This Is Hallowed Ground....

 By Marilyn Moore

These words were said by the minister who officiated at a graveside service.  He referred to the space in which we were standing, the space in which my friend’s father’s ashes would be buried.  He noted that the ground was hallowed not because of any proclamation, nor because of legal action by a governing board to set aside a designated cemetery space. It was, instead, hallowed by the love of family and friends of the man who had died, joined in spirit with the love and the memories that are gathered across the decades for all those whose remains are buried in that space.  He noted that the ground is hallowed by the faith of those present and of those who are buried there, and that the ground is also hallowed by the lives the deceased have lived, making their homes and communities better places to be.  

I have not captured all that he said, but the phrase “hallowed ground” has lived with me since I heard it.  I don’t hear “hallowed” as a descriptor, or a verb, very often.  I remembered it was used by Abraham Lincoln in the Gettysburg Address, so I looked it up.  His words, said in 1863 upon the occasion of dedicating a portion of the Gettysburg battlefield as a cemetery, “But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground.  The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.”  The minister’s words echo Lincoln’s theme…the ground is hallowed not because someone says so, but because of what has happened.  

Following that graveside service, I drove across Nebraska for a family gathering.  In this early November time of year, the ground is evident.  Most crops are harvested; some remain to be cut.  In some fields, the ground is green with newly planted winter wheat, which will go dormant over the winter.  In some fields, the stalks of recently cut crops remain, and they will remain over the winter, holding the earth in place.  In some fields, crops are still standing, awaiting harvest, their grain having been produced from the richness of the Nebraska soil.  And in pasture lands, varieties of long-stemmed and short-stemmed grasses are hunkering down for the winter, their roots plunging deep into the ground.

It occurs to me that this ground, the the ground that sustains the plant life that sustains all of us, is hallowed, too.  Ancient understandings of the natural world described four elements: earth, water, air, and fire.  All were understood to be important, all were understood to be connected to the others, and in some cultures there were gods or goddesses of each.

Today we know that there are many elements, 118 on the Periodic Table of Elements at present count.  And we know that earth, water, and air are composed of many elements.  We know that fire is a process.  So we know more than the observers of the natural world millennia ago.  But I hope we have the same reverence for those elements, that we recognize the connections among them, that we indeed hallow the earth, the water, and the air. 

Climate change, caused by human activity, is accelerating at a scary pace.  We see and feel the impact in air and in water, with more extreme temperatures, air pollution from fires that burn hotter and longer because of drought, rising ocean levels and more severe hurricanes because of rising temperatures, causing glaciers to met at a more rapid pace.  

The components of climate change affect the ground, too.  Hot weather and drought and strong winds increase erosion, with topsoil literally blowing away.  Higher flood waters that take longer to recede cause damage to the soil that will take years to regenerate, if ever it does.  And as the amount of arable land decreases, the earth that sustains us is less able to do so.  There are increasing number of climate migrants in many places on the planet, those people who are forced to move because the ground and the water that have supported their way of life for centuries is no longer able to do so.  

The ground upon which we stand, that grows our food, that captures rain and holds it for living, growing plants and animals, is remarkable.  It sustains and perpetuates itself with the constant life cycles of decaying plant matter on the surface and below the surface.  The loam that is common in this part of the country is composed of about 50% of sand, silt, clay, and organic matter, and 50% of pockets for air and water.  Left to its own devices, this ground will always support life.  

The question before us, as with our air and our water, is will we take the actions that we must take to preserve it, to assure that our world will be able to sustain life.  This is not just an individual question, though of course our individual actions matter, but a collective question…and a collective question for the whole world.  It’s not just a technical question, but a question of will…and that is much more challenging to face.

Like the ground in a Lincoln cemetery, or the ground in the battlefield at Gettysburg, the ground in Nebraska fields and in yards and gardens and fields everywhere on earth, is hallowed not because of what someone says, but because of what we collectively will do.

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