Land that Mourns

The highest heavens belong to the Lord,

but the earth he has given to mankind.

—Psalm 115:16 

It was the perfect day for a hike. Cool, but not cold, without even a hint of rain. My husband selected a regional park about a 40-minute drive away that promised breathtaking views of the Potomac River. We had never been to this place before, but with Great Falls National Park closed due to government shutdowns, we thought we’d try something new.

The long drive provided us with a visual bounty of fall in all its glory. Varying shades of green were highlighted by orange and yellow hues with occasional bursts of bright red. This was God’s canvas, and he had created a masterpiece.

The park was easy enough to find, but not the entrance to the trail. It was hidden behind an abandoned icehouse on the other side of a private residence. With no other hikers in sight, I thought to myself, this may be a hidden gem.

The first thing Greg and I noticed were the leaves—or rather the lack of them. Instead of greens and yellows, they were brown; and instead of adorning the branches, they were dry and covered the ground. The undergrowth was scarce and spindly, as if it didn’t have the energy to thrive.

As we walked a little further into the woods, we became more aware of the silence. Except for the occasional (and I mean occasional) rustle of a squirrel in the dry leaves, there was no other sound. Not one bird chirp. All was quiet.

When God created humankind, he said, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground” (Genesis 1:28). God’s charge to cultivate the earth and govern the creatures pointed the way to growth and abundance.

Before we had the written word of God, we had the visual word of God. The apostle Paul wrote, “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse” (Romans 1:20). When we look at the mountains, the seas, the trees, and the animals, we should see God’s creative hand, his divinity in all that was made.

As promised, the view of the Potomac River was stunning, but when I turned back to the trail I was saddened by the lack of beauty. With its fallen trees and wild undergrowth, the land felt unkept, abandoned. God used this moment to remind me of his love for creation and mankind’s purpose to cultivate and care for it.   

I did a little research when I got home.

One of the defining battles of the Civil War took place in 1861, less than two miles from the park as the crow flies. Due to faulty information and poor leadership, the battle of Ball’s Bluff claimed the lives of more than half the Union force. Only 49 Union soldiers were killed in action, but more than 700 were captured or went missing as they tried to escape Confederate troops by crossing the Potomac. In the days following the battle, bodies were pulled from the river as far Washington, DC and Mount Vernon.

In the Book of Numbers, God warned how the land would suffer under war. “You shall not pollute the land in which you live, for blood pollutes the land, and no atonement can be made for the land for the blood that is shed in it, except by the blood of the one who shed it” (Numbers 35:33).

I believe the land my husband and I hiked was still in mourning. A year earlier, we hiked a trail through a different Civil War battlefield and experienced the same thing: deafening silence on land that was not flourishing. “The earth mourns and fades, the world languishes and fades; both heaven and earth languish” (Isaiah 24:4).

When I think of the wars and battles and bombings and fires and massacres that have taken place and are taking place, my heart breaks. Certainly, this was not what God intended for his land. Humankind is not the only thing that suffers; all of creation writhes in pain. “For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God” (Romans 8:20–21).

So, as we wait for the second coming of our Lord and Savior, and as we approach Advent, let us pray for healing—for our family and friends, for our nation, for our broken world, and for the earth. It is a gift from God, and it’s the only one we have.

SHARING AN APPROPRIATE SONG: Heal Our Land/Come & Move by Maverick City Music

Favorite lyric: “Oh, Lord, come and heal our land. Here we are, abandoned hearts, on bended knees with outstretched arms.”