Sacred Ground by Brenda Joy Hernandez

“David continued up the Mount of Olives, weeping as he went; his head was covered and he was barefoot. All the people with him covered their heads too and were weeping as they went up” (2 Samuel 15:30).

Fleeing from his kingdom. What once elevated David, was now behind. Betrayed by his son. Rejected as king. His weeping, bare feet, dirty clothes; a portrait of the anguish within.

They called him a man after God's heart. Certainly, he had a calling. For when he defeated Goliath as a young boy, it was by God’s strength. God gave him a name. A place in power and influence over many.

Still, met with a low so deep. So deep, His influence, powerless. His heart, crushed.

At this moment, this low is almost unspoken of. Going unnoticed amongst us, almost reveals a propensity to overlook the inevitable.

We’re told of the Goliaths we can beat like David did.

We’re told of the power, breakthrough, and influence to wait for like David had.

We’re told of how God redeemed that moment and the good that transpired after David lost His kingdom.

But what about that day itself? What about the very ground that David’s tears were dropping on?

What the pain in His feet meant.
What his heart posture revealed.
How the worry in his heart spoke.
The humiliation. The shame.

For on that ground, where every tear was aiming was an answer.
On that ground, his need for something greater magnified.
And on that ground, David’s humanity couldn’t be ignored--for His God became sufficient.

He accepted God’s will. He endured. For a future hope was to come.

Over a thousand or so years later, where David once wept, Jesus would step foot on the Mount of Olives at the Garden of Gethsemane and in anguish, pray earnestly. Pray as his blood dripped from his head like sweat, saturating the ground [Luke 22:44].

A sacred ground, to suffer, and have the very son of God understand so intensely. So severely, his blood would ultimately hit the ground for our souls.

Allowing our weeping, today, to continue pointing to an answer.

For our grief is speaking. Our internal angst tugging, our weary heart reminding.
Our pain, leading. Leading us beyond, not simply in how we will be rewarded in this life. For our earthly pursuits are shooting too low. There’s a greater treasure awaiting. For we are not home. Not yet.

My name is Brenda Joy Hernandez. I grew up a Pastor’s kid in a small west Texas town and am now living the city life in Austin, Texas. I am an elementary school teacher and a lover of travel, sports, food, nature, and animals.