The Soil Connects us All

Structures decay. So do pages in history books. Even the most polished pews weather. Still, our soul and the soil lives on. If soil is stewarded to embody life, humans will also live on.?

How dare I even touch on the subject of religion, right? It’s so hard to when love is so big and minds can be so finite. Instead I will write about what connects all of life, and everything we build to unite or divide us. What is lasting is that great stretch of land covering the globe that even rolls under the cavernous abyss of the deepest parts of the ocean.?

So foundational it is, land, where from all life arises. More so than even the most carefully laid mortar and bricks, land is not rigid and shortsighted like humans are. Land is us. As the Biblical account tells us, Adam was derived from the soil and his rib gave Eve life to rise with him. Soil we are and to it we will return.?

In-between life and death, our feet traverse the land and we head to “sanctuaries” of our choosing. Some of us visit temples, some tents, sweat lodges, coffee shops, stucco huts, prison cells, street corners, unspeakable gutters, barstools, the pasture, and the shade of a tree.?

We scrape mud off our work boots, or dust off our high heels and head inside the places we choose. We’re in search of love, meaning, truth, or just a place to feel less alone. We’re looking for our origins, for our roots.?

“I am the vine, you are the branches,” Jesus said. We try and remain with God, to stop and feel God within us. Our sacredness is rushed though. The world sucks us forward.?

Yes, vines. Here we are, fruit on life’s shared tree where we’re all hanging on vines for dear life, by the grace of a mysterious and loving God. It’s so deep and I have so many questions about it all.

We pluck tomatoes off our mortal vines and boast about how many we grew. Or, we don’t grow any. We talk about something else. The structures can become status quo routines. We’re sometimes surrounded by a host of people in these structures, surrounded yet even more alone. Our brains are all woven differently. It’s just the way it is, some question more, some battle more, some run away from it all, others give their life to it all, others think they can pay their way to Heaven, still others don’t have two dimes to rub together to even try. Yet all of us, despite our differences, long for connection and hope.?

This time of year I do anticipate the warm glow of Christmas Eve services. The singing of “Silent Night,” a favorite hymn of mine. And one can’t help but feel a light inside when the recessional, “Joy to the World” pumps gloriously from the pipe organ.?

Some years the sidewalks to churches need to be scooped to make way for elementary-aged shepherds, angels, and little hearts and minds playing Mary, Joseph, and the Baby. All of us sinners shuffle along inside to see them. Some of us have glitter on our sweaters, a few of us shine our shoes. The suits come out for some, and others are just glad they made it finally inside with children dressed and ready to go. Some arrive with a few spirits on their breath, (celebrating early). We’re all sojourners seeking the Holy Spirit too. Others never experience it, because they have never been asked. They don’t feel good enough or they simply don’t know. But yet, here we all are, not good enough either. Yet, God loves us all, those shuffling in and those who feel shut out.?

For many Lutherans, Christmas Eve is the main event. I mean why wait to meet the Savior King and the sacks of nuts, fruit, and chocolate stars they hand out after service is over. Then we head home and see if Santa stopped by. It’s a combination of the divine, secular, tradition, pagan even, that makes up the fabric of the season. Its celebratory center is warmth, giving, and as Christians a pause to consider the miracle of a Holy birth.?

Yes, long ago, a brilliant star illuminated the path for wise men to traverse in search of the King of Peace. A moment recorded forever. A birth. A baby. A God that would die and rise again for us all. That’s what Christians believe anyway. Others believe something else, or nothing at all. We group together in structures with our beliefs. Beneath us, the land connects us all.?

The seeker in me likes to consider the wise men the most. I think of their journey, a very specific one. Seekers, perhaps a few steps ahead of ancient “preachers,” paving the way, always on the move. Confident in the call of destiny, their exploration is a sort of spiritual quest too. Exploration, like land, connecting all human hearts.?

On the move, that’s where I prefer to be. Structures can be marveled at, but maybe there’s something even more profound in that grand stretch of potential in-between. You know, that land we’re all made of, the microbes within the belly of the soil, the same microbes in our bellies too. That foundation, “just a few inches deep of topsoil” we all rely on for sustenance.?

The powerful soil. The Alpha and Omega. Our shared beginning and end. We all meet somewhere upon it, to find each other, God, and purpose. That’s about as good as I can mortally explain it. We’re from the soil, me and you. Structures are meant for us to marvel at, made by mortal hands. But healthy soil is worlds within worlds, and even more majestic than all that moth and rust destroys.

Land is the ultimate gift of love from God. The Creator’s love is woven in that land and water for all of us to share. My heart tells me if we breathe life into the land as God intended, instead of biting and destroying each other and our natural resources, the land will love us back. It will love us and future generations.?

The land is all our home. Let’s share in its unfathomable potential. Let’s share the ultimate gift that connects us all.?

Copyright? 2024 All Rights Reserved, Kerry Hoffschneider