A Conspiracy of Grace

Luke 17:5-10; 2 Timothy 1:1-14

October 2, 2016

How many of you have heard about the conspiracy theory making the rounds of conservative web sites last week that Hillary Clinton was wearing ear buds at the presidential debate so she could get advice from backstage during the proceedings?

How many of you laughed when you heard it?

Now, how many of you recall similar theories about President George W. Bush during one of his debates with then-Sen. John Kerry? It was all the buzz on liberal web sites back then and you could have found full-color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used against him in, well, if not a court of law then, at least, in the court of progressive public opinion.

That was a dozen years ago, so I won’t ask if you remember laughing at that one nor will I ask if you lent credence to it. That is ancient history and it really doesn’t matter.

Conspiracy theories have long fascinated me as a mode of communication-through-simplification-and-obfuscation. You see, conspiracy theories are the epitome of insider communication, where the very lines separating insiders from outsiders are what’s being obscured. That is to say, if you already share a core belief with those who share a conspiracy theory then you don’t have to talk about the core belief at all. Indeed, absent that unexamined core belief the conspiracy theory makes no sense. For example, if you share a core belief about the personal attributes of, say, President Bush or Secretary Clinton, then you can share in the conspiracy conversation without ever questioning the core belief. A hidden earpiece is just more evidence of, for example, Secretary Clinton’s dishonesty or President Bush’s stupidity.

Only the insiders – those smart enough or in the know enough to discern these core attributes – are shrewd enough to interpret the crystal clear evidence that outsiders see as merely an innocent fold of the fabric or shadow in the screen-grab.

If you don’t already know the Truth – with a capital T – then you’re not able to see the small examples of the truth.

Why does any of this matter? What’s more, what has any of it to do with a brief passage from the gospel of Luke?

The structure of conspiracy theories, for me, provides the most powerful negative example of what’s going on in this story. This story both lifts up the idea of humility and rests on it, as well. Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, rely fundamentally on arrogance.

The story in Luke begins in humility: “Lord, increase our faith.” To ask for something requires, first, recognizing that you need something, that you don’t already have it. To ask for something essential – faith, in this case – requires acknowledging that you lack something essential.

The parable Jesus tells stresses the humility of the servant, and suggests that faith requires of us a humble posture of service. At the same time, Jesus ensures his disciples that faith lived out in humble service can be incredibly powerful. Faith the size of a tiny seed, as Matthew’s version puts it, is powerful enough to move mountains.

The arrogance that marks insiders to run-of-the-mill conspiracy theories, on the other hand, has no power to move anything or anyone. Indeed, if you should try to question the core convictions of those who trade in conspiracy theories you’ll just be shouted down. No one will be moved. Nothing will be changed. It’s like arguing politics or religion on Facebook. Indeed, it is often one and the same.

That’s why, though it fascinates me, conspiracy thinking ultimately just makes me sad whether or not I am sympathetic to the core convictions underlying any given conspiracy theory.

So I am trying to engage in a different kind of conversation these days, one that is, I hope, a little closer to what the author of Second Timothy suggests: rekindle the gifts of God and, with power and in love, share the good news.

What might that look like in practice in a time of such deep divisions in our society? At last Tuesday evening’s meeting of National Capital Presbytery we were invited to engage a modest attempt at a gracious conversation among colleagues who differ on matters of conscience. The principles that guided us would be utterly foreign to those who engage in conspiracy theories, but those same principles would have been perfectly familiar to Jesus because they rest on a foundation of humility.

We were invited, in engaging someone with whom we have a profound disagreement on an issue of conscience, to seek to understand the deepest motivations in the other and to find the best in their convictions while acknowledging, at the same time and with utter honesty and humility, the fullness of our own position including its inevitable blind spots.

By way of example, Jeff Krehbiel, pastor at Church of the Pilgrims in DuPont Circle, and Don Meeks, pastor at Greenwhich Presbyterian in Nokesville, Va. Jeff and Don come from about as far apart on the theological spectrum as one will likely find within the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), but they have been engaged in an intentional ongoing conversation for several years.

Jeff’s perspective in this spoke more powerfully to me, because he and I are, in addition to being friends, both flaming theological liberals. He said that through his conversations with Don he had come to admire the strength of evangelical convictions, the seriousness with which they take the study of scripture, and the passion they feel about sharing the good news with others.

At the same time, he acknowledged that theological progressives sometimes avoid scripture altogether, may pay more attention to getting to brunch with friends than to worship with the community, and, when it comes to sharing good news, tend to hide our light under a bushel basket that we don’t ever examine.

The point of the principles is not to turn away from one’s convictions, but rather to understand conversation as being not about conversion but, instead, about understanding.

For years now, as I have lived through and often participated in leading the church through great changes, I have been convinced that the greatest gift the church can offer to the world is quite simple: you don’t have to walk away from those with whom you disagree.

It’s deeper than that, of course, because this simple gift is grounded in the great gift of the good news of the gospel: God did not turn away from the great disagreement with humankind that was the crucifixion.

God could have walked away from that broken relationship, but in divine and sovereign love, chose to stay in relationship with humankind.

In the midst of a political season uglier than most, seek out that which is beautiful – especially in those with whom you may disagree.

I know my community, so I know I am preaching with far more Clinton supporters than supporters of Mr. Trump. In practice, gracious conversation right now looks like this:

·      Seek to appreciate and do not disparage the economic or social conditions that motivate some of those with whom you disagree.

·      Identify and appreciate the best in the other, while acknowledging your own blind spots.

·      Do not engage in conspiracy thinking. Instead, be part of a conspiracy of grace.

Whenever possible, do what we’re preparing to do right now: break bread together.

This is how we increase our faith. In the tiny seed that became the grain that is now this bread, we may find the strength of deep faith – enough to move the mountain of despair beneath which our society cries out for liberation.

Let us come to the table of grace. Amen.