those of us who would live as the people of the Way? It might come as a shock, but those of us called to that life are called to craziness, too.
—PRESIDING BISHOP MICHAEL CURRY1
I was pretty sure I was crazy the day I handed over $15,000, ten acres, and the keys to my house to fulfill God’s dream.
Cofounding Plainsong Farm wasn’t what I had planned for my life. But God started murmuring to me about this ministry in the early years of the twenty-first century. God whispered about the renewal of discipleship integrated with the care of Creation. God called me toward creating a farm where people could reflect on scripture, be encouraged in spiritual growth, and engage in the practices of sustainable agriculture.
It was a lovely fantasy, but hardly practical. And I could ignore a whisper.
By 2008 God had turned up the volume. Now the call was coming clearly. As I began to hear it more fully, I started speaking to others about this vision for ministry. Back then, I cried every time I talked about it. I thought this meant it might be important. I remembered hearing in seminary that tears were once understood as a sign of the Holy Spirit. But my doubts about my sanity were quickly reinforced when I shared the dream for Plainsong Farm with others. Every member of my small clergy group—and our leader—gave me a blank stare. I talked with my spiritual director; he appeared puzzled. These were professionals at hearing from God and responding. Surely they knew more than I did. I buried the call once more.
I was resistant, but God is patient. However, God knows how to turn up the volume. By 2013 I could not pray without hearing, loudly and insistently, the call to begin Plainsong Farm. That’s when I realized that I was afraid to die without trying. I didn’t want to have that conversation with my Lord. That’s when I began to pray the prayers that led to the founding of Plainsong Farm.
God brought the farm into being; I didn’t. We wouldn’t be here at all without divine intervention. And we still barely exist. In our start-up phase, we learned that any farm has to get ten years under its belt before it has a solid foundation. So this isn’t the story of how Plainsong Farm began, because we’re still beginning. This is the story of why Plainsong Farm began. Even though I thought I might be crazy, I can now see rationality behind the call—logic based on Holy Scripture and contemporary organizational change theory. That logic wasn’t apparent to my clergy group or my spiritual director. That is why the church needs this book.
As I faced forward into the dream of the farm, I couldn’t see why a farm-based ministry made sense. Only in hindsight has it become clear: this new beginning occurred both because of preparation God provided over twenty years of reading, ministry practice, and the crazy willingness to leap. My husband and I turned over the keys to our house, our barns, and the use of our ten acres to a family we barely knew. My cofounders and I self-funded a ministry start-up; we worked without pay while we tried to bring a dream to life. I left a perfectly good, compensated ministry role with a perfectly wonderful congregation just because I couldn’t juggle it all anymore.
I thank God for the call of our presiding bishop naming the need for crazy Christians. We do need some crazy Christians. I might qualify.
But in all honesty, I don’t think I’m faithful enough to have taken all those steps without a solid foundation in the teachings of scripture, the church, and change theory. I needed to understand why God was asking me to take a leap before I was ready to jump. And I needed to know that I wasn’t alone.
My guess is that God is whispering in a lot of hearts these days. Both church and Creation are in trouble. The church gets smaller and older every year; the planet gets warmer.
God called both Creation and church into being; God created and loves us. God is acting for us in ways that might not yet be visible—because we humans might not yet see how to bring God’s dream to life.
Why would I think that God’s dreams for humanity are not yet visible? Because fourteen years passed between the time I first wrote the words “Plainsong Farm” and when the farm actually began. Fourteen years. God’s dream was alive long before I was bold enough to act on it. I wrote this book to pass on the lessons that prompted me to take that leap so it doesn’t take you—or your church—that long to begin whatever God is whispering about to you.
This book is for both Christians seeking to grow as disciples, and people curious about how Christians think and act for the health of our communities and all Creation. My goal is to take you on a journey that goes from death to life, from decline to renewal, from despair to hope. If you are reading this book as part of your practice of faith, my desire is that this isn’t a journey you take alone, but with others. My dream is that you would read this book in communities that already exist: a clergy group, a church book group, a judicatory staff. My prayer is that God would use these words to equip, encourage, and enable more of God’s people to live God’s dream. Are you troubled by the news about climate change and the decline of the church? Do you wonder what you might do to make a difference? I hope this book helps you find your next answer and, even more, to take your next action.
To become a crazy Christian takes a leap of faith. Before you jump, you need to be able to trust that there is a reason to leave solid ground. God might be calling you—just as God called me for more than a decade—but resistance is normal. Sometimes you need a reason to propel you in the direction where faith leads you. My hope is that these pages provide you both the inspiration to be a crazy Christian and the logic to recognize that taking one next step as a crazy Christian is the sanest thing you can do.
Nurya Love Parish
November 22, 2017
Feast of Clive Staples Lewis
I often say I grew up without any religion. I went to worship at a church precisely once during the first nineteen years of my life. I never went to other houses of worship at all. Neither of my parents found organized religion meaningful. If I wanted to practice faith, they decided, I could figure that out for myself later on.
I was an only child, and a reflective one. In the absence of religious teachings, I found meaning in abstract concepts: compassion, integrity, justice. These were untethered from ancient stories and traditions, which made me feel untethered too. As a college student I found myself looking for someone, somewhere, who had thought through my questions already: how am I to live? what is right? what is good? Slowly it dawned on me that religion was the container for these questions—and their answers.
Because I was born and raised in Las Vegas, Nevada, at an early age I began to realize that humanity was headed for some type of ecological crisis. As a child I recognized that green lawns could not last forever in the desert, and wondered how my species had gone so wrong. More important, how could we be put right again? Eventually, I discovered that religion was the discipline through which these questions had been asked and answered throughout the ages. I converted from “nothing” to “something” because I needed the wisdom of those who had gone before me. I became a Christian and was baptized at the age of twenty-five because in Jesus I found someone worth trusting with my whole life.
Organized religions are meant to be deeply trustworthy. At its core, religion exists to provide a shared language for that which renders us speechless. Organized religion enables the practice
