On a recent morning I found myself in John 3–a book of the Bible that I don’t know well. My practice has long been to work with a handful of verses in a simple lectio divina pattern, reading and listening and responding, with the expectation that God will have something to say to me through them that day.
Here’s what I read that morning:
Beloved, you do faithfully whatever you do for the friends, even though they are strangers to you; they have testified to your love before the church. You will do well to send them on in a manner worthy of God; for they began their journey for the sake of Christ, accepting no support from non-believers. Therefore we ought to support such people, so that we may become co-workers with the truth.
3 John 5-8 (emphasis mine).
In lectio, you are invited to read prayerfully and see what words or phrases jump out at you, or shimmer, or draw you in. That morning it was these words:
co-workers with the truth
I worry a little about these words, because I see a double meaning in them. Maybe we’re supposed to become co-workers with one another, aware that we have the truth. That sounds kind of “onward, Christian soldiers”-y to me, “marching as to war.” Out we go, into a world we might picture as apathetic or hostile, holding tight to (and perhaps brandishing!) the truth that we carry with us.
You can tell from that description that I don’t love a truth-wielding reading of these words. I have seen too much damage done by people who are certain they have God’s truth in their hands. The author Anne Lamott wisely critiques that kind of certitude: ” The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty.” (From Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith (2006).) The certainty that we have the truth can keep us from examining our beliefs, querying the tradition, and bringing our reason and Christian experience to bear on whatever questions are before us. I want curiosity, not certainty. I want to practice, not dictate.
So here’s the other meaning I saw in those words, that early summer morning. Co-workers with the truth includes truth as one of the workers! I drew this little diagram in the margin of my journal, reflecting on that idea, savoring it, smiling. We do what we do and truth is there in our midst, shoulder to shoulder. Sometimes we get a little far away and we have to circle up again, get re-grounded, and do the next right thing. Truth labors right there with us, doing its part.
This put me in mind of wisdom I’ve heard in the recent #Black Lives Matter protests and conversations about racial injustice. Where people like me who want to stand alongside our BIPOC siblings have sometimes described ourselves as “allies,” Bettina Love and others have pushed for a more active, engaged self-description: CO-CONSPIRATORS.
Do you hear the shift in energy and persistence when one makes that move in language and imagination? Co-conspirators are creative, and defiant. They strategize. They don’t just stand there, like an ally might. They’re in it.
So, that recently experienced shift in thinking, in favor of “co-conspirators,” also informed my reading of those words from 3 John. “Coworkers” takes on a different urgency, a new delight, when it’s recast as “co-conspirators.” Do you feel it?
So, definitely, that’s where I want to be, standing in that crowd of co-conspirators that includes truth! Co-conspirators with the truth! Bringing that energy and wonder to bear on racial justice questions, yes, but much more broadly: on our common life as a nation, a community, the church.
To live out anything close to the #FoolishChurch that I describe in my book by that name, we’ll need the truth to be right there at the table, writing on the white board, next to us in the pew (or in a box on Zoom!), speaking from the pulpit, guiding the rest of us as we conspire to work “in a manner worthy of God.” May it be so.
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