Crunchy Mom Monasticism: Tradition or Retreat?

I. Introduction: The New Crunchy Cloister

A jar of sourdough starter bubbles on the counter. Linen sheets sway on the line beside rows of cloth diapers. Children run barefoot through the yard, chasing hens around a compost heap. Dinner is prepared from food grown in the garden or purchased at a local co-op. Conversations turn toward home remedies, suspicion of pharmaceuticals, and frustrations with schools and supply chains. To outsiders the scene looks quaint; to those inside it feels like conviction, even obedience.

There is much to commend. Strong households, healthier food, and less dependence on fragile systems deserves praise. Many Reformed mothers are drawn to these patterns because they want to shield their children from danger and provide something better than the world’s offerings. These instincts are noble.

But instincts alone do not define faithfulness. Proverbs reminds us: “Every prudent man acts with knowledge, but a fool flaunts his folly” (Proverbs 13:16). Wisdom tests whether practices are genuinely wise or merely appear so. The danger here lies not in bread baked at home or garments sewn from natural fibers, but in turning such practices into banners of retreat, as though holiness or safety can be secured by stepping back from the world God commands His people to engage in.

II. Monastic Withdrawal Then and Now

This temptation is ancient. In the third and fourth centuries, Christians unsettled by the compromises of society sought holiness in deserts and caves. Anthony of Egypt became renowned for his solitude, and Pachomius soon organized hermits into communities with rules of prayer and fasting. By the sixth century, Benedict of Nursia gave monasticism its lasting shape. His rule bound men to vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Marriage and children were renounced, and labor was directed inward to sustain the cloister.

The church came to honor monks and nuns as spiritual elites. A farmer in his field or a mother raising children was deemed “earthly,” while cloistered prayer was exalted as “heavenly.” Luther rejected this false hierarchy: “We are not monks. We are fathers, mothers, workers, and rulers. These are holy callings” (Sermon on the Estate of Marriage). Calvin insisted that “true piety does not consist in deserting men and living apart from them” (Institutes 4.1.19). Paul was sharper still: “If anyone does not provide for his relatives… he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever” (1 Timothy 5:8).

R. J. Rushdoony noted the theological root: “The monastery was an attempt to deny God’s order of creation, to abandon the family, and to invent a life supposedly holier than what God ordained” (Institutes of Biblical Law). The impulse to retreat reappears whenever separation is mistaken for sanctity. Today it surfaces not in stone cloisters but in curated lifestyles that promise safety through societal isolation.

III. Why Retreat Appeals

The conditions of our age make withdrawal attractive. Economies falter, governments overreach, schools indoctrinate, and consumer culture feels hollow. Food is industrialized, medicine over-prescribed, and public trust fractured. In such an environment, households long for control, stability, and purity.

Homemade meals, handcrafted goods, and small-scale living offer reassurance. They promise authenticity in a plastic world and a measure of independence from unstable systems. A stocked pantry feels like a protest against fragility.

For Reformed families, theology reinforces that pull to a degree. Scripture commands diligence in provision. Parents want to shield children from harmful ideologies. They know the dangers of modern idols. In this light, alternative lifestyles appear not only practical but pious.

Yet not every instinct that feels pious is truly obedient. Romans 12:2 calls believers not to conform to the world but to be transformed by renewed minds. That command is fulfilled by engagement, not retreat. Proverbs 18:1 warns, “Whoever isolates himself seeks his own desire; he breaks out against all sound judgment.”

Greg Bahnsen pressed the point: “Theonomy does not call us to abandon culture but to transform it; the law of God is designed to direct the whole of life, not drive us into enclaves” (By This Standard). Practices that nurture health or diligence may serve well, but when they are elevated into philosophies of separation they echo that old monastic error.

IV. The Hidden Costs of Retreat

The dream of self-sufficiency glows in the imagination. Families picture themselves nourished by gardens, free from markets, and living more cheaply. Reality tells another story.

Financial costs. Land is expensive. Tools, fencing, feed, and livestock require constant spending. Seeds and soil amendments must be renewed. Many discover that the grocery store, thanks to economies of scale, was cheaper. Christ’s warning applies: “For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost” (Luke 14:28).

Time costs. Simplicity consumes hours. Bread from freshly ground flour devours hours while a store bought loaf costs 15 minutes worth of earnings at minimum wage. Gardens demand daily attention to water, weed, and cultivate. Livestock can be simple enough to manage until they suddenly aren't, and require hours of your undivided attention; sometimes at odd hours of the night. Parents stretch themselves thin, sometimes exhausting themselves for the sake of an ideal.

Dependence costs. Independence is mostly illusion. Tractors need diesel, feed comes by truck, and tools arrive through global supply chains. Even the most self-reliant household depends on wider networks. There is no true parallel economy. Paul’s charge to “work with your hands… so that you may walk properly before outsiders and be dependent on no one” (1 Thessalonians 4:12) speaks of responsible participation, not isolation.

Adam Smith observed that prosperity grows through division of labor; one weaves, another farms, another forges, and each benefits through exchange. Scripture assumes this same reality in its constant recognition of trade and commerce.

Gary North underscored the point: “Self-sufficiency is a myth; no one escapes the market. The issue is whether Christians will participate passively or whether they will consciously exercise dominion through work and exchange” (Dominion and Common Grace). Withdrawal cannot erase dependence; it increases inefficiency by avoiding specialists and economies of scale.

V. Retreat or Reform?

Recognizing the brokenness of the world is easy. Supply chains fail, governments intrude, schools deceive, and markets distort. The pressing question is how Christians should respond. Do we hide, or do we reform?

The creation mandate answers: “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it” (Genesis 1:28). This is not a call to abandon but to cultivate. Christ’s Great Commission carries the same demand: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:18–19). Salt has no value if it never touches food; light is wasted if hidden under a bushel.

Calvin warned that “to flee the world is to betray our office; for Christ has made us salt and light” (Commentary on Matthew 5). Samuel Rutherford echoed, “Christianity does not unmake commonwealths, but reforms them” (Lex, Rex).

Rushdoony concluded for our time: “Retreat from the world is not an option for the Christian. God’s law-word requires us to reconstruct, to reform, to apply the crown rights of Christ to every sphere” (Institutes of Biblical Law). Reform is the calling; retreat is surrender.

VI. Faithful, Not Fanatical

So where does this leave families who simply value the virtues of slower living, and are willing to suffer inefficiency for their hobbies? Scripture absolutely grants liberty here. Paul writes, “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31). Buying bread or baking it, sewing cloth or purchasing garments; none of these is inherently holier. Gratitude and obedience are the standard.

This freedom allows households to embrace practices wisely; often a both/and not either/or. They may choose to homeschool some years, and send their kids to school (ideally at least Christian and private) in others. They may keep gardens and still get some produce at Aldi. They may rely on herbs and oils, yet also seek after more modern medical care when the situation calls for it. The key is balance. Habits that support stewardship serve well; habits that serve as badges of separation distort.

Martin Bucer called the household “a little church,” ordered to bless both city and kingdom. Families that raise children, earn wages, extend hospitality, and participate in community are reforming, not retreating. Practices that nurture diligence and gratitude may strengthen this mission, but they cannot define it.

James Jordan put it memorably: “The family is not called to be a hermitage but a dominion outpost. Its strength lies in engagement, not withdrawal” (Through New Eyes).

VII. The Positive Path of Reform

If retreat is distortion, reform is obedience. Reform is not abstract; it is lived in ordinary callings.

• Education. Christian schools and faithful homeschooling train children in truth and equip them for engagement.

• Commerce. Businesses built on covenantal ethics reshape markets by embodying honesty, diligence, and generosity.

• Civic life. Service in councils, neighborhood groups, and associations brings reform into public spaces. Withdrawal leaves them to the folly of their unbelief.

• Hospitality. A meal shared with neighbors accomplishes more cultural reformation than pantries stocked in isolation.

• Church life. Faithful congregations equip households for visible obedience in the world rather than encouraging separatism. We are not the Amish, and their story is a warning not a paradigm.

  
  

These paths require sacrifice. Reform is slower than retreat and is often harder than rustic ideals, yet it is fruitful. Bahnsen was right: “The law of God lays claim upon every area of life; to deny that claim in practice is to abandon dominion” (Theonomy in Christian Ethics). Reform is the only faithful way forward. You may set up a little Eden on your land, but do not let it distract you from your call to expand Eden to everywhere.

VIII. Conclusion: From Crunch to Covenant

Homemade meals and hand-crafted goods are not problems in themselves. They are blessings when made and received with gratitude. The danger is in turning them into systems of escape. Psalm 24:1 reminds us: “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof.” Jesus prayed not that His people would be removed from the world but that they would be sanctified in it (John 17:15–18).

Abraham Kuyper declared, “It is not the desert but the marketplace that needs saints” (Lectures on Calvinism). Calvin explained that Christ prayed “not that [His disciples] should be taken out of the world, but that they should be preserved in the midst of their course” (Commentary on John 17). Rutherford insisted that Christianity reforms, not abandons, commonwealths (Lex, Rex). Rushdoony, North, and Bahnsen pressed the same point for our time.

The calling of Christian households is dominion. Families are to raise children, build businesses, engage in commerce, open their homes, and live visibly holy lives. Alternative practices may enrich that mission, but they must never replace it.

Retreat isolates; reform blesses. Retreat grasps for control; reform trusts Christ. Sourdough and sundresses may enrich the household, but they are not its crown. Christ calls His people to press outward, taking dominion over the whole earth by living covenantally in every sphere.

“For He must reign until He has put all His enemies under His feet." - 1 Cor 15:25