Small Acts of Hope
If God loves this physical, here-and-now world and is continually at work renewing and transforming it, we should, too.
Review by Elise Tegegne
One crisp Sunday in October, my husband, neighbor, and I all drove our small children away from our homes in central Indianapolis, to a farm about forty minutes outside of the city. Amid the pony rides, tennis ball catapults, and corn mazes, we discussed how our children have only vague notions of what a farm really is. “The other day I asked my son where food comes from,” our neighbor was telling us. “His answer: ‘The grocery store!’” I (who only have vague notions about farms myself) smiled at the punch line, but also sighed. In this Anthropocene age, our modern lives are increasingly disconnected from the land that sustains us.
In Agrarian Spirit: Cultivating Faith, Community, and the Land, Norman Wirzba encourages readers to renew their connection with the land through agrarian ways of being. But such a lifestyle doesn’t necessarily mean becoming a farmer. Indeed, “there is too much bad farming and too much injustice in the past.” Being agrarian is to work together with others for the wellbeing of one’s community “by developing the practical skills that cultivate the material and social goods—things like fertile soil, clean water, abundant green spaces, nutritious food, genuine health care, safe neighborhoods, beautiful homes, child and family support, youth empowerment, inclusion and honoring of the elderly, and worthwhile work—that promote a thriving world.” It is working towards the flourishing of all living things.
Having grown up in a culture that often pitted environmentalism and faith against each other, I was particularly appreciative of how Wirzba unearths a philosophical and theological framework, revealing the inextricable link between the two. God’s love for the material world is evident in creation; in the midst of creating birds and stars and oceans, God “regularly pauses to note how good and fitting their being is.” Throughout the Scriptures God reveals his desire to be present with the creatures he has made. God, Wirzba argues, is “the primordial and essential Agrarian—the One who creates and sustains the world by planting, gardening, farming, and shepherding life.” If God loves this physical, here-and-now world and is continually at work renewing and transforming it, we should, too.
On a practical level, this looks like developing “material intelligence” like home repair, baking, animal husbandry, and gardening. Recently, I experimented with the wild chemistry of sourdough bread. To make the starter, I mixed water and flour in a recycled peanut butter jar, fed “my pet,” watched life bubble mysteriously. Wirzba would say such engagement with the life processes of creation joins our “love to the divine love that creates and daily sustains a world that is good, beautiful, fragrant, pleasing, and delicious… and so communicate that this world and its creatures and things are worthy of our cherishing.” Breadmaking—and other tactile arts—are expressions of love.
Rather than distinct individuals inhabiting the sealed containers of our bodies, we are profoundly woven together with all that exists in an infinitely complex “meshwork.”
At its root, the agrarian perspective seeks to collapse the mind-body dualism that elevates the immaterial over the material. Wirzba traces the history of this artificial bifurcation from Socrates to its modern iterations, such as the desire to escape planet earth into space. Rather than distinct individuals inhabiting the sealed containers of our bodies, we are profoundly woven together with all that exists in an infinitely complex “meshwork.” “Who you are,” Wirzba writes, “is not reducible to yourself. You are a zoo of creaturely life.”
Not only are we enmeshed in all that exists, we are unable to survive without a myriad of creatures and life processes that we can hardly fathom. Wirzba calls readers to realize their “embodied dependence on the land, its waters and water, and all the diverse microbial, plant, and animal life they support.” We depend on creation, and creation depends on us. I am reminded of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s refrain in Braiding Sweetgrass: “All flourishing is mutual.” Understanding one’s place as deeply entangled in the lives of all that exists—from microbes to bees to dandelions—should lead one to become “a companionable and caring presence wherever one is.”
All of this could’ve left me feeling helpless, bur fortunately, Wirzba offers six agrarian exercises to cultivate: prayer, sight, descent, humility, generosity, and hope. Rather than view the earth as a mass of resources to be appropriated and controlled solely for anthropomorphic ends, Wirzba calls readers to view all of life as a sacred gift from God. Theologically speaking, “a grateful heart is a conduit organ that continuously receives the love of God and gives it to others.” To whom much has been given, much is required. For Wirzba, this involves nurturing, supporting, and caring for our communities, which include not just our human and nonhuman neighbors, but our workplaces, parks, and waterways.
Part of being humble is recognizing one’s vulnerability.
My favorite chapter was on humility, a deeply counter-cultural value. Part of being humble is recognizing one’s vulnerability. Wirzba quotes Erinn Gilson who says, “When we deny [our dependence] we also forfeit the occasions in which empathy, compassion, and solidarity can be cultivated as personal ideals.” Having grown up in a culture where self-sufficiency is fiercely venerated, I have often been struck by the vibrant interdependence of my husband’s home culture of Ethiopia. In general, Ethiopians feel free to pour themselves out in service to others, because they know others will care for them. Visitors to Ethiopia routinely remark on the gentleness of those they meet. Perhaps this tenderness is rooted in an awareness of each person’s essential vulnerability, an awareness apparent in Christ’s “ministry of touch.” Wirzba observes that “the goal of a Chrsitian life is not to escape from our entangled embodiment but to practice the divine touch that cherishes our life together.”
Though Wirzba recognizes the brokenness of the world, he does not go far enough to acknowledge its extent. Wirzba holds that all of life is sacred, animated by God’s breath, but I wonder about nefarious expressions of life, like viruses and hurricanes. Are these, too, expressions of divine love? A dash of Annie Dillard’s unsentimental wonder at the fearsomeness of nature shown in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek would be fitting. It is worth mentioning that many of the practices Wirzba encourages in the book—growing vegetables, buying local, advocating for healthy agricultural lands—are luxuries for many.
Participation in the “sacred power that creates, nourishes, heals, and reconciles life” is how Wirzba defines hope. Though the farm my family and neighbors visited was not an accurate or full portrayal of agrarian life, it did provide a start. Traipsing through a field of fat pumpkins, our children were able to see how gourds grow from the earth. Perhaps pumpkin picking is one small way to participate in God’s restoration of the world, a small act of hope.
Elise Tegegne lives in Indianapolis with her husband, toddler, and piles of books. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Ekstasis, Dappled Things, and Fathom, among others. Connect with her at elisetegegne.com, Facebook, or on Instagram @elisetegegne.
Agrarian Spirit was published by Notre Dame Press on August 1, 2022. Fare Forward appreciates their provision of a copy to our reviewer. You can purchase your own copy from the publisher here.
