By Yanan Rahim N. Melo
July 3, 2024
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In the small, rural town of Hightstown, New Jersey, a small, family-owned farm became the backdrop for a transformative experience that would reshape my understanding of Christian leadership. Since it was my field education site for a summer, my intent was to integrate regenerative farming practices with my dream for local churches and Christian organizations to start community gardens as means to serve their cities and neighborhoods. What I did not realize was that I would be introduced to unlikely conversation partners who would teach me new and profound ways of doing ministry.
Earthworms
There, in the soil, they would writhe—almost snake-like, yet gentle in form and stature. They were humble creatures, often dismissed as small, insignificant, or mere bait for fishing escapades. But at the farm, I had a different encounter with these critters, often pausing from harvesting or weeding whenever I saw them working the soil or nibbling on bits of kale.
But my most profound encounter with earthworms was through compost piles, where we would offer food scraps and fruit peels for them to enjoy. There, I realized that earthworms, along with fungi and beetles, were the crucial agents that transformed waste into nutrient-rich soil for the cultivation of lands, crops, and other organisms. I quickly recognized the ways in which our critterly kin were enacting profound acts of regeneration, that is, taking dead matter and giving it new life as soil. It was nothing less than an act of resurrection.
the lessons I learned from earthworms continue to remind me that Christian leadership ought to be attentive to the soils on which we minister. Indeed, we need to be ever more attentive than we have been before
As a young, emerging theologian, the regenerative power of our critterly kin helped me rethink what Christian leadership could look like, especially in a world ravaged by much pain and violence. Today, we are witnessing a climate crisis that only continues to worsen as sea levels rise worldwide and raging wildfires cover sunny skies in black tar. Today, when matters of land have become sites of war, creating various refugee crises and painful conditions of starvation, the lessons I learned from earthworms continue to remind me that Christian leadership ought to be attentive to the soils on which we minister. Indeed, we need to be ever more attentive than we have been before.
As Christian leaders, we are called to serve our communities through ministries and initiatives that address the concrete and material experiences of real people, especially those who are often silenced or marginalized among us. This means being present in the lives of those we minister to, embracing their stories, and responding with compassion, grace, and a yearning to see regeneration take place not only in individual people’s lives but especially in the neighborhoods and soils that they inhabit.
This means being present in the lives of those we minister to, embracing their stories, and responding with compassion, grace, and a yearning to see regeneration take place not only in individual people’s lives but especially in the neighborhoods and soils that they inhabit.
What I often lament are Christian leaders whose words and actions are often abstracted from the lives and experiences of real people living on real soils. This could look like a tenured professor who has published numerous, influential books of theology yet remains within the lofty halls of academia—divorced from the real contexts where justice and mercy are needed. This could also look like a well-known megachurch pastor, who drives luxury vehicles and wears fancy watches, treating ministry as a way to gain more profit for themself at the exploitation of others. And truly, this could also look like a young seminarian whose preoccupation with homework and post-grad job searching might distract from real contexts of suffering.
This is why I return to what the earthworms showed me. That even without seminary degrees or vocational employment (they are not even human as we are), our critterly kin are working their hardest to heal the polluted and ravaged planet that we live in. Indeed, according to this incredible study from Boston University researchers, our critterly kin do have the power to help us navigate and find new solutions to the climate crisis—if we only listen to them and heed the regenerative work they enact for our world.
I believe that Christian leadership requires such deep connection to the soil. The soil is not just a physical, neutral space that we can own, possess, and live in. Soil is more than that—it is where life begins. I am reminded of the creation of the first humans in the first chapters of Genesis, where God is shown to plant a garden, and from the very soil of that garden, human beings were shaped and breathed into with life. The soil is part of our bodies in the same way that it continues to be fundamental and necessary to our creaturely existence in this world. It is the source of life and sustenance. It is where we grow our food, build our homes, and raise our families. It is where we experience joy, sorrow, and everything in between. It is where we encounter our critterly kin who move in the soil, take our pollution and waste, and transform that into new life for the benefit of all.
The soil is not just a physical, neutral space that we can own, possess, and live in. Soil is more than that—it is where life begins.
Might we join them. Might we listen to them and learn from the lessons these small ones teach us. Might we, as human beings, remember that we will one day return to the same soil they inhabit: “For you are dust, and to dust will you return” (Gen. 3:19). In this way, I hope that Christian leadership might find itself back in the soil, knowing and belonging to the real creatures that live and breathe on such soil, whether human or non-human.
By returning to the soil, we return to the people who live on it. We learn about their needs, their hopes, their fears, and their dreams. We become aware of the challenges they face and the ways in which we can support them through real and material means—be it food, water, childcare, or a hug. I believe that returning to the soil and learning from the lessons of earthworms are necessary for such a time as this. I choose not to become abstracted from real contexts of ministry. And may we, as Christian leaders, do so.
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Yanan Rahim Navarez Melo
Yanan Rahim Navarez Melo (he/him) is a writer from Cagayan de Oro, Philippines, whose work has been featured in Christianity Today, Sojourners, Bittersweet Monthly, Geez Magazine, Inheritance Magazine, Interfaith America, and more. He is currently pursuing his MDiv at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he studies the intersections of race, theology, and the arts.