“I tell people, ‘I’m an okra pastor now — okra doesn’t give me as much trouble as it does some people,'” Chris Battle tells PEOPLE
On a Sunday morning, Chris Battle, dressed in dirt-smeared overalls, sits on the lawn under an elder tree on a vacant lot in East Knoxville, Tenn. As he puffs on his pipe while reading from the Bible, its faithful members warm themselves by a small fire.
Behind them sit piles of okra, cabbage and onions, freshly picked from the property’s garden beds since mid-morning and ready to be transported to the nearby farmers’ market after the service ends. “We meet here whenever God says it’s okay — meaning whenever it’s not raining or too cold,” Battle tells PEOPLE with a hearty laugh. “Here we have atheists, homosexuals, trans and heterosexuals. I think we even have a witch.”
It’s been four years since Battle, 62, left his job as senior pastor at Tabernacle Baptist Church — one of Knoxville’s oldest black Baptist congregations — to grow and deliver fresh produce to residents of a city neighborhood where healthy food is scarce.
“I’m doing something that fills a significant need in our community,” says Battle, who lives with his wife Tom, 58, and four of the 19 children he’s raised over the years. “I think it literally saves people’s lives.”
Chris Battle (center) at his Battlefield Farm with (LR) Kelly Sauskojus, Isaac Goodson, Lady Tiara Wilson and JoVaughn Carmichael.
Mike Bellema
Battle’s decision to step away from the pulpit and focus on feeding others comes as church attendance nationwide has declined — about half of Americans now say they are members of a congregation, down from 70 percent in 2000, according to Gallup.
“His ministry now,” says Knox County Commissioner Dasha Lundy, “brings people together and feeds a community where the black poverty rate is 42 percent.
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Adults teach local children about planting vegetables at Battlefield Farm and Garden.
Courtesy of Chris Battle
Battle’s journey from priest to food activist began in college, when he first felt the call to preach.
“My goal in life was to be a pastor, to be of service to others, and then to retire,” he says. But after nearly 30 years in churches in several states, he became convinced he could do more for the struggling community in East Knoxville, which had no grocery store, where he had worked since 2008.
“Finding out that people here couldn’t get access to food to nourish their bodies was funny to me,” he says. He describes a phenomenon known as “food deserts,” where entire neighborhoods have limited access to affordable fresh food and instead rely on processed foods that can lead to high rates of obesity, diabetes, and heart disease.
“It started messing with my head,” he adds.
For more on Battle’s journey, pick up the latest issue of PEOPLE, on newsstands Friday, or subscribe here.
In 2018, Battle, who recalls the first time he “put a seed in the ground and watched things grow” when he was a boy, planted a small garden on a piece of land owned by his church and gave the fruit to anyone who wanted it. Soon more people, including many who did not go to church, started dropping by to help him as he weeded and watered his crops.
“That’s when it dawned on me that he’s not coming to my church, but he’s coming to my garden,” says Battle. “I knew we had to find a way to bring the two together.”
Battle makes weekly trips to housing units around Knoxville in his “vege van.” “We’re filling a need,” he says.
Courtesy of Lydia Taylor
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Within a year, Battle had quit his job, helped start a Sunday market, and was delivering produce supplied by food banks — more than a ton each week — to public housing residents. He soon established four more community gardens where locals can grow their own food, including his flagship BattleField Farm & Gardens, where, weather permitting, he also holds his informal services every Sunday.
Battle insists his crusade to transform his neighborhood with leafy greens, sweet potatoes and beets is just beginning.
“I’ve never been happier,” he says. “I don’t miss being a pastor. I tell people, ‘I’m an okra shepherd now — okra doesn’t give me as much trouble as it does some people.’ ”
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