The refrains are familiar: “9/11 was an inside job!” “The moon landing was a hoax!” “The election was stolen!” As the luster of the Information Age’s newness is now well worn, we find ourselves stuck at the receiving end of the endless supply of its products. The product, of course, includes lots of important, educational, and meaningful information. Yet there also persists what seems to be a growing mass of misinformation. Conspiracy theories that grip too many can easily be created, supported with “evidence,” and peddled on the internet platform of one’s choice. One’s cultural and political interests coupled with effective, if not nefarious, algorithms drive us right to the well from which we can drink both the true and the false. And as our attention spans are now only guaranteed through the headline of these pieces, identities and worldviews suffer at the hands of the catchiest conspiratorial catchphrases. And Christians are, at best, not immune from and, at worst, contribute to the spread of these very falsehoods. As the authors of the book’s first chapter note, if Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” “Christians must be committed to what is true” (1).

In their edited volume, QAnon, Chaos, and the Cross: Christianity and Conspiracy Theories, editors Michael W. Austin and Gregory L. Bock have compiled an interdisciplinary cast of specialists (mostly philosophers and theologians) to take up this problem: How are more discerning Christians supposed to address the belief in and role of conspiracy theories in other Christians and Christianity more broadly? The insights provided are conscientious, well-considered, and hopeful. Some examples of their offerings include the cultivation of particular virtues that can help a person grapple with scientific claims (e.g., humility, honesty, curiosity, and carefulness) (38-40); rethinking how Christians embody “foolishness,” favoring being fools “for humbly following the crucified Christ, rather than QAnon” (75); recognizing God’s own use of evidence “to establish his own credibility and reason with his people” as a guide for the Christian’s own intellectual and spiritual life (131); or challenging the presence of “Q” in Christian religious communities at its root in the “pervasive God-and-country Christian nationalism that co-opts Christian language and culture” (202). The contributors also offer insights for raising children and teenagers who might be drawn to these falsehoods, and they offer insights about not just in-person faith communities, but also relationships with others online.

Of course, these insights are not provided without being clear about the accompanying risks. One author writes, “Conspiracy theories need to be debunked for the good of Christian communities. Unfortunately, Christian communities make that harder when they attack the messengers rather than weigh the validity of evidence being presented.” And as regards the source of those messengers (i.e., “outsiders” in the media or “insiders” in their own faith communities), the author continues, “The cost rises immeasurably higher for insiders. Outsiders are spurned by a community already predisposed to reject them. Insiders stand to lose their faith community, family connections, and possibly even their livelihood” (28).

Each of the chapters is written in an accessible way, making the text an excellent resource for many audiences, including church members and those who work with them. This accessibility is not, however, at the expense of the profound insights the authors have offered their readers. The ultimate goal of the edited volume is a greater love of God and neighbor by the Christian faithful (xiii). Given the tendency of many to favor rightness over truth, this book challenges Christians to take up this altruistic attitude as they lovingly accompany others toward truth—a truly radical call in the current U.S. socio-religio-political climate.