Liturgy of Soil

Kneel to the furrows, palms in loam,

Ash of the fathers, seed of home.

Breath like incense, wind-made choir,

Roots beneath us braiding fire.

We read the scripture cut in rings,

Age on age the oak-tree sings.

Name the hunger, name the need—

Lay it down and plant the creed.

Call and answer, heart and hand—

Dust to voice and back to land.

Liturgy of soil—say amen in earth,

Wash the sorrow clean, measure out the worth.

Blood becomes a river, rage becomes a rain,

Turn the prayer with shovel, let the ground take pain.

Liturgy of soil—teach the mouth to sing,

Low and strong and holy in the roots’ dark ring.

Catechism carved in clay,

Promises we work, not say.

Warden bells in stones that warm,

Gospel written leaf and storm.

We lift the names like water pails,

Pour them where the shadow pales.

If we falter, soil remains—

Holding all our broken grains.

Call and answer, heart and hand—

Dust to voice and back to land.

Liturgy of soil—say amen in earth,

Wash the sorrow clean, measure out the worth.

Blood becomes a river, rage becomes a rain,

Turn the prayer with shovel, let the ground take pain.

Liturgy of soil—teach the mouth to sing,

Low and strong and holy in the roots’ dark ring.

Bend, breathe, listen for the hymn—

Worm and thunder, deep and dim.

Lay the blade and lift the stone,

Make a chapel out of bone.

If the night still stains the field,

Let forgiveness be our yield.

Hands in dirt—beat the time.

Pulse of earth—keep the line.

Liturgy of soil—amen, amen,

Turn the grief to green again.

All we carried, all we knew,

Bloom in work and break in dew.

Liturgy of soil—let the living learn,

Every buried pain can turn.