Land

“Earth is so thick with divine possibility that it is a wonder …we can walk anywhere without cracking our shins on altars.” 
                                     Barbara Brown Taylor
                                                          An Altar In The World

As we continue our journey through the sacred rhythms of creation, we move from light to water, and now onto land. According to Genesis, God draws land from the waters and calls it good.

The land holds everything we need to survive and thrive. It not only keeps us grounded but offers us the most basic assurance of God’s provision.

In seasons of uncertainty, when the world trembles under our feet, faith asks us to trust. When everything feels unstable, we cling to what has always held.

​In the beginning was God’s Word. And this is what it said:

And God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear.” And it was so. God called the dry ground “land,” and the gathered waters he called “seas.” And God saw that it was good. Then God said, “Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds.” And it was so.  The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the third day.            Genesis 1:9-13

​Once again, God speaks and what was once hidden beneath the chaos becomes visible. Solid. Real. Seeds begin to sprout. Roots stretch out. Life finds its footing.
 
Geologists and biologist certainly tell a much longer, more detailed story. But scripture invites us into a more simplistic and poetic one. Where the earth is not just formed but held. Where life doesn’t just appear but is wrapped in something sacred.
 
Julian of Norwich wrote, “Just as the body is clothed in cloth, and the flesh in skin, so are we, soul and body, clothed in God.”
 
I invite you, right now, wherever you are, to take off your shoes. And feel the holy ground beneath you. See how God is closer than you think.

In the beginning, light became the first incarnation of God. Which makes me see Creation as the first bible. Every pebble, mud pit, or thorny vine is a divine revelation of God’s holy presence.
 
St. Francis of Assisi grasped this concept well.  He befriended nature, preached to birds, sang to animals; believing we’re all interconnected with one another and with God. He named the land Mother Earth, called the moon Sister. And took in a wolf he called brother. It was this understanding of his oneness with creation that helped Francis better understand the mystery of God’s divine handwork.
 
Francis invites us to walk more slowly, to listen more deeply—not as owners of the earth, but as those rooted in belonging, clothed and sustained by God’s grace. This is how we dig deeper into that internal wellspring that we talked about last week. Where we draw from the spiritual waters of life.
 
Henri Nouwen wrote, “Spirituality is not about floating above life, but about grounding ourselves deeply in the reality of our existence.”
 
You see, faith isn’t an escape hatch. It’s how we plant ourselves in the here and now, in the very presence of God. Jesus says something similar, calling us to abide in life like branches that belong to the vine. “Abide in me, and I in you,” he says, “…a branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it remains in the vine” (John 15:4).
 
Just as the grape that is closer the main vine produces the better fruit,  the closer we are to the land, the more grounded we become to God. Which is why whenever I travel to a new place, I take my shoes off and get grounded. Not only does it remind me of my belonging, but it also helps avoid jet lag.
 
My own relationship with the land goes all the way back to childhood. You could say I got grounded a lot. When I got in trouble, my dad didn’t send me to my room—he sent me outside to weed the garden.

Knees on the ground. Hands in the dirt. Sweat and soil becoming one. I believe this is where my spiritual journey began, with a part of God crusted under my fingernails.
 
One day our minister stopped by and saw me out there weeding. He said, “When we dig in the dirt we remember where we came from.”

I thought he was trying to sanctify my punishment. It took me many more years of digging to understand that we are made of earth and breath. And we are a part of what God has declared “Good” from the start.
 
Jesus spent a lot of time teaching about the land. One of his most famous parables—The Sower and The Seeds—isn’t really about the seeds but the soil! Some of it’s hard. Some of it’s shallow. Some is choked with thorns. But among all these different types, there’s good soil. Jesus describes that soil as the one that can receive God’s Word and let it grow from within.
 
Which soil best represents you, or the space your in right now? Are you feeling hardened, shallow, or a bit thorny? Maybe you’re ready to go deeper into your spiritual journey?
 
If you know this parable, then you know the sower throws seeds everywhere. He doesn’t care where it lands, or how much he wastes. He just tosses seeds here, there, and everywhere.

This is Jesus’ way of saying God scatters love and grace wildly and liberally. But it’s up to us to receive it and grow it.
 
To quote Richard Rohr, “The soul is like a field: it must be plowed and opened, softened and watered.” This is what the land teaches us. Being grounded isn’t about being religiously rigid. It’s about being soft enough to let love take root—so more love can grow.

Maybe your heart needs to be broken open and softened to receive what God is offering. After all, a seed doesn’t grow on the surface. It begins underground, in the dark. 

The seed always digs deep before it rises—trusting the unseen until it’s rooted enough to handle the light. Such grounding is imperative to our physical, emotional and spiritual survival.  It’s how we learn to stand strong and face the forces that try to take us down.
 
The great American poet, Wendell Berry writes, “Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years.” This poem teaches us that the most beautiful parts of faith are often hidden for a while—until the roots settle in.
 
That’s the kind of slow, sacred work we’re cultivating at Anamesa—in the rich soil of love. Here, in this sacred space, we want your roots to have room to stretch. We want to make sure your soul is nourished, so your spiritual fruits have a chance to blossom.
 
But do your trust your faith enough to plant yourself deeply here in God’s care, trusting that the small, unseen things—the compost, the roots, the dark soil of ordinary days—are where your faith quietly grows, and moves you closer to understanding the mysteries of God?
 
The prophet Jeremiah writes, “Blessed are those who trust in the Lord…they shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream” (Jeremiah 17:7-8).

This is the slow, sacred rhythm of the land. And of those who are rooted in love.
 
So this week I invite you to keep your shoes off. Step onto the earth—be it grass, gravel, or the beach—and simply feel God’s good and holy creation grounding you. Let it be a reminder of who you are and where you belong. You are a part of this earth, the dust and dirt and mud. And you are made good.
 
Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “Earth is so thick with divine possibility that it is a wonder …we can walk anywhere without cracking our shins on altars.” Why is that? Because the earth is holy and good. And so are you. So let’s build something beautiful upon it. Not just a community in the space between. But an altar in the world where love is the offering.
 
Like St. Paul prayed, “May Christ dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.” (Ephesians 3:17).
 
To be rooted and grounded in love is to be like Christ in a world that is hard and hurting.
 
To be like Christ is to become a place where others feel welcomed and safe enough to set down roots.
 
Simone Weil leaves us with this, “To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.”
 
This is our calling, a sacred part of our spiritual journey. Because Jesus doesn’t just usher in the kingdom of heaven, he welcomes us and sends us into it, to be a people unafraid to get our hands dirty, to help others find their footing in God’s heart.
 
We are his body. His sacred hands and feet, grounded in grace and growing together in all the wild and wondrous ways we love God, love others, and serve both.
 
This is our belonging. And how we remain the sacred and holy soil where love grows deep and everyone who receives God’s Word can blossom and bloom.

Work Cited:
Special thanks to Glen McWherter and his 8Moves practices. Learn more at 8moves.com
Wendell Berry, "Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front," in The Country of Marriage (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1973), p. 52.
​Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, trans. Clifton Wolters (London: Penguin Books, 1966), Chapter 5.
Henri J.M. Nouwen, paraphrased from themes in The Genesee Diary and Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life (New York: Doubleday, 1975).
Richard Rohr, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality (Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2007), p. 68.
Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith (New York: HarperOne, 2009), p. 15.
Simone Weil, The Need for Roots: Prelude to a Declaration of Duties Toward Mankind, trans. Arthur Wills (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1952), p. 41.