Let me just start with the basics.

If I were to pick a favorite book of 2025 right now, it would be Jeff Chu's remarkable "Good Soil: The Education of an Accidental Farmhand."

While I expected to appreciate "Good Soil" having become familiar with Chu through his work with the Evolving Faith Conference and his co-authoring with Rachel Held Evans "Wholehearted Faith," the truth is I loved every word of "Good Soil" from the opening chapters that served up the roots of Chu's life to the natural, rhythmic prose of Chu's journey through Princeton Theological Seminary's "Farminary."

My favorite books tend to allow me to experience a full spectrum of emotions. Throughout my time with "Good Soil," I laughed, I cried, I reflected, I learned, and I felt a little less alone.

Chu was in his late 30's when he left his job as a magazine writer and enrolled at Princeton Theological Seminary. It was at Princeton that he encountered the "Farminary," a 21-acre working farm where students would learn to cultivate the earth while examining life's biggest questions. As would be spoken early on in the journey by the professors leading the program, it was expected that amidst the animals and the plants and the crops that would grow there love would also grow there.

I have shared more than once a pastoral visit not long after my cancer journey took my bladder and left me with an ostomy resulted in my answering the question from Rev. Gracie "How's your relationship with your body?" with a resounding "I hate it. " It was an unexpectedly honest spewing forth of unresolved trauma, a trauma based upon years of disability and years of violence and years of craving an intimacy I've never known. So, when Chu begins sharing his own relationship with his body I instantly began weeping (okay, sobbing) while also, I'd dare say, not quite feeling so alone in those unresolved areas.

There was more. So much more. Yet, to share too much is to ruin it for the reader who deserves to experience these lessons drawn from experiencing growth, decay, regeneration, and what it means to foster good soil. "Good Soil" is so refreshingly honest about family relationships that won't heal, friendships that will heal, the vitality of community, and the interconnectedness of us all.

"Good Soil" affirms the desire to belong and the significance of our roots. It affirms the decisions we make, at times when we're surrounded by those who disagree.

While I am a seminary graduate, I'm not a farmer. I can't say I'm particularly well-versed in ecological issues nor as a wheelchair user am I particularly adept at traveling out into nature other than along the trails (which I do quite frequently). Yet, I was enthralled by the warmth and wonder, connectedness and intimacy of "Good Soil."

If you've known me for any length of time, then you know that the word "tenderness" is my favorite word having become the key element of my namesake "Tenderness Tour" and having become perhaps my lifelong quest to both give and receive. Indeed, it was the word "tenderness" that came to mind again and again and again throughout "Good Soil."

There is also grief in "Good Soil," as anyone might expect who is familiar with Chu's connection to the late Rachel Held Evans. It's handled gently yet vulnerably, narratively a relatively small yet meaningful portion of the story that unfolds in "Good Soil." It could have backfired, of course, and yet Chu's remarkable wording makes it clear these were words he needed to write and stories he needed to tell.

Unquestionably, "Good Soil" is one of the best books of 2025 and an essential literary experience for those who practice a more progressive faith along with foodies, nature lovers, those who've ever felt like outsiders, and those who've ever discovered what it means to truly belong.

Written by Richard Propes
The Independent Critic