Today I am going to share a list of unrealistic things in fiction. And by unrealistic, I mean in the absolute sense of “not like reality”, and not in the vaguely literary sense that some people use the word. Realism, when applied to art, is a slippery term, and some day we need to have an enormous argument debate and thrash it out.

Just not today. So here we go, unrealistic (“not like reality”) things in fiction.

The noble thief. The noble thief is a popular convention in fiction, and rarely are we dealing with Les Miserables-type thieves who only stole to feed someone else’s starving children. Usually the noble thief is a handsome, charming career criminal who turns out to have a heart of gold and, quite often, very good aim.

Back in reality, career criminals do not as a rule have hearts of gold; that would get in the way of being career criminals. The old proverb that there is no honor among thieves is much nearer to the truth than many a fictional thief-hero.

Virtually all the “future” science you ever saw. If you have never considered what would actually happen if anyone followed Dr. Frankenstein’s theory on how to animate new creatures, you don’t want to start now. Suffice it to say that the whole theory is pseudo-science and could never animate anything. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is another classic that hinges on pseudo-science.

The “science” of science fiction is almost always spurious. Writers may sound convincing, as they explain how time travel or lightspeed or what-have-you is possible, but none of it is real. Think about it: If these people really knew how to achieve micro-nanotechnology or faster-than-light travel, do you think they would be writing science fiction?

Beautiful romances that begin with dislike and bickering. We have all seen these romances in fiction. Sometimes the dislike/bickering stage goes on for weeks, or months, or, yes, even years. In actual life, people you cannot like after a certain amount of interaction you probably never will like, and true love rarely begins with antagonism.

Dialogue. No matter what movie you watch or book you read, this will always  be one of the most unrealistic things in it. As John Green once observed, “The problem with actual human speech is that it does not take place in the form of sentences.” Dialogue is human speech with all the jerkiness and superfluity edited out: the false starts, the repetition, the um’s and uh’s, the pauses, the sentence fragments, too much detail and too little specificity. Oh, traces of these may remain, but only for effect.

Dialogue is not defined, of course, merely by the normal elements of speech that have been excised from it. It is also defined by the unusual elements that are added to it. Fiction is filled with good lines, witty comebacks, and eloquent statements that many people could not think of extemporaneously and some could not think of at all. In life, there are moments where – when it really matters – we know just what to say. These moments come to us like graces. But few real people possess the impromptu (and evidently effortless) eloquence of fictional characters.

Disney’s “National Treasure”. My brother and I once spent an hour of our lives dissecting this movie and why it was utterly unrealistic and absolutely could never have happened. And you know something? I still love it. I don’t believe it one iota, but I enjoy it immensely.

Because however much we use unrealistic as a criticism, we don’t always truly mind it. After all, if we wanted a perfect facsimile of reality, would we be reading, or watching, fiction?

Long before I’d heard of fantasy as a genre, I loved books that fall into that category. I was a child, after all, and had no problem with talking animals or Impossible Things. I loved to imagine, so Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was a story to dream about. And I wasn’t steeped in politically correct-think, so the Uncle Remus stories such as Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby were a delight, not a controversy.

Later I “graduated” to realistic fiction, but I never lost my love of fantasy, though I found it more often in comic books. Not the superhero kind. My taste inclined toward Scrooge McDuck, Donald, and his nephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Maybe it was the talking animals.

Back in the day, children’s books, meaning picture books here, of all stripes seemed to convey important themes, less artfully disguised so that little listeners, and later little readers, would not miss the point. Reading and stories, after all, were not simply entertainment. They were ways of passing on the beliefs and traditions of society. They weren’t reflecting culture, they were consciously helping to maintain its standards.

Much has changed since my growing up years, not the least this attitude toward children’s books. Sure, they were good for teaching colors and numbers and identifying animals, but after The Cat in the Hat, where was the fantasy? And where was the goal to provide a moral compass for little minds and hearts?

In addition, some writers turned to children’s books, not as a means to reinforce societal norms, but as a means to change them. (See for example books like Heather Has Two Mommies).

But then along comes the very popular self-published book, The Rabbit Who Wants to Fall Asleep, and children’s books suddenly look as if they might be positioned to do for the current crop of children what the fantasies I read did for me.

I’m not sure why talking animals resonate so much with children. Maybe it’s because they are free of race and the trappings of socioeconomic situations. They transcend borders and bypass differences. Maybe it’s because they are cute or because they tap into the desire in the heart of children to imagine, to dream the what-if story. Maybe because we adults tend to surround children from their infancy with Teddy Bears and rocking horses and silly mice.

At any rate, I’m happy to see a renewed interest in children’s books, particularly by Christian authors. As western culture moves away from Christianity, books can play a bigger and bigger role in grounding children from an early age in truth and moral instruction.

I don’t know a lot of picture book titles, but Donita Paul and her daughter Evangeline Denmark have written two which I’ve mentioned before: The Dragon and the Turtle and The Dragon and the Turtle Go on Safari.

Another author who is writing imaginative picture books (imaginative because the characters are animals), is Hannah Hall. Her latest which released in August is God Bless Our Fall. Others by her include God Bless You And Good Night, God Bless My Boo Boo, and God Bless Our Christmas.

Lisa T. Bergren, who some readers know more for her speculative young adult novels, also has a series of children’s picture books, starring a family of bears. Some of her titles are God Gave Us You, God Gave Us Love, and the just released God Gave Us Sleep (a timely title, it would seem!)

In the general market there are quite a few fantasy stories with moral underpinnings, including The Pout-Pout Fish by Deborah Diesen, Giraffes Can’t Dance by Giles Andreae, and I Don’t Want To Be A Frog by Dev Petty.

What are the picture books you remember that had an influence on you? Have you seen or read any lately that you think could become classics? What do you think should be the purposes for children’s books? Why do you think so many children’s books depend on an element of fantasy?

We are getting more movies similar to Fireproof and God’s Not Dead—Christian-made movies that shake up our assumptions about Christianity and pop culture. We are also hearing more written criticisms of these movies—criticisms that sometimes make just as many wrongful assumptions about how or why Christians enjoy or “use” stories.

It’s a perfect time to challenge ourselves on this topic, no matter what “side(s)” we take.

Here is my favorite question to shape such discussions: What are movies meant to do? But the bigger question under that question is: What are human stories meant to do? And then a still more-foundational question is this one: What is human culture meant to do?

Christians risk assuming that stories and culture are “for art’s sake,” “for evangelism,” “for education,” or “for the culture war,” rather than seek answers in the Bible and its wisdom.

Yet atop that root discussion lie challenges about Christian movies.

Last week I shared seven of them. Here are seven more.

8. Do you remember the characters’ names from the last Christian movie you saw?

J.K. Rowling gives characters names like “Seamus Finnigan” and nobody panics. Jerry B. Jenkins gives characters names like “Rayford Steele” and everyone loses their minds.

This seems like an odd question. But it popped into my head when I was trying to recall the plot and characters of the Christian movies I’ve seen. With only a few exceptions,¹ I could not recall any of the characters’ actual first or last names.

Mind you, I ask this question about other movies. Whether a movie’s fault or a viewer’s fault, one of my silly pet peeves is when people say about a movie, “And then Tom Cruise said …” or, “And then Tom Cruise saved the world …” Well, Cruise may have said it, but it was actually a writer/director/brainstorming session/uncredited key grip who wrote it. And Cruise may have acted it, but technically it was Cruise’s character—such as super-spy Ethan Hunt in the Mission Impossible film series—who re-re-re-re-saved the world.

For Christians who are unaccustomed to stories: might we accidentally be blending actor and character? Might this be why we don’t want actors to say anything from a list of “bad words” (even to show bad behaviors)? Could this also be why some of us are nervous or confused about non-Christian actors—such as Nicolas Cage—acting in Christian movies?

But for fans of Christian movies, couldn’t it be one of those little evidences that for the movie-makers it’s the “message” that matters more than the story’s human figures?

9. Are people really spiritually challenged or saved by a Christian movie?

Has the Bible prescribed many of the “evangelism methods” that Christians find effective or even above question, such as church altar calls, tract distribution, evangelism crusades, or Christian movies? If not, then if we believe Christian movies are useful for evangelism—instead of being mainly for our own enjoyment or identity—isn’t this a fair question to ask?

My Christ and Pop Culture colleague Christopher Hutton answers the question negatively:

A recent Lifeway study revealed that the vast majority of Christian media consumers are self-proclaimed Christians. If you add the recent data points from Christian media advocacy group Faith Driven Consumer to the equation, it becomes clear that the Kendrick brothers’ box-office “success” is driven by a select number of religiously motivated consumers …²

If I could show that not a single person anywhere has believed in or recommitted to Jesus as even a partial result of a Christian movie, would that mean the movies have no purpose?

Or, if I could show that just one person believed in or recommitted to Jesus as even a partial result of a terribly made Christian movie, would that mean the movie cannot be criticized?

Bonus sub-question: What about movies (or sermons, books, groups, etc.) that have anti-biblical teaching? If God uses those things to save someone, are the things above criticism?

10. Do we have double standards for Christian movies and other movies?

This is what I risk with challenge no. 8—the possibility of targeting Christian movies for special criticism and letting slide other movies that do the same things. For the critical folk, are we careful to avoid this? Are we sure we’re not acting like parents who snap at our own children for slouching while letting other children whack each other with impunity?

11. Do Christian movies hint at a Genie Jesus in the sky granting wishes?

That challenge leads to this one. As a rule, certain stories may end happily with the villains vanquished and the heroes’ dreams come true. But do critics challenge Christian movies—including the recent War Room—for exactly the same ending? For example, one critic said:

This is a bad film. It is a film that might cause some women to stay longer in an abusive relationship. It is a film with a bad view of prayer. I don’t dislike it because it is simple, but because it is simply unreal. We often pray and things go badly . . . not because God is not listening, but because God is bringing what is best for us in an eternal perspective in the constraints of a free will universe.³

Should other movies—such as Disney fairy tales—escape this criticism simply because they are set in fantasy worlds that do not reference Jesus but may have actual magic genies?

But if Christian filmmakers insist on emphasizing contemporary, “realistic” movies, what responsibility do they have to be truthful and show how the world is? How can the movie-makers fulfill this if they also want to steer the story in the direction of a happier ending?

12. Do we forget that Christians will inevitably have our ‘subcultures’?

Some critics will suggest that Christians should not have our own movies anyway. They may say, “We should not even have a ‘Christian culture’ or a thing called ‘Christian movies.’ Instead we must be in the world being Christians while we help make culture and movies.”

But doesn’t this skip a step—living our roles in local churches, which are part of Christ’s ambassador-Bride? Doesn’t this sentimentalize reality—a reality in which any individual has his/her own “culture” and any group of people will have a shared culture of cultures? And doesn’t this enact an impossible double standard in which Trekkies, Twihards, anime fans, and comic book readers can have their own subcultures, but Christians are not “allowed”?⁴

13. Do Christian movies show only the ‘subculture’ sides of our lives?

Still, do most Christian movies share an “evangelical cinematic universe,” or ECU, where evangelical subculture is not like it is in reality—that is, like one circle that touches other circles?

Don’t these movies instead act like evangelical subculture is the all-encompassing culture of reality, affecting how any character speaks and acts (for God or against)? Do the movies assume that in this “ECU,” pretty much any character has a strong views about God (rather than in reality where many people are too self-“distracted” to care one way or the other)?

I also wonder if some movies have a bizarrely distant/enmeshed view of the local church. The drama occurs apart from local churches (distant). Yet the story’s climax occurs with an altar call or explicitly religious ceremony (enmeshed). But where is the transition? If the story is meant to be realistic, isn’t this weird? How do the non-Christian characters become part of evangelical culture so quickly? Doesn’t that trigger a spiritual “uncanny valley”?

And for Christian characters, shouldn’t the formula be reversed? Christians don’t operate in the “outside world” so that we can be part of a church. Christians must be part of a church so that we can learn to be like Jesus Christ while we live and work in the “outside world.”

14. Could Christian movies stay loved for a long time, or even forever?

What is the cultural shelf life of most Christian movies? How soon does its relevance or themes “expire”? See challenge no. 10; I wouldn’t expect every movie to have a long shelf life. But shouldn’t some Christian movies live up to repeat viewing, with levels of meaning in both their immediate cultural context and years later? Shouldn’t some Christian movies aim for a level of “timelessness” especially when our faith is founded by the Timeless One?

What about forever? Human memory will last forever, even if our stories do not.⁵ In that case, what stories will be remember most? Surely we will remember how God used some poor or false stories to reach us at the time. Yet what stories will we love the most for other reasons—because we got their songs stuck in our head; or sat awestruck by a beautiful sweeping mountain shot; or marveled at an expertly choreographed scene; or laughed or wept at a moment of character interaction that reflected our lives, griefs, or longings?

Next time: Seven Final Challenges for Christian Movie Critics and Fans.

Ancient map warning sailors of unknown waters

I recently read Book of the Dead by Australian action/thriller author Greig Beck. Most of Beck’s books involve monstrous creatures of some sort, and Book of the Dead went straight to the top: the almighty Cthulhu seeks to destroy the world and it’s up to a motley crew of scientists, linguists, and assassins to take the bad boy down. Beck’s books and those from similar authors, along with the ever-present city-flattening monster du jour on the big screen, got me to thinking about super-sized chaos and destruction.

What is it about enormous, angry creatures with varying degrees of intelligence that appeals to such a wide range of people? Shouldn’t we grow out of this once we ourselves become bigger? The answer to the first question is a bit elusive but the second one is easy. Growing bigger doesn’t mean that we are “big.” Our modern world constantly reminds us of how physically small we are, despite how big we may feel compared to those around us. The largest human is a mere flea on the backs of the world’s largest animals, and a speck of dust compared to the skyscrapers and cargo ships that surround us. Increasing one’s height by a few feet does not make one “big.” In fact, I would say that the average adult encounters more structures and machines that make them feel small on a daily basis than the average child.

One thing that separates the monsters of our childhood with the monsters we are entertained by as adults is the degree of aggression. Kids, particularly young boys, enjoy watching Godzilla clones get walloped by equally-large Power Rangers Megazords but you’ll also find stories of gentle giants. Fantasy tales abound with benevolent dragons, unicorns, whales, robots, and other large creatures that could be destructive if they wanted to be, but instead are kind and helpful (Clifford the Big Red Dog is an obvious example).

Cthulhu is getting in on hashtag activism

So what happens when we “grow up?” In the adult world of monsters, you’ll find the Kraken, Moby Dick, Cthulhu, kaiju, and the ultra-violent and ultra-schlocky SyFy movie mishmashes (Cybertyrannomegalosharktopus is in production, I think). I once read a book by Brian Keene called The Conqueror Worms in which train-sized worms burrow to the surface after torrential rains, like what happens in real life after a rain, just on a much larger scale. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu actually has real cult followings, and this serves to illustrate my next point.

Human nature wants to worship something big. King Kong was worshiped by the island natives, volcanoes and mountains have become gods, and dragons rule the realms of fantasy. The gods that are worshiped by the various religions of the world are massive and powerful.

As Christians, we worship a God who is beyond our ability to comprehend, both in size and power. His might is glimpsed through His creation, from galaxy-annihilating supernovas to less destructive but equally terrifying earthly cataclysms such as volcanic eruptions. In the book of Job, mankind is awed by the behemoth (chapter 40) and leviathan (chapter 41), creatures who speak of their Creator’s power by their own strength.

Awe and reverence are emotions that we as human beings seem to crave, and the terror we experience in our entertainment reflects how small we feel as a part of creation. Many fictional monsters are pure wrath and destruction, while others are peaceful and good. The God who has created real-life monsters encompasses all of these characteristics – unspeakable wrath, but also incredible gentleness. When I read books of the Bible such as Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and others, I feel greater awe than anything I could ever experience from watching a CGI monster on IMAX.

Today is Labor Day in the US, so I thought it appropriate to think a little bit about speculative novels and work. My first thought was, Does anybody work? I mean, in epic fantasy, the protagonist and his crew are questing—traveling, for the most part, from one place to another in an effort to find, win, capture, or fulfill whatever the quest requires. Space opera doesn’t seem very different, but the principles are wondering the galaxy instead of roaming the countryside.

So who works?

I know there are some stories that feature the prince or the warrior or the soothsayer. There are some centered around the dragon keeper (a nod in particular to Donita Paul and her DragonKeeper Chronicles); still others feature the assassin. These, of course, are professions, and there is a certain amount of work connected to what they do.

But who maintains the spaceship? Who cooks the dinner? Who shoes the horses? Who navigates the trail?

I think of the old westerns, which I’ve recently had the opportunity to view, and marvel that they are so well plotted, but also believably peopled with working characters. They have the scout and the cook and the wagon master.

Star Trek, the original, included the same elements, (though, of course, the worker red shirts are inevitably the ones who die in a crisis). The spin-off series maintained that same bit of worldbuilding. Miles was the transporter chief and his wife a botanist. Deanna Troi was the ship’s counselor and Beverly Crusher, the chief medical officer.

What about speculative fiction today? Are our stories including characters that tend to the mundane needs of the protagonist? Is there someone looking after the children, even teaching them? Who gets the meals? Who buys supplies? Who does the repair work? Are these characters significant or peripheral?

I wonder if our attitude toward work might not improve if we began to see it as honorable and necessary in our fiction.

But maybe it’s there, and I’m just not noticing.

What speculative novels have you read that showcase someone with an ordinary job?

Jill Williamson’s By Darkness Hid opens with the protagonist getting up early to feed the animals. It was his job as a slave. However, he quickly advances to become a squire, and off he goes on his quest.

Patrick Carr’s A Cast Of Stones opens with a drunk given a message to deliver—a job he accepts so he can get enough money to buy another day’s supply of booze. But he soon joins forces with a pair of clergymen and ends up on a quest.

Maybe “ordinary” doesn’t make for a good story. Still, I’d think within stories about the exciting and the exceptional, there need to be those who hold down the fort, who keep the supply lines coming through, who make sure the soldiers have shoes.

What books have you read (or written) that include the everyday in their worldbuilding? What books move those mundane jobs to the forefront and make them significant to the plot?

Martin, John. The Great Day of His Wrath. 1851–1853

I have a theory. Feel free to disagree with me, but I think H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos depicts the Day of the Lord.

There’s been a resurgence of interest in Lovecraft over the last decade or so. I think part of his resurgence is because this early 20th century writer invited others to write stories within the world he created.

In the Cthulhu Mythos, ancient elder gods are in the process of returning to the earth. Humanity is nothing compared to them. We are less than ants. They are so beyond us that to delve into their secret knowledge will cause madness. Their followers are insane. And when the Old Ones return to earth, the best case scenario for anyone is to be eaten first. To be consumed, so as to not suffer under the tortuous madness of their presence.

Cthulhu sketch by H.P. Lovecraft

I was introduced to Lovecraft in my undergraduate work and enjoyed reading his horror stories. I think the contemporary stories being told in this mythology often far exceed Lovecraft in his own world.

So, what does any of this have to do with the Day of the Lord?

Both the Old and New Testaments talk about the Day of the Lord (also the Day of God, or the Day of Christ). Scholars quibble over the details, but ultimately the Day of Yahweh refers to the time in the future when God will bring about final conclusions to the earth. It is an end of this world and a beginning of the world to come. It will be a glorious day!¹ Jesus returns to make all things right. The day shall dawn on this dark world and the Lord Himself will rescue his people!

Look! God’s dwelling is with humanity, and He will live with them. They will be His people, and God Himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will no longer exist; grief, crying, and pain will exist no longer, because the previous things have passed away.²

But there are two sides to the Day of the Lord.

For those outside of God’s grace, it will be terrifying. Isaiah wrote, “Look, the day of the Lord is coming— cruel, with rage and burning anger— to make the earth a desolation and to destroy the sinners on it.”³ The prophets Joel,⁴ Amos,⁵ and the Apostle John⁶ also describe the Day of the Lord as day of ultimate dread.

And this brings us back to the horror stories of Mr. Lovecraft. I think what we see in his stories, and those who continue to tell his stories, is the destructive side of the Day of the Lord. It is a metaphor for what the return of Christ will look like for those outside of His grace. It is an image of the madness of ultimate judgment when each and every human is to give account for his or her actions.

Now, I’ve floated this theory past my Christian friends who also enjoy Lovecraft and there are two common objections.

H.P. Lovecraft

First, they object on the basis of Lovecraft’s atheism. How could he write about something he didn’t believe in?

This has a simple answer: Romans 1. God is understood through his creation. Surely there must be a God who cares about right and wrong. And if flawed humanity cares about justice, how much more will the perfect God?

Second, they object that the religious characters in the Cthulhu Mythos are all crazy, mad, and immoral.

But in my thesis, Lovecraft is not writing from a Christian’s perspective. He doesn’t see things through the Christian worldview, he’s seeing things through the lens of an unregenerate man. And I’m not sure about you, but as a Christian I am often called crazy, mad, or immoral. Often on the same day.

Like I said earlier, I might be wrong here. Feel free to disagree. But as a Christian, whenever I read tales set in Lovecraft’s world I cannot help but wonder if maybe, just maybe this gifted author unintentionally revealed his fears about the world to come, and gave us just one more reason to sing “What A Friend We Have In Jesus” as we await that terrifying and glorious Day of the Lord.

Do you like Christian movies pretty much as they are now and think we should have more?

Do you dislike Christian movies as-is and wish they would either grow up or go away?

Do you generally ignore both fans and critics of Christian movies in favor of other movies?

In any case, here are seven challenges that apply to all of us.

1. What are movies meant to do?

Some answer, “To entertain.” Some answer, “To send a message,” that is, to teach.

Specifically about Christian movies, some answer, “To use the method of entertainment to teach Christian living, or to evangelize people who would not otherwise visit a church.”

These may be good reasons, but are these the primary reasons we should enjoy movies?

Imagine a world in which humans had never sinned. Would we have someday made movies as well as other stories and songs? If so, what would our movies be meant to do? Certainly today’s movies must not pretend our world is sinless. But is there anything we would have done with movies in a sinless world that we should also try to do with our movies today?

What is the chief end of man (God’s creation)?

Based on that answer, what is the chief end of movies (man’s creation)?

2. Why do we actually like Christian movies?

A friend reminded me that it’s wise to ask Christian movie fans why they like movies such as Fireproof, Courageous, God’s Not Dead, Heaven Is For Real, and the recent War Room.

But when I ask this question, will some people give answers like these?

• We need a tool for evangelism, to reach unbelievers in a place outside the church.
• We need a tool to teach morality to Christians, such as prayer and family values.
• We need a tool in the “culture war,” to remind Big Hollywood that Christians exist.

Are these good answers? Are they honest answers? Or might they be mixed up with other, possibly more-honest reasons why we like Christian movies—reasons like these?

• I want to feel like someone, at least, is doing effective evangelism in the real world.
• I want to enjoy the humor and fun that’s safe and non-offensive for the whole family.
• I want to see “me” onscreen, especially when other movies don’t show Christians.

If we like Christian movies, how can we share with one another the real reasons why?

3. Why do we actually dislike Christian movies?

Now for the other side. I feel I need not ask actual Christian movie critics for their reasons, because I read their critiques, such as a negative review of War Room at Christianity Today.

But if I asked for three reasons to critique or dislike Christian movies, replies may include:

• We need a tool for better evangelism, to reach unbelievers outside of a church.
• We need a tool to teach better morality to Christians, such as the evils of racism.
• We need a tool to push back against the sentimentalist Christian subculture.

Are these good answers? Are they honest answers? Or might they be mixed up with other, possibly more-honest reasons why we dislike Christian movies—reasons like these?

• I want an outlet for my own embarrassment about beliefs Christians actually hold.
• I want more movie conversations about social/political issues I’m passionate about.
• I want to see an end to the type of Christianity I learned as a child and now dislike.

If we dislike Christian movies, how can we share with one another the real reasons why?

4. If sermons shouldn’t be like movies, why should Christian movies be like sermons?

Most Christians, if asked, would agree they do not believe sermons in church should be all about entertainment. Sermons can be interesting and include entertaining examples when appropriate, but above all they should be biblical. What if a church pastor failed to open the Bible—or even quote a Bible verse or truth—and instead played a movie for the whole time? Almost all Christians, even from the hippest megachurches, would disagree with that.

Why then should we insist, or even suspect, that a Christian movie ought to be like a pastor’s sermon or at least like an anecdote from a pastor’s sermon?

Hasn’t God already appointed two great means for us to understand of His word: preaching and teaching? Did He not instruct teaching elders to teach the word, exploring Scripture aloud in the context of institutional local-church worship? Don’t we also have nonfiction books and reading plans and other lessons to pursue this goal even outside of church?

If so, why do we need Christian entertainment that serves exclusively as sermons?

5. If Christian movies are like Christian sermons, are they at least good sermons?

Let us go further. Let’s grant that Christian movies can be like sermons. (The opposite view seems legalistic.) In that case, the Christian movie must play by sermon rules. That means:

• The movie must stick with a biblical text (expositional preaching), or as in some evangelical circles, at least stick with a biblical theme with texts (topical preaching).
• The movie must not seem to endorse some kind of behavior that is not biblical.
• The movie must fiercely strive to avoid teaching anything that is un-biblical—such as false gospels, mystical notions about prayer, nasty acts toward our neighbors, or the notion that Jesus is like a genie who grants wishes if we only wish hard enough.
• The movie must be good, with original work, mindfulness of symbols and images, and good organization, flow, editing, words, and realism yet appropriate idealism.
• The movie must stay focused 100 percent on the Person of Jesus Christ, and only secondly emphasize results of Jesus’s work, such as biblical doctrine and behavior.
• The movie must be realistic about human nature, showing that people can try hard and fail anyway, that nonbelievers do good things, and that Christians can be nasty.
• The movie, even a lighter movie, must show both a realistic vision of what the world is like and a profoundly gospel-centered vision of what the world should and will be.

Do most Christian movies-as-sermons go in this direction? If not, how could they improve?

6. If we think Christian movies are bad art, do we simply show/tell Christians better art?

Some say it’s pointless to critique Christian movies. They say: Just make better movies.

Making and showing someone better movies may be necessary. But should Christian movie critics also do some loving teaching about why Christians should do art? Should we gently and directly challenge some bad ideas about creativity that Christians have absorbed?

Should we consider avoiding some of our many critiques about editing, dialogue, and plot clichés that are arguably subjective and will confuse a Christian who isn’t a film buff? Could we instead focus on Scripture’s arguably mandatory commands to train one another in better theology about why God redeems humans and what humans do as a response?

Will this focused teaching naturally lead to higher expectations from movies and art?

Will such a focused teaching actually be more missional—reaching some Christians where they are, using things they recognize (such as overt teaching) to help slowly change minds?

7. What should we want to do as soon as we leave a Christian movie?

I admit I thought this question as a response to War Room. I have not seen the film and will not review or critique it. But all promotions and reviews indicate the purpose of the film is in short to share a story that will help families and churches commit to prayer revival.

In this case, may it be fair to suggest these answers by fans of particular Christian movies?

• Fireproof—You will enjoy the story and commit to strengthening your marriage.
• Courageous—You will enjoy the story and commit to being a better father.
• God’s Not Dead—You will enjoy the story and commit to telling others God is alive.

In either case, the movie’s goal may be to get viewers to enjoy the movie, yes, but then also to do something else. Perhaps a movie can indeed rightly get viewers to engage in a social action. But is that the first or primary response Christians have after we enjoy a story?

Are good movies, though made by human beings, ultimately a gift of God? If so, what does He say about what our first response should be when we receive His gifts to us?

When God gives us a gift, must we first go do something? Or should we do something else?

Next: Seven More Challenges for Christian Movie Critics and Fans.

You cannot easily make a good drama out of the success or failure of a marriage, just as you could not make a good drama out of the growth of an oak-tree or the decay of an empire. As Polonius very reasonably observed, it is too long. A happy love-affair will make a drama simply because it is dramatic; it depends on an ultimate yes or no. But a happy marriage is not dramatic; perhaps it would be less happy if it were. … All the things that make monogamy a success are in their nature undramatic things, the silent growth of an instinctive confidence, the common wounds and victories, the accumulation of customs, the rich maturing of old jokes. Sane marriage is an untheatrical thing. G. K. Chesterton

Art has one very clear bias, and that is a bias against untheatrical things. These untheatrical things are often the boring, workaday details of life, but also things that are too long, too slow, too complex without a ready reward. They can be good things, even universal dreams of the human race, but they are not theatrical.

Among them, as G. K. Chesterton so effectively pointed out, is sane marriage. Another is marriage in general. Most characters in most books are single, for the simple reason that marriage so endlessly complicates things. A married main character requires an author to either invent some relevance for the spouse’s presence in the story, or else invent some explanation for the spouse’s absence from the story.

Whether absent or present, the spouse continually has to be taken into account. Everything an author wants to do with married characters – send them on a quest, keep them late at work, imperil their lives – has to be processed through the dynamic of marriage.

Marriage also bars that part of romance most spotlighted in fiction – the first meeting, the tension, the question, the ‘ultimate yes or no’. A happy marriage is a better thing – and harder to obtain – than the initial romance. But it’s less dramatic.

Happiness is also untheatrical. It may not be true, as Tolstoy famously wrote, that all happy families are alike, but certainly unhappy families have proven more interesting to artists. Any hero who begins his story happy will soon experience a horrible shock. Stories are about the loss of happiness, the pursuit of happiness, maybe even the finding of happiness – but never about just being happy.

Quietness and peace are untheatrical. The heart of story is conflict, as an enshrined piece of writing advice has it, which means peace, like happiness, is much more talked about than actually experienced in fiction.

What I’m going to call real time – the time in which things actually happen in life – is very untheatrical. “Everything takes too long in this world,” complained Auberon Quinn, the errant satirist of The Napoleon of Notting Hill. But then he was an artist, and thought the world was a joke that, while good enough in its way, went on too long.

In books and movies “based on a true story”, we see with uncommon clarity the process of reducing life to art. One element of it is, of course, removing the dull parts and adding exciting parts. But much of this process is contraction – contracting time, contracting events, blending people, eliminating large and small complexities that look so pointlessly fussy in art.

Art, you see, is bound. All art has its framework, its structure, whether it is two hours for a movie to tell its story, four minutes for a song to reach its point, or the beat of inciting incident, rising action, conflict, climax. And maybe the biases of art are best understood as the limitations of art. The untheatrical, what does not easily fit into the framework – that is what art, by its very nature, is biased against.

Life is larger than art. There are certain things that art can, at its best, capture with all the brilliance and clarity of light passing through a prism. But the whole of life, in all its multiplexed reality – that cannot be contained by art. And of that, we may be glad.

Some of my recent conversations about Christian movies have helped me flesh out something.

Often fans of the Christian movie-sermon–a Christian movie that serves as a 1.5-hour sermon illustration–will praise the movie for that aspect. And critics of the genre, such as myself, will say or come across as saying that we dislike movies that act as sermons.

The complaint goes out: “Christian movies shouldn’t be like sermons!”

Actually I believe I disagree.

For now let’s concede that it’s fine if all/most Christian movies–certainly the most popular ones–are like sermons.

But why must the movie-sermons be almost exclusively about shallower and/or spiritual-milky sermons?

When will audiences be naturally and enthusiastically ready to want to see other movie-sermon styles and themes?

Perhaps themes that are not limited to family, or moral practices, or potentially simplistic happy ends?

How about a Christian movie-sermon that shows (more than tells) some strange and incredible aspect of the gospel?

Like the nature of God himself? Like the nature of Jesus Christ today with all its awesomeness? His wrath and mercy, his compassion and discipline, His love and holiness, His divinity and humanity, His infinity and our personal relationship with Him?

But where to find source material?

A filmmaker could broaden his sermon preferences. Find other pastors. Find more-challenging sermons.

How about this excerpt from a sermon by John Piper? This could make for an amazing Christian movie.

Even a Christian movie that acts like a sermon.

This excerpt has everything to qualify for a God-exalting story and fiercely human drama:

• An epic spiritual battle
• Potential for a fantastical edge
• Obvious yet nuanced villains
• Organic international diversity
• Strong words a la Old Testament prophets
• Greed, wealth, prosperity–that lead to ruin
• Broken humanity broken further by suffering
• A potential Jesus-exalting hero who fights pain for his ultimate goal–God Himself.

Here’s the clip and transcript.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTc_FoELt8s

I don’t know what you feel about the prosperity gospel–the health, wealth, and prosperity gospel?

But I’ll tell you what I feel about it: hatred.

It is not the gospel. It is being exported from this country to Africa and Asia. Selling a bill of goods to the poorest of the poor! “Believe this message, your pigs won’t die. Your wife won’t have miscarriages. You’ll have rings on your fingers and coats on your back.” That’s comin’ out of America!

The people that ought to be giving our money and our time and our lives, instead selling them a bunch of crap called “gospel.”

And here’s the reason that it is so horrible. When was the last time that any American, African, Asian ever said, “Jesus is all-satisfying because you drove a BMW?”

Never!

They’ll say, “Did Jesus give you that?”

Yeah.

“Well I’ll take Jesus!”

That’s idolatry! That’s not the gospel. That’s elevating gifts above Giver.

I’ll tell you what makes Jesus look beautiful.

It’s when you smash your car and your little girl goes flying through the windshield and lands, like dead on the street. And you say, through the deepest possible pain:

“God is enough. God is enough.

“He is good. He will take care of us. He will satisfy us. He will get us through this. He is our treasure.”

“Whom have I in heaven but you? And on Earth there is nothing that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart and my little girl may fail, but you are the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

That makes God look glorious, as God, not as giver of cars or safety or health.

Oh how I pray that America would be purged of the health, wealth, and prosperity gospel, and that the Christian church would be marked by suffering for Christ.

God is most glorified in you when you are most satisfied in Him in the midst of loss, not prosperity.

Which leads to the question: If someone did make a movie like this–creatively and professionally–would most Christians want to see it?