The Ground Beneath our Feet is Sacred

Every day we walk on sacred ground. We don’t realize it, of course. We see it as the kitchen floor that desperately needs mopping, the carpet that holds “treasures” like last night’s movie popcorn, and the dirt that gets tracked in on rainy days. We think the ground we walk on is utilitarian - not divine.

And yet, each day the ground beneath us is both our landing place and launchpad. It’s the runway for our movements through our own little worlds. It’s the place where we kneel to pray or kiss a child’s boo-boo. It’s the spot where we read a book to one who can’t read, or rush to welcome a friend, or repair the plumbing at the sink for the 5th time. It’s a door’s threshold we walk over every day.

It’s the path where we live out the daily dramas and comedies of our duties and rambles.

This ground - our particular spot on Earth - is where we plant ourselves and where we move. It tells a story about us. Sometimes it tells stories of bravery, tenacity, reflection, and devotion played out against the backdrops of faith, family and work. And sometimes it holds traces of distraction, irritation, anxiety, and chaos.

Either way, “history is bubbling up out of the ground” (Janice Canaday1). Not just the ground, but our ground. Each day, we walk on sacred paths of where we’ve been and where we’re going. Even if it’s just to the kitchen after a long day of caring for our families, or to the backyard for early morning coffee, or down a hallway as we hustle from meeting to meeting.

Each day our feet step on the hallowed intersection of history and present reality.

Each day we’re given the gift of planting and launching.

Every space we occupy is a place where God meets us. Every place can be our Bethel2 - our “House of God” - if we see it as such. As David wrote in the Psalms, “But as for me, I am like a green olive tree in the house of God; I trust in the lovingkindness of God forever and ever.”3

“But as for me.”

My ground these past few weeks has felt more like a treadmill. Between wrapping up ministry events for the year, hosting an extended Thanksgiving gathering, planning a daughter’s spring wedding, as well as the usual preparations for Christmas, my ground has felt uneven and daunting. With my history, it’s tempting to slip into a “survivalist” mindset: just get it done, keep moving, treat each day as a checklist. Don’t think about the path - just push through.

But the path we travel each day becomes part of our story, connecting the past with our present. “History is bubbling up out of the ground.” My history. Your history. And the ground holds stories only the traveler knows.

There’s a quiet warning here: to listen to the sacred in the mundane places we walk.

“This is what the Lord says:

‘Stand at the crossroads and look;
ask for the ancient paths,
ask where the good way is, and walk in it,
and you will find rest for your souls.’

But you said, ‘We will not walk in it.’ (Jeremiah 6:16)

When I was in counseling, I heard about a technique called “grounding” - a self-soothing tool which helps calm overwhelming emotions and keeps us connected to the present moment instead of spiraling into worst-case scenarios.

When I heard about this, I rolled my eyes. How could simply planting my feet on the ground, taking deep breaths, and noticing the physical space around me help with my anxiety? But despite my skepticism, it did. For the first time in my life I was able to pay attention to my own body and mind in a healthy way instead of panicking. Since then, I’ve used grounding to help steady myself in stressful or overwhelming moments. Many times, it’s as simple as planting my feet on the floor and remembering to breathe.

But the bigger gift wasn’t the technique itself, but the invitation to notice where I stand and where I walk. To notice where I am, where I’m going, and where I’ve been. To treat each day as a pilgrimage, of sorts. Not in an overly romantic or symbolic way, but as a calming reminder that each day’s path connects to the larger story of my life and my relationship with God. He’s here. He’s calling me to walk with Him on a journey. One that is good and restful for my soul.

And by noticing where my feet land every day, I see God planting and launching me in ways I never saw coming: through the ridiculously strange habit of writing haiku; through a podcast on the Psalms which doesn’t matter in the big scheme of the Podcast World, but brings me much healing; through reading 50 years of my journals - histories that only God and me know bubbling up through forgotten ground.

I’m reposting a haiku from an earlier reflection on my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage because it’s exactly where I find myself today. I’m trying to listen to the sacred ground beneath me instead of rushing across it. I don’t want to miss out on the connection with God that occurs through paying attention and being present, instead of performing or pushing through. Sacred ground isn’t something I have to find. It’s something I have to notice. Each step is a lesson in listening.

Ancient Paths
     Treading ancient paths
     re - member us, re - connect us
     to solid ground.
     Each step is holy liturgy.