Holy Ground

There is something very holy about working and tilling the soil.

Every year about this time, my biological clock starts going off.

It is time to begin the process of sowing and reaping.

This afternoon, I started by cutting numerous swaths with my riding mower in a field adjacent to the church.  When I was called to St. John, I made it known that I needed a place to garden.  Some place larger than the back yard of the parsonage.  I told everyone it was either find a place for me to have a large garden, or the church would have to spring for a therapist. 

Guess which one they chose. :-)

Behind the church is about a 1/2 acre field.  One can avoid the drain fields of the septic systems and put in a pretty good sized garden.  For the first couple of years, someone tilled the ground for me.  They would still do so if I asked, but I like the work.

Each time I cut a swath, I lowered the deck on my riding mower until I literally scalped the grass to nothing.  Then I fired up my tiller.  The tines cut into the soil beautifully.  The short grass meant no clogged up tines.  Unless one has a Troy-built massive machine, one needs to make a couple of passes to truly break up and then till the soil to where it is nice and loose for planting.  Two times did the trick this time.

There is a very refreshing smell that comes with new tilled soil.  Pardon the pun, but it's earthy.  It's deep.  Even though we are in the midst of a pretty bad drought, recent winter rains and precipitation have left the soil damp.  It adds to the smell.

As I till, I think about all sorts of things.  I get away from the computer and all the instant news.  My mind has time to process.  I can think about things going on in the church.  I can reflect upon conversations with church members.  I can think about God.  I can speak to him with the breeze blowing in my face and the smell of dirt in my nostrils.

I think about when He created the world and then turned His attention to creating man.  Did God sniff the dirt when He formed man out of it?  Breathing deeply, I can almost with certainty say that He did.

I think about Jesus' parables and stories about farming and working in the dirt.  More than a couple of times I have heard "theologians"  (I use that term lightly because of what they say) who pontificate that such imagry is outdated and outmoded for this day and age--a time where technology rules and kids are more familiar with Wii's and PS3's and texting and multi-tasking.  But as my tiller cuts through the soil, and I realize the importance of our connection to farming and ranching for sustinence, I shudder at anyone trying to get rid of all imagery of farming and ranching from scripture. 

No, we don't need new imagery.  We need to help folks connect.  We need to help folks bound by concrete jungles find the freedom of fields of wide open grass or corn or maize or cotton.  We need to help folks come in contact with where their food comes from.  It might change their perspective.

I grew up spending hours on my grandfather's farm.  I walked miles with a cotton hoe in my hand.  God and I had several wrestling matches in the process.  I learned much.

But I learned even more from my grandfather who could cuss with the best of them and drink even more of them under.  But he was a man of deep faith.  He knew his utter dependency upon the Almighty.  He knew if the weather wasn't beneficial, his crop would fail.  He knew how to pray for rain.  He refused crop insurance tellin folks point blank, "If the good Lord wants me to have a crop, I will have a crop."

That's unshakable faith.  Tied to the ground.  Tied to the earth.  Holy ground.

My shoulders and my back ache tonight.  The vibrations of the tiller worked muscles I haven't worked since last summer.  But I don't care.  My hands have delved deeply into the earth.  Like my grandfather.  And my father.  And now me.  And hopefully my son.  And my daughters. 

I hope they come to know the hope, the joy, and the feeling of holy ground.