I haven’t written much about my cousin Russ in my journal, though I have mentioned him from time to time. Like every human being, Russ was a complex person and the danger of writing about him is that I will fail to tell the story accurately because I am only able to tell part of it. It would take a book and more to tell his story and I’m not the kind of writer who can produce that kind of a book. And there is at least one book that tells part of his story. Liz Carlisle wrote a book that is in its second edition that tells quite a bit of Russ’ story. Lentil Underground: Renegade Farmers and the Future of Food in America is the title of her book about how a few small farmers refused to follow the ways of corporate agribusiness. Unlike the chemically based food chain that produces grain for the profits of a few at the top of the pyramid and huge debts for everyday farmers who are forced to continue to get bigger and bigger in order to survive, a handful of Montana farmers began to experiment with heirloom seeds and lentils grown to enrich the soil. My cousin Russ was one of those farmers. And he was successful at what he did, producing organic food and turning away from chemical fertilizer.

That, however, is a story for another time. I’ve been thinking of my cousin Russ the last few days because of some other parts of his story. Everyone who knew Russ knew that he loved auction sales. He had a way of seeing things that others thought were junk and thinking of ways that that junk could be used. He was able to do work with machines that others had abandoned. He knew how to go to a sale and come home with usable machinery and parts for small amounts of money. He also was willing to buy a bucket of miscellaneous metal in order to get a single usable wrench. Auctioneers loved Russ. He bought things that others would not buy.

When I am working on a project at our home or at our son’s farm, I often end up running to town to purchase parts or supplies. Russ didn’t think that way. He looked around his place and figured out how he could find a workable part on a machine in the yard, or make a part from supplies he had on hand, or invent a work around that allowed him to keep working without the missing part.

There were plenty of other farmers who couldn’t understand Russ’ ways. His father, also a farmer, didn’t like the growing collection of junk on the place. Some of his neighbors didn’t like the weeds that migrated from one field to another. A few of those who criticized him thought that he was old fashioned because he didn’t have new equipment and didn’t drive new vehicles. He made his own repairs and didn’t have the service technicians in their mobile trucks come to visit his place.

It turns out, however, that Russ wasn’t old fashioned at all. His way of sustainable farming and the things he learned about how to produce food are at the forefront of the building of a new future for American agriculture. It is becoming increasingly clear that the large fuel and chemical dependent farms are not sustainable. Plants that enrich the soil are more effective than chemical fertilizers. Growing grain for alcohol to use as fuel is inherently inefficient. A more direct route from the farm to the table provides food for more people with less profit for a few already rich people.

Russ had deep respect for those who had gone before. He invested hours of careful listening to Blackfoot elders and others who had lived on the land before the coming of settler farmers. He paid attention to the way that previous generations used machinery to solve problems. He understood his roots. But he also was a man of the future, exploring new ways of solving old problems and always thinking about the future of the land.

I guess that the season of Advent is a natural time for me to think about Russ and his ways. Because in this season we are called to think about the new that is coming. We often proclaim the new by reaching deep into the traditions and symbols of the past. We use ancient language and we practice rituals that have been practiced for generations. The message of the season, however, is that we are not called to the repetition of the same old ways and practices. We are being invited into something new that is emerging. For us the birth of the Christ child is not an ancient event long past, but rather a call to the future and an invitation to envision and work for peace and justice that have eluded previous generations. It is a complex story not a simple set of slogans.

It is a story of hope.

Some people look at my cousin’s farm and what they see are relics of the past - broken machines that have not worked for decades. Some people see a mess that needs to be cleaned up - truckload after truckload of scrap iron that should be hauled to the recyclers. A few folk look at the farm and recognize the future emerging: a future less dominated by corporate greed powered by an increasingly short supply of fossil fuels and more sustainable for the long term. There are different ways of seeing.

Advent for us is about exploring different ways of seeing. Some people look at the coming climate crisis and see mass starvation, pandemic, and millions dying of pollution. Some people took at it and see a problem so big that they feel powerless to act. A few folk, however, see opportunities to discover new ways of living and new ways of caring for others. They see the possibility of justice for those who have long been oppressed.

My cousin Russ challenged me and others to look again and see freshly. Advent is a season of looking again and seeing freshly. May I approach this season with eyes wide open.