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Pilgrimage to a Barnyard The invitation said, “Write about your spiritual struggle. Tell us how you see Christ and the world differently now.” I was overcome with gratitude and terror—gratitude for the fact someone thought my struggle worth sharing, but terror that this was uncharted water. A Hard, Weird Decision It’s hard to be sure now, and it was hard to be sure then. Part of the struggle has always been not being sure. The beginning was lonely. No one else was doing what I was doing. No neighbor had left a budding career in higher education to undertake the task of managing a farm in an isolated area under difficult economic conditions. Converting a farm from accepted, conventional, chemical, agribusiness management practices to an organic farm was unheard of in the area. Organic agriculture was derided by ag experts, frowned upon by the United States Department of Agriculture, and ridiculed by many farmers. While something compelled me to believe it was the right thing to do, there was no one with whom to check my perceptions or to confirm the weird, new, compelling interpretation of the gospel that began to push its way into my life. Was I crazy? Was I off on an insane journey, deluded by boyhood fantasies of playing in my old sand pit? Was I running home to Daddy’s farm to escape the challenge of urban life? Or was I responding to an unknown and unrecognized ministry that even I didn’t understand? There was no way to know the answers and no one with whom to share the questions. Part of the struggle had to do with letting go. Letting go of other 27 This is an edited version of a paper that originally was published in the Spring 1989 issue of Peniel, a local newspaper serving both South and North Dakota. 28 Cultivating an Ecological Conscience people’s expectations (especially people I cared about) was probably the most unsettling. The dean of my graduate studies, who was also my thesis advisor, had let it be known to a friend that he expected me to become one of the leading thinkers in American theology. Was I letting him down? Was I running away from a responsibility that had been thrust upon me? My colleagues at the university expected me to continue my intellectual pursuits and were concerned that I’d atrophy on a farm in North Dakota. Were they right? My family never said so, but I couldn’t help wondering if they had expected to grow up in a culturally creative urban environment instead of the isolation and economic hardships of a North Dakota farm. Was I letting them down? I had to also let go of fear. That was perhaps the most difficult. There was the fear of the unknown and the fear of failure. Where would all this end? Would I join the ranks of bankrupt farmers, too old to pursue meaningful alternative careers, too broke to start over, too poor to provide basic health care for themselves in their senior years? Second, there was the fear of being discredited. Surely leaving the academic world to manage a farm would not enhance my professional résumé. But would I also be considered inept in the rural community, especially because I was going against the orthodox way of doing things? Was my decision too bizarre to expect anyone to accept it at face value? Colleagues at the university wondered what the “real” reason was. Folks around the farm were certain there had to be “more to it.” Even relatives wondered why I couldn’t hold down a job. From Hard, Lonely Work to Shared Passion Then came the long night of nothing. We made the move and started farming . We made mistakes. We were isolated. We started settling into mundane routines shared by most of our neighbors. We got up early in the morning, worked hard all day, and went to bed tired late at night. Yet, nothing was happening. What kind of calling was this? Slowly, out of night’s loneliness, boredom, and fear, a small light began to shine. We discovered other farmers in the state with a similar passion for caring for the earth. We met farmers who saw “vocation” in their work, a calling to be responsible stewards of the land by providing uncontaminated, nutritious food for the human community. We started a group—sharing our successes and our failures. We shared our pain and...

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