Worshipping the Ground on Which We Walk

When we worship the ground we walk on, the route is not that infamous road paved with good intentions nor the primrose path. Not even memory lane nor the yellow brick road to Oz. Rather, the basic surmise here is that of ordinary terra firma. However, there’s something magical about this common ground when one develops a reverence for it and those special people in our lives who tread thereupon.

It’s one of those terms of endearment we use almost too casually. “He just worships the ground she walks on” assumes an infatuation with the beautiful and adorned one. The ground is merely the stage upon which, to use the words of Lord Byron, “She walks in beauty like the night/ Of cloudless climes and starry skies;/ and all the best of dark and bright/ Meet in the aspect of her eyes…”

But let’s get back down to earth by taking a hike, which is a great way to worship the ground on which you happen to be walking, even though it can put a hex on certain aspects of such an noble endeavor. A recent stroll in the Blue Ridge this fall forced me to constantly watch the path with rocks and roots hidden beneath the covering of colorful leaves. This concentration did not allow me to look around at the other flora and fauna nor the sky above. Throw in the notion that I saw a delightful waterfall which needed photographing while the rest of the group began to disappear up the river gorge far from sight.

“Stumbling Over Stardust” implies a hike of sorts, and many a time the operative word is “stumbling”, as in falling flat on your aspect of thine own eyes while losing your pride. Like that time when Alice unsuspectingly fell into a rabbit hole and discovered a whole wonderland! At our best we are all accidental tourist making our way on the sacred journey in the search for meaning. The only thing really certain is the ground itself. The good earth. Our own holy ground of being.

Out there, on Mount Horeb, Moses — working for his father-in-law as a temporary shepherd and on the run for a murder charge — happened to see what appeared to be fire in his peripheral vision and turned aside to see this sight for sore eyes. Before he had a chance to beat around the bush, this strange voice started talking: “Moses, I wouldn’t come any closer. Take off those Birkenstocks because you are standing on holy ground.” And that’s when Moses got the word to worship the ground he was walking on because you never know whether you are in the presence of Yahweh in what appears to be only an asbestos shrub.

The guiding light of this blogging enterprise are the words from novelist Marilynne Robinson, urging us to see the paths of stardust on which we are walking worshippers: “I have spent my life watching, not to see beyond the world, merely to see, great mystery, what is plainly before my eyes.  I think the concept of transcendence is based on a misreading of the creation.  With all respect to heaven, the scene of the miracle is here, among us.” The new writer on the block, Lulu Miller, puts an existential twist on it like this: “Nowhere is the sky so blue, the grass so green, the sunshine so bright, the shade so welcome, as right here, now, today… There is a grandeur in this view of life…if you can’t see it, shame on you.”