Christians have a problem with magic. Not all Christians, of course; many Christians are great readers of magic-thick fantasy, and some have even been great writers of it. Still, as a group, Christians have a problem with magic.

I’ve seen Christians try to ameliorate this problem, and frankly, they make two mistakes. First, they occasionally give off an air of superiority, as if all these fantasy-criticizing philistines are an affront to art and culture and imagination. Secondly, they can miss the point entirely – which is funny, because they’re Christians themselves, and they ought to be able to grasp the Christian objection to fantasy even while they disagree with it.

So let’s go back to the beginning. Where, exactly, does this leeriness in the Christian community toward magic and fantasy come from?

And the answer is: The Bible. The Bible deals repeatedly, and often quite forcefully, with magic and its associated practices of witchcraft, divination, fortune-telling, consulting the dead, attempting any contact or engagement with ‘spirits’, and sorcery. Deuteronomy 18 is probably the most famous passage in this respect; it actually lists the sacrifice of children to idols alongside magical and occultic practices, and sternly warns that because of such “abominations” God would destroy the Canaanites – and, by implication, would also destroy Israel if she, too, became guilty of them.

But Deuteronomy 18 is only the executive summary. Magic and witchcraft recur throughout the Bible, sometimes with considerable color. The Egyptian magicians and sorcerers strengthened Pharaoh in his refusal to let Israel go; they even performed, by their “secrets arts”, some of the same miracles Moses did. Yet they were defeated: when Moses’ staff-turned-snake devoured theirs; when they could not imitate the Plague of the Gnats; when they, unlike God’s people, were afflicted with boils and “could not stand before Moses”.

Nineveh – the “city of blood”, “never without victims” – was “the mistress of sorceries, who enslaved … peoples by her witchcraft.” (Nahum 3)

Babylon was lousy with magic and witchcraft, a fact evident in the Book of Daniel and emphasized in Isaiah 47: “[These calamities] will come upon you in full measure, in spite of your many sorceries and all your potent spells. You have trusted in your wickedness and have said, ‘No one sees me.’ … Disaster will come upon you, and you will not know how to conjure it away.”

Some of the prophecies of Revelation were directed against “Babylon the Great”. This more symbolic Babylon, like the nation Babylon, was distinguished by – and judged for – bloodshed and magic: “By your magic spell all the nations were led astray. In her was found the blood of prophets and of the saints, and of all who have been killed on the earth.” (Revelation 18:23b-24)

Indeed, the New Testament illustrates powerfully the idea, first portrayed in the Old Testament, that to practice magic or sorcery is to be against God. We see this in the fortune-teller whose ability to predict the future came from a demon; in the sorcerer Elymas, who opposed Paul and tried to turn the proconsul from the faith (“a child of the devil and an enemy of everything that is right,” Paul called him); and in the Gospel’s powerful sweep through Ephesus, in which, “A number who had practiced sorcery brought their scrolls together and burned them publicly.” (Acts 19)

The strongest declaration against magic comes in Revelation, when Jesus Christ Himself declared that “those who practice magic arts” are among the “dogs” outside the gates of the New Jerusalem. And this, you see, is why so many Christians react badly to any mention of magic. They have seen it in the Bible, and it is not good.

And this being so, you might reasonably ask why all Christians don’t have a problem with magic. And the truth is, all do. It is equally true that only some do. It’s even true that none at all do. It all depends on which definition of “magic” one happens to be using at the moment.

For this is the heart of the error; this is what trips people up. “Magic” is one of those trick words that cause so much mischief; it has multiple and very different meanings, and yet those meanings are still similar enough to fool people. Until you can accurately parse this word to its various meanings, your arguments about Christianity and magic are built on sand.

I won’t parse now, because that would take another essay and I might find out whether or not SpecFaith enforces word limits. But I’ll be back, because the Christian problem with magic is worth answering, and on its own grounds.

Johnny Gruelle’s first Raggedy Ann book

Earlier, I posted an article on how fiction affects the brain in the same way real-life experiences do. While non-fiction can transmit information, fiction transmits experiences that give context and concreteness to that information. The very reason so much non-fiction relies heavily on short story snippets to illustrate their points.

But those short story snippets are no replacement for total immersion into a story. At best they can illustrate the point being made, but the reader is not often lost in a story by which they experience the truth. This is where novels shine and non-fiction is severely limited.

This fact is highlighted by an article from NBC News by Meghan Holohan, titled, “Getting lost in a novel means you’re more empathetic.” She makes the following observation based on scientific studies:

People who lost themselves in the fiction showed more empathy than people who did not become as involved in fiction or read nonfiction.

“[W]hen we get lost in a book, we are in another world, in which we can freely experience the character’s feelings and thoughts as if they were our own, through which we ‘learn’ how other people think and feel about problems in life. This again can be transferred to real life, so by reading a book and getting involved in the story, we are able to sympathize with other people,” Bal says.

Chalk up another point to the benefits of reading fiction. Not only do those who eschew fiction in preference of non-fiction lose out on experiencing reality from different perspectives, a broader cultural exposure, and increased brain functioning, but also lose out on the opportunity to break out of our ego-centric focus. Fiction gives us the opportunity, as my mom always used to say, to “walk a mile in their moccasins.” Or as St. Paul would say, “Treat each other as more important than yourself.”

Do you think those who are more empathetic lose themselves in fiction, or does losing oneself in fiction makes one more empathetic, or both?

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Article originally appeared on R. L. Copple’s blog, on February 12, 2013.

A couple years ago, I wrote an article reflecting on how holidays and celebrations deepen the worldbuilding in speculative fiction. Today I’d like to think specifically about Thanksgiving.

I know a declared Thanksgiving Day is not a universal holiday. Canadians, for example, celebrate Thanksgiving on a different day than we do in the US, and many countries don’t have a specific Thanksgiving Day. Harvest Festivals are a different story.

Places as diverse as Australia, Egypt, Barbados, India, Korea, Portugal, Greece, and China have harvest festivals, either locally or nationally.

So what about the worlds in speculative fiction?

I can understand why dystopian and/or post-apocalyptic fantasy might not include Thanksgiving Day. Along with the death of much of civilization, celebrations such as Thanksgiving might become a think of the past.

In many respects, we’re witnessing in the US the change in the Thanksgiving Day celebration from a major holiday to a minor one. The presence of Thanksgiving or harvest day celebrations seem more apt to be important to a culture if the people are in tune with the growth cycle. As our urban society has become divorced from the way food gets to our table, we seem less thankful and more inclined to take for granted the food we eat.

As a result, Thanksgiving Day is losing its specialness. For instance, most fast food places remain open on Thanksgiving Day, as do a good number of restaurants and grocery stores. In the past few years, “black Friday”—the day after Thanksgiving when retail stores slashed their prices to induce consumers to begin their Christmas shopping in earnest—has gone from “open at midnight” to “open on Thanksgiving Day at 6” or 5 or whenever the businesses think they can woo people out of their homes.

Add in the fact that football has become an integral part of the celebration so that it’s reduced to Food, Family, and Football, and fewer people are commemorating the holiday as a day to give thanks.

Even my church which has a rich tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving, including decades when we held a service in the morning on Thanksgiving Day, didn’t so much as sing a single Thanksgiving hymn this year or focus the sermon on what the Bible says about Thanksgiving.

All that to say, if Thanksgiving is fading before our very eyes as a major holiday, it’s understandable that worlds set in the future, especially if that future is bleak or dominated by a heavy-handed, perhaps Godless, government, would be less inclined to have a Thanksgiving or harvest day celebration.

On the other hand, if these futuristic societies are a return to a more agrarian way of life or if the world of an epic fantasy has a rural setting in which people are dependent upon cultivating the soil and growing their own food, then perhaps a harvest festival would be appropriate.

In speculative literature, then, Thanksgiving can be much more than just a celebration. Whether or not a story world holds harvest festivals and how they are celebrated can define a culture and make it come alive.

Does this place recognize God as sovereign over the provision of daily food? Are there gods, with one particular god controlling fertile soil and sun and rain? Or are each of those under the purview of a different god? Must they all three be in agreement if the harvest is to be plentiful? How do the people express their thanks for what they receive?

Or is this world self-sufficient and so advanced in their technology that they can make the skies pour rain at their command? Perhaps they’ve put all food growth inside in the equivalent of gigantic greenhouses, and they have no understanding of nature being independent of humankind’s manipulation.

In such a culture, sentient beings, then, would think of themselves as gods. They might have forgotten the one true God, living with no thought other than meeting their own needs and pleasures. In their eyes, they are the highest authority, the ones in charge.

All these varied storyworlds and the peculiarities of their cultures can be established by the presence or absence of a Thanksgiving Day or harvest day celebration. Such a brief holiday, easily over looked and yet as full of potential in fiction as in real life.

Why read fantasy? Isn’t it escapism? Shouldn’t a Christian be more concerned with this world, rather than spending time reading about things that aren’t even real?

Every believer who reads fantasy has heard these, and other, objections. Some of them have been ably handled by others on this blog. Yet you know something deep stirs in you when you read about dragons and fairies and other worlds where battles are fought and wrongs are righted. Maybe, though you’re not sure how to explain your reading choices when presented with these statements.

Perhaps that “something deep” is a response to fantasy’s ability to tell a story that can be our own—a story that reflects serious theology, beliefs, and values in its pages.

What is the purpose of reading (and writing) fantasy? Here are at least four.

To combat unbelief and cynicism

One hallmark of the Millennial generation is cynicism. (I’m not labeling—they freely admit to this.) Constantly courted by ads and pollsters, this generation is wary of being marketed to, and distrust is their default. This has its good and bad points.

Author Terry Pratchett explains:

For most of the latter part of the 20th century, writers have responded to a sense of alienation and existential angst by focusing on the grim, the grungy and the grotesque. It should come as no surprise then, that heroic fantasy fiction has had a slow, inexorable rise in both popularity and critical recognition.

Fantasy, with its emphasis on heroes and battles for good, enters that cynical atmosphere with a new conversation. Maybe, there is such a thing as a hero who isn’t self-serving. Maybe there is, as Sam argues, good in this world worth fighting for. For a Christian reader, this is an antidote to cynicism as it calls us back to a theology of real right and wrong and sacrificial action. Fantasy can bring Christian beliefs into the secular discussion more effectively than any Christian living book because it’s a common language with those who don’t believe.

Even a lowly Hobbit can change the course of the world by destroying the Ring. That is the appeal of the tolkienesque fantasy. In our modern world where politicians prove corrupt, large corporations rip off consumers and terrorists kill ordinary people going about their daily lives, the traditional quest fantasy provides an antidote to cynicism. (Rowena Cory Daniells)

To bring hope

Fantasy is hardly escapist, when you think about it. Awful stuff happens. Hundreds die on Pelennor Fields. Hermione must choose to lose her parents forever. Thorin and both his heirs die.

But in the end, life goes on. The hero wins. Though what has happened won’t be forgotten, there is a sense that it was not for nothing—good did triumph. Life will be better.

Kate Forsyth tells us,

Fantasy does not deny or diminish the existence of sorrow and pain, as so many people seem to think. The possibility of failure is absolutely necessary for the ‘piercing sense of joy’ one feels when victory is finally and with difficulty won. Fairy-tales all offer the hope that a happy ending is possible—and we need to believe this. Fantasy denies ultimate despair. It holds out the hope for a better world and signposts the way.

The reader who gives up on hope gives up on faith. (“Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.” Hebrews 11.1) The reader of faith understands that the offer of hope in fantasy does indeed signpost the way to a larger discussion of hope and its real-ness. Is there a selfless hero in this world who powerfully proves that, even while awful stuff like Ebola and ISIS and hunger and human trafficking happen, a better world is possible? Yes—the One who defeated death and gave us the keys to drive his kingdom forward in our frightening world.

To give us weapons for our own battles

Life is tough—but then we see the intelligence of Bilbo, the quickness of Pippin (who has ADHD all over him), the courage of tiny Merry, the loyalty of Sam, the calm wisdom of Hermione, the persistence of Harry. With that sight? We realize that those are tools accessible to us. Every day.

It’s easy to say that we don’t fight epic battles, but it is also untrue. We fight the most epic of all—the one against the powers of darkness. When we see the unlikeliest of heroes prevail, we are more apt to trust in the words of Paul (1 Corinthians 1.27) that God “chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful.” Fantasy heroes, flawed but willing, can help bolster our own willingness and faith for challenge.

To show the world as it was/is meant to be

Tolkien famously defended fantasy by saying that there is nothing wrong with a prisoner who wishes to escape his prison. By that argument, this fallen world is our prison, and looking elsewhere for a portrait of what our world was meant to be is the most normal, sane thing one can do.

I coined the word ‘eucatastrophe’ (good destruction): the sudden happy turn in a story which pierces you with a joy that brings tears. It produces its peculiar effect because it is a sudden glimpse of Truth, your whole (chained) nature feels a sudden relief as if a limb out of joint had suddenly snapped back. It perceives that this is indeed how things really do work in the Great World for which our nature is made. (J.R.R. Tolkien)

Against all odds, good, love, and peace win. The underdog triumphs. Is this escape? Or is it the Kingdom as God created it and as Jesus came to return to us? Good fantasy brings us back to the Garden and invites us to participate in the renewal of what was always meant to be.

– – – – –

Jill’s love for hobbits and elves comes from her time as a literature teacher and as a lifelong reader of great stories. She also loves an epic challenge and a chance for grace wherever they exist. Jill is Pastor of Discipleship at Resolution Church in Illinois. She is the author of the young adult devotional Hobbits, You, and the Spiritual World.

Learn more about Jill at her website, blog, Facebook, Twitter, and Google+.

Sometimes a slain evil dragon brings even worse evils.

Friends keep asking me if I think The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies film will be better than last year’s fantastical but silliness-overkill-laden The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.

I’m inclined to say yes, based on a few educated guesses — including today’s book chapter.

First, Tolkien himself writes the end of The Hobbit as if he’s already thinking of the future film adaptation that seems so unlike Tolkien. Bilbo still plays a pivotal role, but the story is suddenly all about political maneuverings between Dwarves, Elves and Men. Thorin is a total postmodern-like subversion of the Christian/medieval ideal of a good returning king. The “simple children’s story” that many people wrongly remember The Hobbit being has suddenly turned into a very grown-up story that’s more like The Lord of the Rings.

Thus, here the film version could stay more faithful to the book and avoid the tonal clashes that the second film (and to some extent the first) generated while trying to evoke both the whimsy of The Hobbit book’s early chapters and the epic battles of The Lord of the Rings.

Second, the ending of a three-part story is almost always easier to make than the middle.

Third, Jackson’s first Middle-earth film trilogy’s weaker chapter is arguably right in the middle, The Two Towers, according to some fans. My own wife in particular still leaves the room during the Faramir-turned-to-“Filmamir” moments.¹ Re-viewing the film — especially the theatrical version — you can tell it was a struggle to tie all the story threads together. Films one and two didn’t have these difficulties.

If I’m right, The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies will not struggle as much as it ends the trilogy, thanks in part to the book’s more-intricate, less-whimsical chapters like this one.

Chapter 15: The Gathering of the Clouds

1. Here are more birds, perhaps with associated mythological meaning (which may have been why Tolkien used them). Why might Balin dislike crows and favor ravens? Have you read other stories in which either kind of bird serves as a kind of omen? (Consider also the sound effects of crows cawing used in movies — what sense does that bring?)
2. In this case, does Roäc the raven bring good news or bad news to the heroes? How does it already sound like even Smaug’s early death is not as good a news as we would think?
3. Why do you think Tolkien wanted to add such a surprising twist to the story — making it so that the dragon’s death is not the end, the titular hero did not slay Smaug, and no one immediately lives happily ever after when the quest is ended? What other stories do you remember in which the expected ending is subverted? How may they be better?
4. “Who are you,” [Thorin] called in a very loud voice, “that come as if in war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, and what do you desire?” (page 248) Why does Thorin react this way? Does this seem to Bilbo (or to you) right, wrong, or mixed?
5. Then Bilbo longed to escape from the dark fortress and to go down and join in the mirth and feasting by the fires. Some of the younger dwarves were moved in their hearts also, and they muttered that they wished things had fallen out otherwise and that they might welcome such folk as friends, but Thorin scowled. (page 248) In the story, which person is subverting the expected happy ending? We can call this bad, but is he sympathetic?
6. Many The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey film reviewers insist that the movie was too dark or complicated, while the book was a simple children’s story. Is this part “simple”?
7. “I am Bard, and by my hand was the dragon slain and your treasure delivered. Is that not a matter that concerns you?” (page 251) How does Bard’s response to Thorin’s insular threats affect the standoff? What does it show us about Bard’s and Thorin’s characters?
8. “The price of the goods and the assistance that we received of the Lake-men we will fairly pay — in due time.” (page 251) Do you think Thorin truly means to pay reparations?

On whose “side” here, if any, would you be: Thorin’s, Bilbo’s, or the gathering armies?

A scroll of the Book of Isaiah

One of the methods used to discount sections of the Bible that may go against what one wants to believe is to illustrate how we no longer abide by many of the commandments in the Old Testament. The implication being, of course, if we don’t have to avoid eating pigs or sacrifice sheep upon an altar anymore, then who’s to say prohibitions against homosexual relationships or premarital sex haven’t also gone the way of the dinosaur? Or that sex outside of marriage is no longer wrong?

There is some truth to the viewpoint. That is, there are commandments in the Old Testament that we no longer follow. There were some changes made along the way. Some would attribute them to cultural differences, but we must not assume too quickly this is the case. Especially when the reason for those changes are spelled out in the Bible itself.

Therein lies the problem. People point to changes and then assume that means everything is up in the air and available for redefining in the manner we want to define, so as to allow for our favorite sin. When we become the arbitrators of which commandments to keep and which commandments to dump, then we have invalidated the authority of Scripture to be any kind of reliable guide and moral compass. Indeed, that appears to be the goal of many groups, to relegate Scriptures out of the realm of moral teaching and restrict it to purely “spiritual” applications.

However, the spiritual cannot be artificially separated from the rest of life.

If God intended anything, it was to have us live a way of life that promotes physical, emotional, moral, social, and spiritual health. The whole person. The commandments were not given just to have rules, but to guide us into living within our design specs so that we will find the greatest fulfillment.

The answer to the changes is in the Scriptures itself, and falls under two main categories: fulfillment and clarification. All changes and subsequent leaving behind certain commandments are due to one or a combination of both reasons. Let’s take a look at some examples to illustrate what we are talking about.

The sacrificial system

This is an example of Jesus fulfilling the sacrificial system of the Old Testament. There is ample scriptures supporting that because of Jesus’ sacrifice, there was no longer a need for the image of animal sacrifices which pointed to Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. Jesus fulfilled that section of the Law, wiping out pages of commandments that no longer apply to us. Once the real sacrifice had been made, there was no longer any need for the blood of goats and rams.

Stoning of adulterers

The Old Testament Law said that those caught in the act of adultery must be stoned. There were similar seemingly harsh laws in response to sin. This is another example of fulfillment. What Jesus did on the cross and through His resurrection was to bring a new healing to each person that up until then did not exist. Death reigned, but Christ defeated death by death and by rising to life again.

A medical example helps here. Let’s say a certain infection has no cure, so when a limb gets infected, the only way to save the person is to cut off the limb. It is drastic, it is harsh, but better than the whole body being destroyed. But then one day, someone discovers a cure for this disease. Cutting off one’s limb is no longer necessary, would even be considered an irresponsible and stupid decision. For why cut it off when it can be saved?

Before Christ, there was no healing for sin. Left unchecked among the people, sin acted like an infection. The only way to keep the whole of God’s people from being lost was to cut off those who had become infected to the point they would infect others. To put them in quarantine, so to speak. The only solution to check sin was a radical one.

Once Christ came, however, sin had a cure. This is why the story of the woman caught in adultery is so critical to this understanding. (John 8:3-11) Most people focus on how Jesus deflected the Pharisees who were testing him. They figured if He went lenient on her, they could accuse Him of not following the law. If He was strict, they could accuse Him of not being flexible and realistic. But He told them, “He who is without sin cast the first stone.” They all left, leaving Jesus alone with her.

Keep in mind, according to the law she should have been stoned.

According to what Jesus said, He was the only person in the crowd, being without sin, who could cast the first stone. Being God, He would have been within His rights to follow His own law and cast the stone. But He didn’t. Instead He said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” Why the change? Because she would be healed and infect no one else with her viewpoint. Because her encounter with Christ changed her.

But this did not make adultery no longer a sin, it simply showed that because of Christ that sin could be healed. Same with many others that before required the radical cutting off of of people infected by sin. Through healing, that aspect was fulfilled and the former commandment no longer applied.

Avoiding work on the Sabbath

Numerous times the Pharisees accused Jesus of promoting work on the Sabbath, something explicitly prohibited by Law. Or at least, as the Pharisees interpreted “work,” Jesus was guilty. They had huge volumes listing out what was work and what wasn’t. Jesus alludes to one of them when He said, “What man is there among you who shall have one sheep, and if it should fall into a ditch on the Sabbath, will not lay hold of it and lift it out?” (Mat 12:11)

Jesus then concludes in the next verse, “How much more valuable then is a man than a sheep! So then it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.” By this he clarifies what was meant by “work.” Indeed, He makes it plain that the Sabbath was not meant to be a burden to man, but a blessing: “The Sabbath came into being for the sake of man, and not man for the sake of the Sabbath.” (Mrk 2:27)

Multiple wives

There was no commandment to have multiple wives, and nothing in the New Testament against it save when the New Testament Church wanted leaders, then the rule was a bishop or presbyter or deacon should be the husband of only one wife. (1Tim 3:2, 12, Tit 1:6) Also, for the Church to enroll a woman as a widow, she had to be the wife of only one husband. (1Tim 5:9) The later indicates what is discussed isn’t one at a time, but one spouse for one’s whole life. A widow by definition has no current husband, so it could only be referring to one previous husband.

This is illustrated clearly by Jesus when He is asked by the Pharisees whether it is lawful to “put away” his wife. (Mrk 10:2) Jesus asks them what Moses said, and they replied Moses permitted the giving of a certificate of divorce. Jesus then goes on to clarify not only why Moses permitted that, but also that marriage is for one man and woman, not multiple of either.

First he lays out the design of marriage as God originally intended. That is, that a man shall take a wife, and the two shall become one flesh. What God has joined, let not man put asunder. But how does one put such a union asunder. He clarifies that in the next comments.

“So He said to them, ‘Whoever should put away his wife and marry another commits adultery against her. And if a wife should put away her husband and be married to another, she commits adultery.'” (Mrk 10:11-12)

Note the linkage. Divorce alone isn’t the problem. It is marrying another, that is, having sexual relationships with a new person. That is committing adultery, and rends asunder the previous union when it is done. Which is why a man or woman is not sinning by marrying another when the other spouse commits adultery, because that union has already been destroyed.

Jesus clarifies for us what divorce is, when it becomes real divorce by committing adultery, and that God’s design is for a man or woman to have only one spouse through their lifetime. Whether one at a time, or several at the same time, Jesus made it clear either situation was sinful, and that it was allowed in times past because of our stubbornness. Not because God wanted it that way.

In most every instance we could bring up where something was practiced or commanded in the Old Testament, but appeared to have changed.

The reason could be shown to arise from one or a combination of these two factors: fulfillment and/or clarification.

So to demonstrate why we should change or drop other commandments in the Old Testament, one would have to clearly show what was fulfilled or clarified to justify the change.

When it comes to the sinfulness of certain moral codes like sex outside of marriage, whether “premarital” or adultery, homosexuality, or other types, not only is there no fulfillment that would make them no longer applicable, or clarification that excuses their classification as a sin, instead one finds reinforcement of their continued sinfulness.

The Church leaders met in council to determine which of the Jewish Law the Gentile Christian converts would need to follow. They only passed on three specific parts of the Law, one of which was to abstain from “sexual immorality.” (Acts 15:20) This clearly shows that the Old Testament morality about sexual matters was passed on as valid to the growing Gentile Church. Indeed, at no point in Christian history did the Church ever back off of these activities as being sin, until post-modern times among some Christian groups.

So not only do you not find any justification in Scriptures that these moral laws changed either through fulfillment or Jesus clarifying what was meant, you don’t have any indication that these activities have ever been considered not sinful from Moses to this day. There is no change. There is no basis upon which to dismiss them, simply because you can point to items that have changed and you want to lump these activities in with them based upon personal bias against them.

For these reasons, the obsoleteness of certain sections of the Old Testament cannot be used to justify declaring something as not sinful, or to ignore clear injunctions in the Old Testament that haven’t changed nor is there any basis upon which to do so.

Can sin stop being sinful?

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This article originally appeared on R. L. Copple’s blog.

It seems that everyone has space travel on the brain these days, thanks in large part to Christopher Nolan’s epic sci-fi bonanza Interstellar. While the movie was certainly enjoyable, it is a far cry from being the “best movie EVER” as many people are proclaiming on Facebook and Twitter, though it’s certainly one of the best cinematic blends of intelligence and lunacy I’ve ever experienced.

If you’ve seen the movie or its trailers, you know that the plot involves a dying Earth and the need to find a new home. This is a very intriguing challenge on many levels, but even more so for Christians.

How does space travel factor into the Christian worldview? What would happen, say, at the Rapture to those who would be traveling or living off-world?

First things first: God is lord of the entire universe, not just Earth (Psalms 115:16). Regardless of whether or not humanity ends up leaving Earth, this won’t screw with His plans. But the frustrating thing for us mortals is that we don’t know His plans, and preserving our species is a pretty big deal. With conflicting news reports assaulting us from all sides, it’s hard to gauge when finding another habitable planet might become a pressing need, but it’s clear that things aren’t getting any better. In Interstellar, an unexplained plague called “Blight” accelerates the world’s degradation and ravages food supplies. The Earth was clearly trying to hurry us out the door in that movie, but something similar happening in real life is not that far-fetched.

What does the Bible say about space travel? Nothing, really, except reaffirming God’s dominion over the stars (Genesis 1:14-18, Job 38:31-32, Psalms 8:3, etc.). However, it doesn’t refer to people residing somewhere else (the events of Revelations appear to involve everyone still living on Earth). So does this mean that we shouldn’t try to reach for the stars, since we’ll never make it that far? Or that it’s somehow wrong, that we’d be intruding on God’s domain?

These questions popped into my head several months before I had even heard about Interstellar, when I was writing my latest book. It’s called Cyn, a sci-fi/horror novel set about one hundred and fifty years in the future. Space travel has been figured out and is made available to the masses (but only to the super-rich so that they can escape to other planets and set up colonies that aren’t bound by Earth’s laws and morality). In my book, space travel is not the focus of the story but it is essential, and it got me wondering about how such a future would fit into my faith.

The good thing is that this book and movies like Interstellar are science fiction and it’s permissible to let one’s imagination run wild (within scientific parameters of course; this is the difference between science fiction and fantasy). And as a Christian author, I have a responsibility to make sure my story gels with the Scriptures as well.

Does it? I honestly don’t know. But here’s what I do know: there is nothing in the Bible explicitly or implicitly forbidding space travel. There is nothing that indicates space travel is a reality in the end times. There is nothing that alludes to the possibility of people being outside of God’s jurisdiction if they were not living on Earth.

Mark Carver

And here’s one more thing that I know: 1 Thessalonians 5:2 tells us that Jesus’ return will be unexpected, like a thief in the night. We don’t know when He will come back, and though we should be ready for it at any moment, we shouldn’t pause everything in our lives and go sit on top of a mountain and watch the clouds. We should act like tomorrow will arrive just as expected, as will next year and next decade and next century. We have a responsibility to tend to our immediate duties, and if that means getting off this rock, then we should develop those plans. We should hope that we never have the chance (or the need) to leave Earth, but we can’t assume that Jesus will come back before this situation becomes a reality. People have been proclaiming the end of days for a long time, and I’m sure a lot of Christians two hundred years ago would never have believed that we would still be around in 2014.

So I guess the moral of the story is to plan for the future, but hope it never comes. Though, to be honest, it would be pretty darn cool if humanity really did become “interstellar.”

Here’s another chapter of The Hobbit in which author J.R.R. Tolkien’s original vision, this time for an action/destruction/special-effects sequence, rivals the images of today’s films.

Here I could jinx the thing, but The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies would need to try hard to adapt this material poorly. Pretty much any shot of a giant roaring dragon who rains destruction upon the helpless Lake-town will be faithful to the book. You can show burning buildings and docks, explosions, everyone screaming for mercy. Smaug can go all Nazgûl on the place and claw up some hapless horses or residents, then drop them into the carnage.

While I’m making predictions, I think it’s fairly obvious that there will be an overly complex story moment with Bard scrambling up steps, fighting folks, action-hero-rolling across boats, etc., all to get the arrow in place and try to hit the dragon. Wait, sorry, but the film’s version is not a random black arrow though, the kind used by your average Lake-town archer. Instead Peter Jackson Jacksoned the arrow by turning it into a giant super-arrow, more like a harpoon, with its own Legendary Backstory. That’s all a bit overdone, methinks. So will be the film bits that show Bard’s struggles to get the super-arrow in place to shoot.

Five stars if before slaying the beast Bard proclaims,
“Foul wyrm! YOU HAVE FAILED THIS CITY.” (thwip)

And that, come to think of it, already solves one question I had from the book: How will the story sidestep the book’s little bird who whispers about Smaug’s weak spot to Bard? In the film version that whole backstory reminds us that Smaug had one scale knocked loose. So there you go, no more thrush-spy, but I suppose I don’t mind all that much. After all, the films have surprised fans by showing rock-monster mountain-giants and talking spiders.

How do you think The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies will adapt this chapter?

(Note: The following questions were originally written for a local-church reading group.)

Chapter 14: Fire and Water

1. This chapter is very What is different about it? What are your reactions?
2. Here the tone and even focus of the book changes dramatically, yet only deepening from the foundation already built. What do you see here that already begins to be subversive, that is, deviating from what people may expect, based on similar stories? How may this follow Thorin’s “return of the king” moments when the party arrives at the lake-town?
3. “Perhaps the King under the Mountain is forging gold,” said another. (page 233) The men of Esgaroth still expect instant results. They seem to believe in the very “escapist” fairy-tale tropes to which some people compare The Hobbit! How does Tolkien subvert this?
4. What themes, if any, could Tolkien be exploring with only the grim-voiced fellow, Bard (pp. 234-235) being right — versus the naïve expectations of his fellow townspeople?
5. What do you think about Bard coming from seemingly out of nowhere? How does the author introduce him? Could a modern author (or The Hobbit film version) introduce in this way a figure with a role as significant as this? How do we as readers or film viewers instead expect pivotal characters to be introduced? (Yet another subversion by Tolkien.)
6. Unafraid [the thrush] perched by his ear and brought him news. (page 236) When you first read The Hobbit, did you expect the talking thrush and Thorin’s brief history lesson about bird-speech to play a role? How do birds often “play” in fantasy tales like this?
7. Another subversion: If you hadn’t read The Hobbit, and someone had told you the basic story beginning, who would you guess would have finally killed Smaug in the end? And would you have thought that would be the end of the story? (Yet Tolkien has the dragon slain with five more chapters left in the book — and more “villains” yet to address!)
8. Smaug falls full on the town (page 236). How may this be yet another subversion? What ending would you expect to a story in which any hero, new or known, slays a dragon?

How does Tolkien add realism here to the interactions — and even politics — between the people of Esgaroth, Bard the Bowman, the Master of the lake-down, and finally the arriving Elves? And how may this set apart The Hobbit from other fiction, even fiction supposedly “for children,” or even apart from the first chapters of The Hobbit itself?

If you really want to get the bad guy, it’s logical to conclude you need a hero. You might further conclude, especially if you’re fourteen, that you need a superhero.

But to go from there to creating a superhero? For that, you need adolescent logic combined with genius-level skill. So enter, stage-right, Hiro Hamada, the protagonist of Disney’s just-released Big Hero 6.

I’ve never had much interest in superheroes; I don’t know why, although I suspect it’s related to why I never cared for comic books. But I knew I wanted to see Big Hero 6, due in large part to my memories of The Incredibles and Frozen. (This makes sense. Frozen was a Disney computer-animated movie, and it was very good; The Incredibles was a computer-animated superhero movie, and it was excellent; Big Hero 6 is a Disney computer-animated superhero movie. See? It follows.)

From the very beginning, Big Hero 6 exhibits its blended nature. It’s a superhero film, yes, but beneath the flash and action is an essentially sci-fi framework. The city of San Fransokyo – a delicious mesh of Tokyo and San Francisco – and elements such as bot-fighting create a world that is near to ours and yet misses it entirely. This may be the future, and it may be an alternate universe, but either way, it’s sci-fi. The story brings even “harder” sci-fi concepts into play, anchoring deeper into science fiction and eventually leading to one of the film’s most imaginatively beautiful moments.

The characters are likable (especially Tadashi) and often quirky (especially Wasabi and, uh, Fred). As in Frozen, a sibling relationship is the linchpin of the story. But here the relationship is less complex and far more positive. It’s also brother/brother, which I mention to bring up something I’ve long wondered about: Why, on those unusual occasions when sibling relationships really are important in a story, are they almost always brother/brother, or sister/sister, and not sister/brother?

There’s a dose of tragedy in Big Hero 6 – nothing new in that, even for a so-called “family movie”, but the movie digs deeper and darker than normal. It deals strongly, though with a light hand, in themes of revenge. The movie also raises the old comfort that “He lives on in our hearts” – a standard consolation when people want to provide some assurance of continuing life but don’t want to bring up heaven. But Big Hero 6 breaks form to portray dissatisfaction with the comfort: “He’s gone” – a simple counterpoint, simply expressed, but true and right at the heart of the matter.

Not that the movie seeks comfort in heaven, or that dissatisfaction is disbelief. All truths can seem like platitudes in the face of death, and to believe is not always to be comforted. But it was a sad moment and an honest one, and it felt almost subversive.

More than anything else, Big Hero 6 is a movie of enormous creativity. From the futuristic (or AU) world of San Fransokyo to a glimpse of what I can only imagine to be some sort of fourth dimension; from the robots and other tech to the incredible CGI that brought them to full glory – the cleverness of this movie is wonderful.

And so, for that matter, is its heart. As Big Hero 6 follows Tangled and Frozen, I think we’re on the wave of the second Disney Renaissance.