This Conspiracy of Hope
An Introduction to Conspire
I was on a plane the other day, and the guy sitting next to me asked, “So what do you do?” I decided to have a little fun. “I’m a preacher,” I said with a smirk. The man returned the smirk. “I never would have known. They must not make preachers like they used to.” A pause. “Well, you shouldn’t be short of preaching material these days. After all, this is the apocalypse!”
Granted, the guy may have read too many Tim LaHaye books (that old Left Behind series)—but I think he was onto something. These are incredible times to be alive. Apocalypse, like revelation, literally means an “unveiling” or “disclosure;” a “ripping away the veil”—sort of like The Wizard of Oz, when they pull the curtain and see a little man behind all the hoorah. Now we are seeing what lies behind Wall Street—and it’s very brittle.
It’s eerie how relevant the words of Revelation are as they speak of the fall of Babylon. Babylon is the scriptural icon of empire, “the Great Whore.” It embodies all the power and splendor of this world. When Babylon falls, there are two responses: The merchants weep. And the angels rejoice. I guess the real question for us today is—are we weeping with the merchants or rejoicing with the angels?
Now is a time to rejoice, for God is still good. Resurrection still happens, every day. The lilies and the sparrows still shame Wall Street’s splendor. God is still calling people who do not conform to the patterns of this world or the empire out of Babylon to create a new society in the shell of the old.
These are the ones who hear in God’s word a different dream – a dream where we systemically dismantle inequality and interrupt patterns of injustice. Where we set the captives and debtors free, and let the land rest. Where the dead come back to life again, changed. These dark times are an opportunity for the Church to shine. God is moving in the world, even as the world groans for the Kingdom to come on earth.
Seven years ago, a crowd of us had a little Jubilee party at the entrance of the New York Stock Exchange and turned the streets silver with $10,000 in coins. Then we sent $100 bills (each scrawled with the word “love”) to one hundred different radical faith communities living with creativity and courage on the margins of the empire. Today, that list has multiplied many times over.
We want to connect those outposts. You are holding our first issue of Conspire!—a conversation in words and image designed to connect the dots between all these amazing witnesses. Dozens of communities and organizations have become co-conspirators, each one kicking in support (prayer, money, vision, time) to bring this off. On these pages, we hope to create an open canvas for the imagination and to plot goodness together. We want to share stories, art, and holy mischief. We’re here to remind you that you are not crazy—or at least not alone. As old Peter Maurin, co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement, said, “If we are crazy, it is because we refuse to be crazy in the same way that the world has been crazy.”
We are bucking the grain by distributing this little “literary co-op” through communities. Our readers have to connect with someone nearby to get it. It’s our way of pulling together all those dots on the margins of empire. To find us and make those relationships, visit http://www.conspiremagazine.com. We’ll help you keep an eye out for other collaborative projects designed to connect ordinary radicals and local revolutions. We’re creating a book of common prayer so that we can be reading scripture, singing, and crying out to God together. We’ve launched a directory of intentional communities and hospitality houses (www.communityofcommunities.info). Nearly every month finds a School for Conversion—weekend gatherings hosted by new monastic communities to study how to live as God’s peculiar people. We are spreading inspiration—touch to touch, breath to breath. We are whispering the good news: that after death there is resurrection; that after hatred falls, love wins. For our hope does not lie in Wall Street, or the U.S. and her armies—even if she is the best Babylon in the world. Our hope does not lie in a new Caesar or President (even a good one). Our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
A great preacher evoked the donkey that carried Jesus to remind us that it’s never about us or the good things we do. It’s simply about God—and living God’s story of love. Hearing all the hoorahs and hosannas, that donkey may have started to feel pretty good. As folks waved palm branches, the donkey probably strutted his stuff and gave a few proud nods at the crowd.
But it’s not about the donkey. We can never forget that we’re just the asses who’ve been corralled to help bring Jesus in. What an honor it is, though, to be part of the cosmic hosanna—and to do it with you.
Shane Claiborne, The Simple Way
