we acknowledge this and ask for God to remove our failings. Because the reality is: “It’s not about me!”
In April, the Board invited the Rev. Dr. Matt Lenahan to speak with us from The Wittel Farm Project in Elizabethtown which is part of The Lutheran Camping Corporation.
In his presentation, he encouraged us to create a land management program for Rader Park and the area around the main building. He also asked us a profound question: What does the land need? Which changes the conversation.
We have been looking at the ground, the land, and what could happen here as if it were ours. And yes, from a political position, we own the deed to it. But this is bigger than that conversation. This is about remembering that the land is God’s – it always has been and always will be – it is just ours to care for during this time. Before us the Brubaker family tended it. Before them, Native Americans tended it. And someone will tend it after us as those of us in the room will not be here forever.
So what does the “long view” look like? Remembering what it has been over the last centuries and what it could be over the next century. What does the land need so that it not only meets our needs but will meet the needs of generations to come?
May it be so. Amen.
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