The ruins of Saint Raphael Church near Williamstown in Glengarry County.

OPINION: Farming with faith. As we transform the landscape God transforms our hearts

I hate to drive on the 401, so years ago, when I found the chance to jump off and travel on the backroads near Williamstown, in South Glengarry, Ontario, I was glad to take in the fields and farms and forests of our blessed province. But when I saw something that looked like it didn’t belong there, I had to slam the brakes and investigate. The remnants of giant stone walls and pillars resembling something from ancient Rome appeared on the horizon, and I learned that this majestic ruin was the bones of Saint Raphael Church: a landmark to our relationship with God.

The story of this edifice is incredible: it was built by Scottish Highland settlers early in the 1800s. Gaelic speaking Catholics (a minority in their homeland), these desperate, diligent pioneers were sent as the first wave of colonization into the new province of Upper Canada. Arriving in 1786, once these brave, faithful had a roof over their heads, enough ploughed land to grow a crop of potatoes and wheat, and enough forage for a milk cow, they did not rest on their laurels, rather, they built a great monument to God, Jesus Christ, to honour their sacrifice and success. It was a tremendous structure: 50-foot-high walls, built in a neo-Roman style: its worn beauty sends shivers down your spine. This stone was quarried and erected with nothing but the human resources, and limited funds available on the spot — not to mention the entire lack of modern engineering or technology. What a wonder these believers produced.

The church is named for Saint Raphael, who unlike Saint Peter, or Saint Mary, or Saint Francis never walked this earth. Saint Raphael is an angel: like Saint Gabriel, or Saint Michael. These Highland settlers understood that though they toiled mightily, their journey, and that life itself is not a matter of the flesh, but rather a tremendous spiritual voyage: and so, they named their church for someone who would never have to clear land, but was rather a part of the heavenly host that guided and cared for them.

The roof of Saint Raphael caught fire and burned its flammable parts of the structure to the ground in 1970: which is a bite on the nose, because this was right around the time we collectively, on a civilizational level, forgot that every good thing — and no less, that every breath we breathe — is a mercy delivered to us by the hand of God. That their handiwork in masonry survives to this day is a testament to their walk with the Lord.

Talking about God in public is not in fashion right now. But those Highlanders weren’t shy at all, and built something beautiful for all to see: so let me take their example and share with you what I consider the most important part of my life: Jesus Christ.

Life is not as hard now as when those settlers landed here over 200 years ago. It was faith and sacrifice that built the world we enjoy, and we’re so enriched by those blessings and sit on their benefits, that it’s easy to forget where they come from. It’s very convenient to live life on easy mode given the largess generated by our ancestors, but if we want to reach our potential, it is a matter of time before we need their same source and guide: it’s much larger than ourselves and looks like Saint Raphael or any number of shuttered rural churches you will drive by.

Leaning into agriculture as a career and vocation has been equally the most enriching and humiliating thing I could imagine. I get to witness my own limitations and at the same time the rewards of providence, patience and sacrifice.

Such a demanding and uncertain vocation as farming has forced me to surrender my will and hopes to a hand much more powerful than my own. If you farm you know what I mean: you see life, growth, bounty, success; and at the same time: chaos, death, failure, mistakes and human weakness.

I don’t know how anyone could live, let alone farm, without God.

That the ministry of Jesus Christ was largely composed of parables about farming is no coincidence: like his miracles, farming points to the core of the Christian experience: transformation. After all, the job of the first man on Earth, Adam, was to make a fruitful garden. Life — with our one and only chance — is about making something bold and bountiful from a tiny seed with nothing but diligence and faith.

And not only is this transformation meant to nourish all of us and to make our landscapes more beautiful and productive (the motions of which reveal so much truth) the transformation is much more subtle than that. It is about handing over our hearts and minds to be transformed to resemble something like the heart and mind of our Creator. Confronting our imminent death and selfish nature is neither pleasant or convenient: the process can feel like surgery (painful, yet healing) and it takes the rest of our days.

Builder Scott Blair sprouts a house from the hillside.

Charles Summers’ son, Hiram, runs an excavator to build their septic system as the first course of brick go up.

We took on a major task here recently which has drained all of my available credit and every ounce of strength I have. You probably have a moment like this in your own farming career. My family needs a proper home. We have been living in a weird barn apartment for almost eight years now. I will have strawberries to sell soon, and could always unload some cattle or equipment, so I’m not that worried about money (it’s all His money, after all), but this is a tough nut to crack. But thank God, there is always room for transformation.

When we first moved in, it was just my wonderful wife and I, and our first born. It was cute and cozy and sufficient. In the intervening years our household has bloomed to over eight individuals thanks to more children, some twins on top and my oldest from a previous marriage joining the farm team. And so, with my cup running over to level of crampedness bordering on unsanitary, God finally opened the door to build a new home just when we had almost given up all hope…

In the last eight months of my life, I watched in awe as God has provided for my family in a way that almost feels miraculous. But it was no miracle. It all took place in real time with real people. I really didn’t “do” much of anything except push a broom and call for more gravel. Talented people kept showing up like angels (Thank you Scott, and Joey et al, Paul, Alex, Andrew and many others) and I “walked in the spirit” to the extent that I just kept praying in thanks, kept that broom going and bought my 21-year-old a new Milwaukee cordless tool to complete whatever banal task. My wife kept the chequebook balanced, and in my naïve docility, what I now find myself with is a proper home for my family.

It all doesn’t even seem real it has been so fast and dramatic.

A long morning after sanding drywall.

Although I will admit that the more I grow in faith the more my farm prospers, the last thing I want to suggest to you is some sort of Joel Osteen-esque “prosperity Gospel” where you can pray your way into luxuries. On the contrary, “stuff” — especially in the context of farming — is a burden, misery and responsibility. Employees must be paid, equipment must be maintained. Life is actually much easier with less if you are content with it: to be grateful with your lot in life is a pillar of Christianity, and all the more important in a world of limited resources.

In today’s world of seemingly unlimited “stuff” comes a unique opportunity to deploy resources in such a way to produce things of beauty that bring people together in an alienating world of mass production. Managing the land with a careful hand to produce good food in thanksgiving will be rewarded is my experience. Farming with faith provides us with a way to make our day to day lives into something bright and concrete that we can positively share. And it appears that if we do so, God will take care of every need we can think of, and especially those we cannot conceive. While the rest of the world drives by the ruins of Saint Raphael, not only do we need to pull over and ponder, we have the opportunity to surrender to transformation, and to build our own monuments to God.

Charles Summers owns Salt of the Earth Farm, a direct-to-consumer operation selling vegetables at the roadside, near Lyndhurst, Ontario.