In this episode, Rev. Dr. Heber Brown, founder of the Black Church Food Security Network, describes how experimenting with one small church garden led to connections with other churches and then with farmers and eventually to a transformed ecosystem—in this case, a food shed. This inspiring refugia story weaves through health justice, food security, and climate resilience. Even more, this story celebrates the power of relationships among thousands of gifted, passionate, faithful people.
Many thanks to Heber Brown for graciously welcoming us to a church garden at one of the network churches in Baltimore, where we enjoyed chatting together in the greenhouse. To learn more about Rev. Dr. Heber Brown as a pastor, writer, and speaker, take a look at his website. You can also explore the wider work of the Black Church Food Security Network here.
TRANSCRIPT
Heber Brown
Our garden has really become like a front door. It’s a demonstration site. You’re not going to feed an entire city or community with a church garden, but it becomes an activation space for your congregation members and the neighbors to come and reap the personal and individual benefits of just being closer to soil, but then also to practice what collectivism looks like in a garden space. It’s a very controlled environment for a laboratory for, “how do we do this together?” And those learnings can roll over into other places as well.
Debra Rienstra
Welcome to the Refugia Podcast. I’m your host, Professor Debra Rienstra. Refugia are habitats in nature where life endures in times of crisis. We’re exploring the concept of refugia as a metaphor, discovering how people of faith can become people of refugia: nurturing life-giving spaces in the earth, in our human cultural systems, and in our spiritual communities, even in this time of severe disturbance. This season, we’re paying special attention to churches and Christian communities who have figured out how to address the climate crisis together as an essential aspect of their discipleship. Today, I’m talking with Rev. Dr. Heber Brown, founder of the Black Church Food Security Network. Beginning with a small congregation, a 1500-square foot garden, and a divine calling, the Black Church Food Security Network now connects 250 Black churches and 100 Black farmers in the Mid-Atlantic states and beyond. Reverend Brown’s story weaves through issues of health justice, food security and climate resilience. And I love how beautifully this story illustrates the power of refugia. One small experiment started to form connections, then spread and eventually transformed a whole ecosystem—in this case, a food shed. I think you’ll find Heber’s brilliance and humility and joy inspiring, but he would be the first to say that this network is built on relationships among thousands of gifted, passionate, faithful people. People finding and exercising their beauty and agency is the best part of this story. Let’s get to it.
Debra Rienstra
Heber, it’s so great to talk to you today. Thank you so much for spending some time with me.
Heber Brown
Thank you for the opportunity.
Debra Rienstra
You’ve told your origin story about the Black Food Security Network a million times. Will you tell it again for our listeners?
Heber Brown
Absolutely. So, somewhere about five years in to pastoring a beautiful congregation here in Baltimore City called the Pleasant Hope Baptist Church, I began to notice a pattern of members of our congregation who were being hospitalized, and in response to that, like any well trained pastor will do, we do the things that seminary and other places have taught us: to show up by the bedside, give prayer, give encouragement, don’t stay too long, and get to the next member who needs that kind of pastoral care. And so I was doing what my family—which was a family full of pastors—and seminary taught me to do: to go and visit. And during those visits, and while extending that encouragement, those prayers and the like, I also got the opportunity to do deep listening and learn some things about the people in my church, that stuff that doesn’t necessarily and normally come out on a Sunday morning during all of the activity of a service. And one of the things that would come up, that started to come up in the confidentiality of those sacred circles, was the ways that diet and food was a part of the picture that was leading to the dis-ease and suffering, physical suffering, of those in the church. And I began to hear that over and over again. So I’m going, I’m praying, I’m giving scripture, I’m listening, shaking hands and moving on, and listening and hearing about food being in the picture. Alright, next visit. I’m going, I’m praying, I’m giving scripture, I’m giving encouragement, I’m listening, shaking hands, move to the next person. Food comes up again. It came up so much that eventually I got tired of just hearing about this challenge and walking away. I got unsettled by listening to people who I love and share life with, share with me their challenges, and as much as I believe and know that prayer is powerful, I wondered if there was ways that I could pray in a different way, pray through action.
And so I got the idea—well, God gave vision. Well, no, God didn’t give the first vision. The first one was just my idea. And my idea was to partner with the local market that was really right across the main intersection from our church. And I wanted some type of pathway so that food from that market could get to our church, get to our members, and it could improve their quality of life and address the health challenges in our church. But I still remember the day I went over to that market. And when I went to that market, and I looked at the prices of the produce, and then I also took note of the—as the young folks would say—the vibe of the space. It failed the vibe test, and it failed the price tag test. I saw barriers that would prevent, or at least slow this idea around nutrient-rich produce coming from that market right across the main intersection to our church within walking distance. And I got frustrated by that. I was frustrated because what we needed was right within reach. It was right at our fingertips, literally, but those barriers there would have made it very difficult for us to acquire and obtain the food that was there. Over the years, and like you said, I’ve told this story many times, and it’s a living story, and so even my reflections on parts of it illuminates different ways, even at this stage of my journey with this. But I thought about like, what stopped me from talking to the market manager anyway? So I made the decision on that day just to walk out and say, “No, I’m not going to pursue partnership.” As I reflect on it, I interrogate myself, like, “Why didn’t you at least have a conversation? Because who knows, something could have come out of the conversation, and maybe they would have given you the food for free or the discounted rate…” et cetera, et cetera. And when I sat with that and I thought about it more, I think there was something within me that didn’t want free food. I thought, and I still think to this day, in a different, deeper, more conscious way, more aware way—but back then it was just something within where I thought that free food would have been too expensive. And not in a dollars and cents kind of way. That would have cost us too much with respect to our dignity, our sense of somebody-ness, and I did not want to lead my congregation in kind of genuflecting to the benevolence and charity, sense of charity, of the “haves” of the neighborhood. I did not want to reinforce kind of an inferiority complex that comes with staying in a posture of subservience to what you can recognize to be unjust and racist systems that keep food away from people when I believe that food is a God-given right. Healthy, nutritious food is a God-given right. I didn’t want to lead my congregation into that, and I didn’t want to reinforce even a sense of superiority, which is an equally devastating and damaging thing to the human soul, to think that these poor Black people are coming across the street to get food, and we are in the position to help those poor, at risk, needy people. Whether inferiority or superiority, both, I believe, are corrosive to the human soul. I did not have the articulation of that then, but I had enough in me that was living in that space that stopped me from leading our congregation into a partnership there.
And so I left out, I walked back to the church. While I’m walking back to the church, near the front door of our church, there’s a plot of land, and that land I’d walked past a thousand times before that day, but on that day, with divine discontent bubbling up inside of me, that’s when God gave a vision. God vetoed my idea, gave a real vision, and that vision was rooted in us growing our own food in the front yard of our congregation. And so I go inside the church and I announce this vision to members of the church, and I remember saying to them, “Hey, y’all. God gave me a vision!” And I saw eyes rolling, like, “Oh, here he goes again.” I was at that time, I was in my early thirties. I started pastoring at 28 years old. And, you know, I came in at 28, I had all the ideas in the world. We was gonna fix everything by the weekend. And this patient congregation gave me room to work out all of that energy around changing everything immediately. So they were used to hearing this kind of stuff from me before, and so the rolling of the eyes when I said, “Hey, y’all, let’s start a garden,” was quite expected, but I’m grateful for a remnant of the folks who said, “This one actually might work. Let’s stick with him. Let’s go with him on this.” And that remnant and I, we got together, we started growing food in the front yard of our church, and long story short, that garden helped to transform the spiritual and the physical material conditions of our congregation. 1500-square feet. We started growing 1200 pounds of produce every season: tomatoes, broccoli, kale, corn, even watermelon some years. It just transformed our ministry and even attracted people to the ministry who were not Christian, who’d never come to the church. Some people flew in from out of town. Like this little congregation of like 125 people with the 1500-square foot garden became, for some people, a destination, like church. And I was like, “What is this? We don’t have bells and whistles and smoke machines and everything else. We’re just a regular church on the side of the road with a little piece of land. And this garden is becoming a calling card for our ministry.”
Debra Rienstra
It was such a wild thing to do, and yet—it’s just a garden.
Heber Brown
It’s just a garden!
Debra Rienstra
So, I want to come back to, now, you know, long fifteen years later, you have this network of 250 Black churches and a hundred Black farmers, mostly up and down the East Coast, but all over the US. And we’ll get to that exciting development in a bit, but I want to go back to those early days, because we’re really interested in how congregations get excited. So could you talk about Maxine Nicholas?
Heber Brown
Yes, yes. Maxine Nicholas was the president of the sanctuary choir when I first got to Pleasant Hope. And she also was the one who organized a lot of exciting trips for seniors. They went shopping and went to plays. And you know, that was my introduction to her, when I first got to the church. And really, that was the extent, pretty much, of what I knew about her, how she showed up in the ministry. And when I shared this vision from God for us to start a garden, she was one of the members who said, “I’m gonna help.” And it was critical that she…what she did was critical to even us having this conversation today because she had the agricultural and farming know-how. I didn’t.
Debra Rienstra
You didn’t know anything!
Heber Brown
No, I didn’t know anything! I was, I mean, born in Baltimore City. Yes, I spent summers down the country. As we say in my family and community, we say, you know, “We’re going down the country for the summer.” And so, when school let out, my parents took us down to our relatives’ home in rural Virginia, and my big mama, mama Geraldine, we would stay with her. She had land. She grew, you know, all the things. I wasn’t paying attention to any of that when I was a young child, but some seeds were planted. But it really wasn’t what I was focused on then, so I didn’t know much about growing or, you know, agrarian kind of rhythms of being at all. Sister Maxine, though, grew up with multiple brothers and sisters on a farm in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina. She moved to Baltimore from North Carolina around the fifties, joined Pleasant Hope shortly after that, and had really grown with the church over the years. Though she left the farm, the farm never left her. It was still in her. I didn’t know it was there. My seminary-trained pastoral eyes were socialized to lock in on the gifts that people had that could be in service to our Sunday service, the production of the corporate worship experience. So if you can sing, I was trained to say, “Hey, I think you should join the choir.” If you could play an instrument, get on the band. Could you stand for two hours or so? The ushers’ ministry. But I had some major blind spots about the gifts of God in people that were detached— seemingly detached and devoid—from what corporate worship and liturgy could look like in our space. Sister Maxine stepping forward helped to challenge my blind spots. She’s not just a sanctuary choir president. She’s not just the planner of trips for the seniors. She was a farmer.
Debra Rienstra
Isn’t that remarkable? I think so many churches are full of such talent and passion, and sort of untilled passion, right? That, as you say, we’re so focused on church programs, whatever those might be, for a church, that we often don’t realize what people are capable of in the service of the name of Jesus, right? So, now you say, when you go to work with a potential partner church, you look for the Sister Maxine.
Heber Brown
That’s right, she’s a profile.
Debra Rienstra
How do you find the Sister Maxines? Everybody wants them.
Heber Brown
Yeah. Many times, well, one thing I know for sure, I’ll say. Sister Maxine is rarely the pastor. It’s not the pastor or anybody with the big highfalutin titles up front on the website, on the camera. It’s rare. I’ll just say that: it’s rare, in my experience, that that’s your Sister Maxine. They do play a crucial role in the furthering and establishment of this kind of ministry, “innovation,” innovation in air quotes. But Sister Maxine is, in many times, in my experience, that’s the one who is recognized as getting things done in the church. And many times, they’re almost allergic to attention. They’re the ones who are running from the microphone or the spotlight, but they’re the ones who prefer, “I’m in the background.” No, they often say things like that: “No, no, that’s not for me. I just want to get stuff done. You know, I don’t know what to say.” Oftentimes they talk like that. But everybody in the church knows if it’s going to get done, this one’s going to do it. Or, you know, maybe it’s a group, they’re going to get it done. And so that’s one of the things that I’ve just trained myself to look for, like, who really is over—you know, when I shake the hand of a pastor, many times I’m looking over their shoulder. Who is behind you? Because what I know is, “Pastor, and no disrespect, but you’re not the one who’s gonna be with me in the garden on the land. You’ll be getting an introduction to the land most times, just like I will be when I first arrive.” Who’s the person who already knows it? And then too, I think you find the Sister Maxine by listening. Hearing Sister Maxine’s story, and really listening to the fact that she grew up on a farm in North Carolina. And watching her face light up when she talked about growing up, she talked about her parents, and she’s since passed away, but I still remember so many conversations we’ve had. And she would tell me about how her parents would send all the children out to work the farm before they went to school. And she would chuckle and say, “My daddy sent the boys and the girls out there to work that land,” to kind of challenge notions of this is not a woman or a girl’s work. Her parents like, “Nope. Everybody get outside.” And she chuckled and laughed and smiled sharing so many of those kinds of memories. And I think you can find the Sister Maxines oftentimes by doing deep listening. And sometimes it’s not a Sister Maxine that’s really doing the farming thing, but it might be a Sister Maxine who’s into herbalism, or, you know, or who has stories about their elders or parents who could walk in the field and put stuff together and tend to a rash or a wound or a bruise. These things might not show up on a resume, but they’re in the lines of the stories of the people who are right under our nose. And so maybe I’ll just offer it finally, that maybe it’s, you know, you find Sister Maxine by doing deep listening.
Debra Rienstra
Yeah, yeah. Okay, so now you’ve got a church garden. And it’s transforming the congregation. How? What’s changing?
Heber Brown
Well, one of the things that transformed with the congregation was just like the pride. Members of the church was taking pride in what we were doing. You know, we’re not a megachurch in the city. Never have been a megachurch. In fact, our church blended in so much in the background of the neighborhood that when I first got to the church, the trustees—really one of the trustees in particular—was really adamant about us needing to build a steeple on top of our building, because the steeple would then indicate to the community that this is a church. And thank God we never got a steeple, but we didn’t need it. The garden became the steeple, and the members started taking pictures of the produce they were receiving from the church garden and posting it on their Facebook page, and putting it, you know, sharing it with their families. They began sharing recipes in the congregation related to what we were growing in our garden, and I saw people start coming to our church for worship and programming that were coming because we had a garden.
Debra Rienstra
Lured by the cabbages.
Heber Brown
That’s it! Not these sermons I worked so hard to put together.
Debra Rienstra
Nope. It was the cabbages.
Heber Brown
I’m trying to say, “You know, this word in the Greek means…” and all this stuff. And I’m trying to, “Hey, y’all, I have a degree!” And I’m trying to show you I have a degree. Like, “no, we’re here for cabbage.”
Debra Rienstra
You just need carrots. So, from there, we become this big network, and there’s a lot going on between those steps. So you’ve got the garden. You start having markets after services on Sunday. What happens next to begin creating this gigantic network?
Heber Brown
Yeah, so this network, I mean, this activity with our garden continues to grow and mature. We’re testing. We develop an appetite for experimentation and a curiosity, and nurturing kind of a congregational curiosity about what could happen, like, what if? What if, what if? And in that kind of context, my “what ifs” also grew to: “What if other churches could do this too?” And what if we could work together to systematize our efforts? And so I was very clear that I was not interested in a scaling of this experience in such a way that would create additional siloed congregational ministries. Like, that’s not going to fix and help us get to the root of why we are hungry or sick in the first place. If we’re going to, you know, really get at the root of, or some of the root, of the challenges, we have to create an ecosystem. We have to have churches who do it, but also work with other churches who are doing it. And we compliment—like a choir. You got your sopranos, your altos, your tenors, and you got some churches that will do this part well, other churches will do that part well, but if you sing together, you can create beautiful music together. And so that idea started rolling around in my head, and I started talking to farmers and public health professionals here in the city, and other folks, food justice folks in the city, and just kind of getting their reactions to this idea. I had never seen or heard of anything like that before at that time. And so I was just trying to get a read from others who I respected, to kind of give some insight. And in the course of that, this city, Baltimore, experienced an uprising related to the death of Freddie Gray.
Debra Rienstra
Yeah, this is so interesting, how this became a catalyst. Describe that.
Heber Brown
It kicked at the uprising and the death of Freddie Gray at the hands of Baltimore City police officers. And for those who are not familiar, Baltimore City, like many communities around this country, sadly, had experienced a long line of Black people who’ve been killed by Baltimore City police officers with no consequences to those officers or to government officials who supported them. So Freddie Gray in 2015 was the latest name in a long list of names and generations of Black families who’ve endured the brutality and the horror of those kinds of experiences. When the city goes up in demonstrations and protests against police brutality against Black people in Baltimore, one of the things that happened was those communities nearest the epicenter of the demonstrations and protests that were already what we call “food apartheid zones” and struggling with food access and food security, those neighborhoods…things intensified because the corner stores that they were dependent on also closed during that time. Public transportation did not send buses through the neighborhood, so they were stranded there. Even the public school system closed for a few days, and 80,000 students in Baltimore City, many of them who were dependent on free breakfast and free lunch from school, had to figure out something else. So with all of that support not there anymore, members of the community started to call our church, because by 2015 we were known kind of like as the “food and garden” church. They got food. It was our calling card. So they called the church office. They said, “Hey, Reverend Brown, Pastor Brown, we need food.” I called our garden team. We harvested from our garden. We called farmers that we knew. Other people just made donation to us. We transformed our church into like this food depot. We started processing donations, harvesting, loaded it up on our church van, and I was driving our church van around the city of Baltimore in the midst of the uprising, getting food to people and into the communities that called us to come.
Debra Rienstra
Wow, you’ve done a lot of driving vans around, it seems like. We’ll get back to that. But it’s just so fascinating that that moment catalyzed, it sounds like, an awareness of food insecurity that made it really real for people who are maybe aware of it, but now it’s reached a sort of acute moment. And I love the way that you talked in an interview with Reverend Jen Bailey about how Black churches are already a network. And so that moment, it sounds like, activated that network. And in fact, the way that you talked about the legacy of Black churches having a spiritual vocation connected to social change for a long time, and so many people used to doing things with hardly any obvious resources, like not money or power, and depending on God to make a way out of no way. And it sounds like you just leveraged all of those incredible assets born of years of struggle and said, “We can do this. We can move from being consumers at the whim of systems like this to producers that create food security.” So how did you, you know, sort of leverage those assets and help people understand that they had them?
Heber Brown
Yeah, I think that what was helpful to me early on was to almost look at the church like, assume the posture of a social scientist. And to almost go up on the balcony of the church and look down on it. Like, just back up and try as best as possible to clean your lenses so you can just look at it. What does it do? What does it care about? What does it prioritize? Like, just really take notes. And that’s a part of what I was drawn to do early on, was just: what does Pleasant Hope— and not just Pleasant Hope Baptist Church, but all the churches that we’re in relationship with, and all the churches that I knew, being a preacher’s kid, my dad still pastors in this city. And so I’ve grown up in the church, the Black churches of Baltimore and beyond, and so just stepping back and watching to see what it does gave me some curiosities, some clues, some tips and hints, like: wow, if it already does that, then if I can just run downfield a little bit and get in the path of where I know it’s about to come, then potentially it could make what it’s going to do anyway even more impactful. So an example is: pastors’ anniversary or church anniversary services always have food in the picture. You’re going to eat. And you don’t have to be a Black—that’s any church. You’re going to eat throughout the year. It’s a part of the practice of the faith. If you can run downfield and get in front of where you know the congregation is about to come—because church anniversary is the same Sunday every single year. And you can reverse-engineer like, at what point will the church need to buy food? At what point do they need to decide where they get the food from? At what point is the budget decided for the following year so they see how much money they’re going to spend on food. If you can get in and kind of almost double dutch into those critical moments, like jump rope, and be like, “If I make this suggestion at this particular moment, then it’s going to introduce something into the conversation with the trustees that might increase the amount of money spent on food that we then could use to connect with this particular farmer, which we then can use to connect with the kitchen ministry, who they can then use to create the menu for the meal.” And before you know it, you have a plate with local food right in front of everybody’s faces at the church.
Debra Rienstra
You have said that after the pulpit, the second holiest place in the building is the kitchen.
Heber Brown
It really…honest to God, is the second, and it’s a close second too, because everybody can’t walk into that kitchen. And if you can strategize and think about how to leverage the stuff, the assets, but also your knowledge of how this entity operates, it could really be transformative.
Here we are, chatting at the greenhouse.
Debra Rienstra
Hi, it’s me, Debra. If you are enjoying this podcast episode, go ahead and subscribe on your preferred podcast platform. If you have a minute, leave a review. Good reviews help more listeners discover this podcast. To keep up with all the Refugia news, I invite you to subscribe to the Refugia newsletter on Substack. This is my fortnightly newsletter for people of faith who care about the climate crisis and want to go deeper. Every two weeks, I feature climate news, deeper dives, refugia sightings and much more. Join our community at refugianewsletter.substack.com. For even more goodies, including transcripts and show notes for this podcast, check out my website at debrarienstra.com. D-E-B-R-A-R-I-E-N-S-T-R-A dot com. Thanks so much for listening. We’re glad you’re part of this community. And now back to the interview.
Debra Rienstra
You’ve really asked people to go back in the system to origins, like the origins of the soil, and think about the provenance of everything they eat—in the church, but also at home and and say, “Well, why can’t we help Black farmers find markets for their food by creating this whole network?” Talk a little bit about what the network actually looks like. So you’ve got farmers, they create produce, and then you go with a truck, and sounds like it’s all you! You go with a truck, bring their stuff to a church. So explain how that all works now in the larger network.
Heber Brown
Yeah, so now, after getting our official start ten years ago, so I started 15 years ago on this journey. The network itself, this is the tenth year. 2025 is our ten year anniversary. And now what our network looks like is helping member churches to start gardens on land that they own. We are very clear about starting on garden-owned—sorry, on church-owned land, just because in this kind of context, gentrification, eminent domain, that’s real. You got Black communities who don’t know if their land or property will be taken because a highway needs to be built here. And we don’t, we’ve not tapped into, or don’t have the sense of agency, collective agency, yet to push back against those kinds of things. And so church-owned land really is important because it creates some political buffers against systems that would be hesitant to snatch church land. Just politically, it’s not a good idea. So knowing that about the political environment, that they don’t want to mess with—they want votes from congregations. They don’t want to, you know—congregations coming after them is like, “Oh, okay, well, let’s grow food on the land that is less likely to be taken by politicians or developers.” And so we help churches to start gardens or agricultural projects. It might be composting, it might be rain barrels. It might be, you know, different types of things to either establish it or to expand it. And our gardens really become like a front door. It’s a demonstration site. You’re not going to feed an entire city or community with a church garden, but it becomes an activation space for your congregation members and the neighbors to come and reap the personal, individual benefits of just being closer to soil, but then also to practice what collectivism looks like in a garden space. It’s a very controlled environment for a laboratory, for, “How do we do this together?” And those learners can roll over into other places as well.
Heber Brown
So gardens is one thing. Markets, Black farmers markets. We do them at churches. We like to do it on Sundays right after worship, when people are hungry anyway. We like putting those farmers right there before people get to their car. We want to make it feel like a family reunion, a cookout in your backyard, a holiday gathering. There’s a DJ, we’re line dancing, there’s prepared food, and there’s produce, games for the children. So kind of an event experience. It’s really fun. It’s an experience, you know? And that’s what we really try to do with that program. It’s not just transactional, “Here is your squash.” It’s: let’s give people a nourishing experience that even goes beyond the food that the farmers are bringing. And then we do Black farm tours, where we’re driving people around to kind of literally get your feet on soil. And it’s become an increasing request of groups and churches that many times they don’t even know there are farmers right under their nose, like right around the corner. We’re so disconnected from our local food environments. So Black farm tours are helpful. And then what you reference, with respect to driving food around—it’s almost like, I’ve called it the BCSA program. It’s kind of a play off of “CSA: Community Supported Agriculture,” like the subscription box program. Black Church Supported Agriculture looks like us helping farmers with the logistics of getting bulk items from their farm to congregations. And yes, over these past ten years, I have done a lot of the driving of refrigerated trucks and box trucks. It’s been my joy, though, to do that. It’s been a sanctuary for me, even while pastoring. I mean, so I’m preaching on Sunday, and then I’m delivering sweet potatoes on Monday, and like, behind the wheel of a big box truck. I love that kind of stuff, just because it helps me be feel free to explore my call beyond just more conventional, classic understandings of what it means to be a clergy person. So it’s been great for me to experience that, but ten years in, it is increasingly important that I get from behind the wheel and pass the keys to somebody else, so that we might really systematize it, because if it stays with me, this network won’t go far at all.
Debra Rienstra
Yeah. Okay, so I want to read a quote from you, and then I want to ask a question about that very thing. So you put it before that your vision is to move people from being—and this is my summary—your vision is to move people from being disadvantaged consumers to confident producers, and that means, and here’s your quote, “co-creating alternative micro food systems, not just because of the racism and the oppression in the current food system, but also because of the impending challenges around climate change, the growing concerns around geopolitics, and, at the time you said this, Covid-19, which showed us how fragile our current food system is.” So the Black Food Security Network is wrapped up in health justice, food security, climate resilience. Do you have ways of communicating all of that to people? Are the folks who are buying the carrots and the kale aware of all that? And if so, how are they aware of all that?
Heber Brown
Yeah, many. I mean, this food is a very political thing, and so it sets a good table for conversations around all of that and so much more that you just lifted up. And so there are many one-on-one conversations or small group conversations or online, you know, conversations that happen where people do recognize the implications of what we’re doing. Yeah, that goes far beyond your next meal. And so that is helpful. I am definitely interested, though, in how we do more in the way of communicating that. I would love to see, for example, Sunday school curricula created that kind of takes—again, if I’m looking at how churches operate today, Christian education programs are one of the things that have been on the church budget and in the air of the programming of the church for a very long time, and I suspect it’s going to stay there. How do we inject it with Sunday school curriculum that fits? So climate change, racism, social justice, food justice. How do we have Sunday school curriculum, vacation Bible school and summer camp experiences that speak to that? How might we reimagine our Sunday live streams? Is anybody really watching the full one hour of your live stream on Sunday? Could it be that we could produce programming that perhaps pops in on a piece of the sermon, but then pops out to another segment that touches on these different things, so that people really have a dynamic experience watching? Maybe there’s one stream of the Sunday service that stays just on the whole service, but maybe there’s an alternative link for those who may be closer to the outer edges or different edges of the ministry, who’s really not interested in hearing the church announcements and when the tea is gonna be and when the that…Maybe, if we thought about how to create material, curriculum, streamed experiences that are a little bit more dynamic, it would also create a runway for the sharing of those. And last thing I’ll say is: what about our small group and discipleship programs at our churches? And so many congregations have book clubs and small group studies that have done wonderful things over the years. I wonder if there could be, in addition to those kinds of groups, where there’s an action component. So we don’t read just for the sake of reading. We read to reflect. We read to be activated to go do, and then we come back and reflect, and then we read the next thing, and then we go do, and then come back—a praxis. Could our small group and discipleship programs embrace a different kind of praxis, or for how they are experimenting with the practice of this faith in this day and time?
Debra Rienstra
“Okay, let’s pause and go out to weed a little bit.” There you go. So one of the things I love about your story is the way you began with this—we could call it a “low-resource refugia space,” one congregation. And I’m curious how things feel different now. So ideally, refugia in nature persist and grow, connect and spread through corridors, and eventually you have this renewed ecosystem. So the Black Food Security Network is essentially a successful refugia network. You’ve created an ecosystem. What feels different now for you and for the whole network? You’ve been at this a long time.
Heber Brown
What feels different now? So I was thinking this week about the rhythm of nature, and in my personal embrace of this vocation, I try to mirror and mimic nature in a number of ways. And so like during winter, you won’t hear me a lot. I’m doing what nature does, and the energy is in the roots and not in the fruit. And I don’t take a lot of interviews. I don’t travel a lot. I get real still and real quiet. And during the spring, I start poking my head out a little bit more. During the summer, it’s go time. During the fall, it’s harvest time. So I look at that personally, but now I’m also beginning to look at that organizationally, and with respect to this network. And I’m saying, I’m intentionally saying “organization” and “network” separate. With respect to the organization, I am clearer today, as we go through the life cycles of what nature does, that I now have the opportunity, and the responsibility even, to till the soil again in the organization. And a part of that tilling of the soil, turning the soil over, means me renegotiating my position in the organization. That out of necessity, I leaned into a role that, for the past decade, I’ve been organizing and bringing things together, but I recognize, and I always have, my highest and best use is really not in the management of the day to day operations of a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. My skills are not as sharp in all of the ways that would continue to cultivate that kind of consistency and efficiencies in an organization. And so currently, I am working as hard as I can and as fast as I can to get out of positions that I’ve been holding, particularly with the executive director. This is not going to be overnight, but I’m articulating it and saying it out loud to help remind myself, remind my team, and also make it more real. I’m speaking it into—I’m manifesting it through my words that if the organization is to continue to grow and flourish. I can’t stay in this role.
Debra Rienstra
Okay, you want to go back to the soil.
Heber Brown
Right here. For those who are listening, we’re sitting at one of our member gardens, and this is where I belong. I still, I will obviously still have a role with the organization. I’m not leaving. But maybe there’s a different configuration. Maybe I become more of a John the Baptist. I’m just going out, and I go out and I’m preaching in the wilderness about, and painting the picture, about the necessity of this stuff. And then after that, after I paint the picture, get folks excited, show them that it’s real, help them in the early stages—I love talking about the early stages and my failures and all that kind of stuff. And then pass the baton. Once these congregations are activated and energized and ready, at some point very soon, passing the baton to those in the organization who will continue to work with them to mentor them and grow them. And then with the network as a whole, you know, going around and being like a people pollinator—that’s what I really feel called to. I want to grow food, and I want to go around and people-pollinate. I want to introduce people. I want to connect folks. I think that’s part of my highest use in the network, which will demand a renegotiation of how I show up in the organization.
Debra Rienstra
Yeah, yeah, because you’ve talked all along about how important relationships are in making this. It’s always person to person, always about relationships. Yeah. So is the network right now fundamentally built on congregations, still? Like it’s a network of congregations plus farmers.
Heber Brown
It’s a network of congregations and it’s a network of relationships with farmers. We really, over the years, one of the developments that we had over the past maybe year and a half or so, was that really the sweet spot of what we do well is work with Black congregations. That’s what we do well. Black farmers, because of a century of discrimination and so many other systemic injustices against them—they need a high level of advocacy, technical assistance, support, financing, et cetera. And we really came to a place about a year and a half ago where we realized…before that point we were trying to help the churches and the farmers. I was like, no, it’s enough getting a church to change one small thing, seemingly small thing. How are you going to do churches and farmers? And so a clarity around—what is the sweet spot of what we do well, and where’s the thing that others are not doing as much? There are a lot of organizations now, thankfully, that give a lot of support to farmers in general and Black farmers in particular. We don’t need to try to be the experts there. We can just be again in a relationship with those organizations that do that with the farmers, and just make sure that we’re dancing well together in how, “If y’all help the farmers and we help the churches, now we bring together what our advocacy, organizing and programming can look like.” And so right now, it’s congregations, and we’re trying to increase our ability to serve our congregations well.
Debra Rienstra
Yeah, so that’s refugia-like, too, in the sense that refugia are very particular to a species in a place, and when they spread and grow through corridors, the biodiversity increases. So you know, you’re building, as you say, this ecosystem, and it naturally, you would have biodiversity increase, but there’s still going to be specialized pockets. Okay, lightning round. and then a final question. Lightning round, what’s your favorite veg?
Heber Brown
First thing that came up…oh man, that’s a lot. Nevermind. I’m gonna go with kale. Stay with my kale.
Debra Rienstra
Kale! Okay. I’d have to say carrots for me, because they’re so versatile. And they last a long time.
Heber Brown
I’ve had carrot hot dogs. I’m vegetarian, and so I’ve had carrot hot dogs. They are really good.
Debra Rienstra
Okay, so I wanted to ask you about being a vegetarian, because this is essentially the South, right? It is so meat centric. I’m vegetarian too. It is hard to find something to eat. How do you do that?
Heber Brown
Yes, yes.
Debra Rienstra
What do you do about like, pork barbecue?
Heber Brown
Yeah. So a lot of things—social functions and fellowships—I know I have to eat beforehand or bring my own food. And so that’s what I do to kind of get through. It’s like, I’m not going for the plate, I’m going for the people.
Debra Rienstra
Macaroni and cheese works.
Heber Brown
Mac and cheese still works a lot. So the sides—all the sides, I’m good on the sides.
Debra Rienstra
Yeah, me too. Most impressive farm skill?
Heber Brown
Attracting labor to help.
Debra Rienstra
That’s a huge skill!
Heber Brown
Huge, huge huge. I’m still learning. I went to beginner farm school, and I’m still learning the farm stuff, and I’m excited about it, but I’m grateful that God has gifted me to get folks to show up to him.
Debra Rienstra
Unappreciated farm skill. Okay. Elderberry syrup for communion. Talk about that.
Heber Brown
When we all get to heaven, I think Jesus will be serving elderberry syrup. It’s like, no, I’m playing. Yeah, that was one of those experimentations.
Debra Rienstra
Did it work?
Heber Brown
It worked! And then the next week, Covid hit and shut down. So we were just beginning. I partnered with an herbalist who was gonna—and she also was a baker, so she was gonna be doing fresh bread and elderberry syrup every communion Sunday. The day we did this, she was in the church kitchen, baking the bread, and the smell of bread is just going through the congregation. And I knew she had the elderberry syrup in this big, beautiful container. And so it was such a beautiful moment. And I was so jazzed about…I was jazzed about that, not only because the bread was good and like children were coming back for seconds for communion bread, but also because I felt like with the elderberry syrup and the bread, that it was in deeper alignment with our ethics and what we preached.
Debra Rienstra
It’s better sacramentalism. Because, you know, as you’ve been saying all along, it’s not consuming an element of unknown provenance. It’s producing. It’s the fruit of human labor, right? It’s the work of God, the gift of the earth, and the fruit of human labor. And it’s labor you’ve had your actual hands on. So it’s a lot to ask for churches to do this, but it’s, you know, one of these small experiments with radical intent that could be really, really cool.
Heber Brown
And I think in a time when congregations, well, I’m thinking about trustee ministries, those who are over financial resources of the church, right? So one of the ways that it worked at my church was, I was like, “Listen, I noticed in our financial reports here that we’re spending X amount on buying these boxes of these pre-made communion cups. What if we could take some of the money we’re already spending and divert it to an herbalist who could grow, who could make us the syrup that we need, and what if we can do it that way?” And so I had to speak to that particular ministry, not from the perspective of like the earth and the soil, but in a language that I thought that they could better appreciate was dollars and cents.
Debra Rienstra
Yeah, keeping those dollars local. Oh my gosh. Okay. Final question: what is your vision for the Church, capital C, in the next 50 years?
Heber Brown
That we’d be baptized back into the soil. That Scripture speaks about the ways in which we are brought from the soil, and God breathed into Adam, the breath of life. And I think there’s more of the breath of life now back in the soil, if we would but release ourselves into the compost of what is happening socially now that we would be in a position where new life, resurrection, would be experienced in a different kind of way through our ministry.
Debra Rienstra
Heber, thank you so much. This was such a pleasure. Thank you for your time today. Thank you.
Debra Rienstra
Thanks for joining us for show notes and full transcripts, please visit debrarienstra.com and click on the Refugia Podcast tab. This season of the Refugia Podcast is produced with generous funding from the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship. Colin Hoogerwerf is our awesome audio producer. Thanks to Ron Rienstra for content consultation as well as technical and travel support. Till next time, be well.
