A billboard is just that. I don’t expect a billboard, not even from Answers in Genesis (AiG), to achieve reconciliation between Christians and atheists, present a full six-day-creation message, disclaim the myth that all creationist Christians think “creation = Gospel,” or else give the whole Gospel in a sentence while also being clever and getting viewers’ attention.

Still, some seem to approach AiG’s new billboard with those expectations. My view is a bit different. Yet it’s similar to my reluctant critique last week of another favorite organization whose founder made an (at best) confusing statement about how stories help make us holy.

I want these organizations to succeed, proclaiming truth and beauty effectively to as many people as possible. In the case of AiG, I simply think there may be a better way to do that — a way that avoids tropes, cynicism, compromise or clichéd Bible quotes. Sounds incredible? Of course it does. I’m writing on the internet and it’s easy to critique without an alternative.

My suggestion, however, is not mine. AiG is already doing this and succeeding at it, and like so many Christians who have already stumbled upon excellence in sincerely held truth and imagination, I wonder if this organization’s staff simply does not know their own strengths.

Bill-boarding school

On a Times Square (New York City) digital display, the AiG billboard simply says this:

To all of our atheist friends:
THANK GOD YOU’RE WRONG.

Which is of course followed by the name of AiG’s website.

As one long familiar with AiG, I see this billboard and say, “Huh.” As in: “What’s the point?” Apparently that’s exactly what they wanted people to think. Thus they include the website: their point is to provoke a conversation and point viewers to this evangelistic article.

These billboards are a marketing tool to drive people to the website for detailed information–and they have done that better than we hoped. We live in an Acts 17 type culture–which requires and Acts 17 approach.¹

With that clear conversation-starter mission in mind, I’m left wondering two things:

1. Do some well-meaning Christian critics realize the billboard’s actual aim?

Hearts are not changed by shouting “YOU’RE WRONG” from the corner of Times Square.²

Are we sure we’re not importing from evangelical culture a “give the entire Gospel and thus change hearts immediately” approach, to apply to this ad? That is an odd expectation of a billboard. It can only do so much. And if, as Mike Duran critiques, we expect all “atheist friends” to become impressed with any Christian slogan at all, that strikes me as strange.

Only one-on-one, personal evangelism can address the complexities of human personality and the reasons people reject Christ. Only if you’re practicing Biblical discernment with another person in your life, and in front of you, can you better determine if that person would respond better to arms offering to care for them, “national repentance” for other Christians, or even an in-your-face-yet-gracious attitude that may win the other’s respect.

2. Conversely, is that the best way to reach out to non-Christians in this culture?

If I had access to such a billboard, I can think of a few more friendlier-yet-still-provocative slogans that could even generate more light and less heat — more response, less outrage.

In this case, “thank God you’re wrong” manages to resemble one of the more gracious contributions to a YouTube atheists-vs.-Christians comment war. I’m not even objecting to those wars; I only ask: why pay money to say this? You can say it on YouTube for free.

Don’t hate — subcreate

But I’ve alluded to another solution, still matching AiG’s goals, that could be more helpful.

This creativity belongs in a museum.

This solution presupposes that the Creation Museum in southern Ohio / northern Kentucky is a fantastic attraction, an artful triumph, an incarnated example of God-exalting creativity that most Christians say they’d love to see but haven’t often seen. The place is immaculate, well-run, and bristling with creativity — the moving dinosaurs, museum motion pictures, dazzling HD planetarium, soundtracks, actors, dioramas, set design, informational signs, and animatronic apostles³. I’ll put it this way: you may be the most hardcore “theistic evolution,” six-day-creationists-ruined-faith-for-the-rest-of-us advocate, but if you love well-done, creative Christian art, I’d still encourage a visit to the museum.

Here’s my question, then: if the Creation Museum is such a legitimately inspiring attraction, winning admiration even from critics, why not spread that creative sense a little? They’ve already been doing this locally with billboards advertising the museum. But I’m not talking of tourism promotion — only the same sensibility. Include a provocative phrase, perhaps, but show something. Show an image of something beautiful. Something that images this:

The Bible describes God as eternal […] all-powerful […] Creator of the whole universe […]⁴

Let’s show more creativity. Just as the Creation Museum shows. Think “incarnationally.” Appeal, as the best evangelists did, to Biblical truth shown in imagination. This applies whenever we share God’s Story, whether its beginning, middle, or end — because often we can’t share it all at once. Even if we do, it’s only a start. Only the Spirit changes hearts.

Two weeks ago, I shared my thoughts about the dual nature (spiritual and physical) of Christ’s Kingdom and how this worldview is not often reflected in fiction.

One reader took objection, and I’m glad he question my assertions, as it’s useful to rethink our positions and make sure we articulate our thoughts clearly. After a little back-and-forth, I thought I should try again to explain myself here.

If you’d like to see what came before, here’s the original post and the resulting conversation.

Okay, so what do I mean by saying God has given control of this world to Satan? First, let me emphasize that it’s God in His sovereignty who gives this control, not Satan who takes it. How so? In the Isaiah 10:5-19, the nation of Assyria provides an example. God gave this godless nation temporary dominion for a specific purpose, yet held them accountable for their sins against Him and His people. God gave Satan limited power to afflict Job, in Job 1 and 2. As Jesus said in John 10:17-18 and 19:11, his persecutors had no power against Him other than what God gave them. Though God calls Satan the god of this world, 2 Corinthians 4:3-4 (or “god of this age” or “present age,” depending on the version), that title is only his because God allows it. It is limited, and it is temporary. But it is a fact at this point in time.

But we can’t base a doctrine on one isolated passage, for scripturally, it is only by the testimony of two or more witnesses that the truth is established (Deuteronomy 19:15; Matthew 18:16; John 8:17; etc.). In the spirit of scriptural integrity, therefore, let’s take a look at some other places the Bible talks about this.

In John 12:31, Jesus called the devil “the prince of this world” and noted that his position as such is subject to God. Ephesians 2:2 refers to him as the “prince of the power of the air,” the idea being that his power does not extend beyond this planet’s inhabitable surface. This answers one of the questions raised earlier: Satan does not exert control, even to a limited degree, over all the physical universe.

In some versions, 1 John 5:19 says “the whole world is under control of the evil one;” the KJV renders this “the whole world lieth in wickedness.” Either way, it’s the whole world—not all of creation.

So what does this means in a practical sense?

In the case of we who are in Christ, our eternal souls are freed from sin’s curse and safe from all harm; we are now, and forever will be, citizens of the spiritual kingdom of God. However, because the kingdom of heaven has not yet been established on this earth, our physical, not-yet-resurrected bodies will continue to be battered by the evil one as long as we inhabit them.

Satan manifests himself in many ways, and they often touch us physically. It hardly seems necessary to show scriptural support of this, because it’s everywhere. Nevertheless, a quick look at the incomplete list of difficulties Paul endured in 2 Corinthians 11:24-33 is a start, and the scriptures give numerous other examples of how the devil causes physical mischief. In fact, most of his attacks are physical; scriptural evidence suggests that the inner (non-physical) struggles we face, such as temptations and uncertainties, often arise from our own fleshly nature and ingrained habits rather than any assault by the devil (James 1:13-14).

What did I mean by saying that it’s not up to Christians to save the broken world? Simply this: though we are citizens of the kingdom of God, we cannot expect to see the kingdom of heaven on earth until Christ returns. In the meantime, no matter how we might try to change things, the truth will continue to be twisted, the innocent will keep on suffering, and justice will be miscarried again and again. Corruption prevails in every government across the planet. Men dethrone one despot only to replace him with another. Medical advances eradicate one disease, and two more pop up to take its place. Whether we give a man a fish or teach him to fish, starvation is never eliminated.

Even Jesus, referencing Deuteronomy 15:11, said there will always be poverty (Matthew 26:11; John 12:8). He wasn’t telling His followers to not bother trying to relieve suffering. Quite the contrary, we are to love mercy and do justice and help others. But in the context of those passages, our first priority should be serving Him. When we focus on the physical, whom do we serve (Matthew 6:24-34)?

Though our souls have been rescued from the power of darkness and delivered into the kingdom of Christ (Colossians 1:13), we do still have physical bodies with physical needs, which we are to tend to with due diligence. Not only are we to keep ourselves pure and unstained by the sin of the world (1 Thess. 4:3-7; 1 Peter 1:13-16), but also, we are to work for a living, providing for ourselves and our family (2 Thessalonians 3:10-12; 1 Timothy 5:8). We should be compassionate toward others, relieving distress and sharing our material blessings when God gives us opportunity (James 2:15-16). But, necessary as all that is, it is not the Christian’s highest purpose in life. The Church has a mission, and the devil will oppose it through all the considerable means at his disposal. When we allow ourselves to be distracted from Christ’s Kingdom purposes, we make Satan’s job easier.

Paul warned in Colossians 2:20-23 that sometimes even our efforts to worship God focus on the flesh, putting the emphasis on what we can’t do rather than living freely for the Lord. He goes on to say in Colossians 3:1-3 that, if we are in fact risen with Christ, we are to set our affections on things above (the kingdom of God). We are strangers on earth, and pilgrims. As citizens of the kingdom of God, this present world—the “air” that the devil is the prince of—is not our home.

That’s the practical side. What about the literary ramifications?

First, the question of allegory: the whole physical world is an allegory, and the Bible is so full of allegories there would be little left if you removed them. Why would anyone consider that literary device to be of the devil? It appears, rather, to have originated with God.

But wait, back up a minute: what’s that about the physical world being an allegory? Consider just a very few of the myriad examples: marriage is an allegory for the church’s relationship with Christ (Ephesians 5:31-32). The sunrise is a picture of Christ’s return (Psalm 19:4-6; Malachi 4:2. Just think: every moment of every day, the sunrise brings light to some part of the earth. This planet’s perpetual dawn proclaims Christ’s coming to judge and bring light to this dark world. Talk about awesome allegory!) The tabernacle of Moses was a picture of the true tabernacle in Heaven, and the various rituals and celebrations of the Mosaic Law are allegories for Christ’s works.  And so on, and so on, on and on. To an unknown degree that we cannot at this time fathom, the physical world is a shadow of the eternal truth it pictures (Colossians 2:16-17; Hebrews 8:1-5).

I don’t see allegory, parables, fantasy, or any literary genre or device as playing into the devil’s hand. What I spoke of as pandering to the Satan is thinking the Church has either the obligation or the power to de-throne evil. We’re to give him no place in our lives, to be sure; but Christ has already given us the victory there. The world stage is a different matter.

For reasons I explained earlier, I’m uncomfortable with supernatural stories in which demonic forces take on a visible form and/or the reader is led to speculate what those beings’ existence might be like, how they may think or act or behave. A tale in which the hero tries to save the world is fun now and then and can sometimes be instructive. I merely lamented the scarcity of plots that depict the worldview described above.

One more thing, and then I’m done. The statement “Further affiant sayeth not” (originally “Further affiant sayeth naught,” with naught meaning nothing) is the legal language used to conclude a sworn affidavit. It means the person making the statement (the “affiant”) has enumerated all the facts and has nothing further to say. It is wholly unrelated to the idea of “taking the Fifth,” which I would not do in this case. If setting our affections on things above is a crime, I will freely incriminate myself.

I confess–I’ve never been a fan of The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. In fact, I can’t recall ever reading more than a small Golden Book version of the story, and that I didn’t like. There was too much confusion and what felt like aimlessness. Yes, it was inventive, but to what purpose? It didn’t feel as if there was one.

Consequently, I was less than enthusiastic when I learned about ABC’s latest fantasy TV show Once Upon A Time In Wonderland. Add in the fact that I’ve been disappointed with a number of the other recent network fantasy offerings–The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Grimm, and to a lesser degree Once Upon A Time–because they inevitably devolve into some iteration of horror. I’m not a fan of horror and less so of horror in the hands of those who demonstrate a lack of reverence for or disbelief in God.

When ABC advertised the new show with the tag line “Not the Alice you thought you knew,” I almost passed on it. How much more proof did I need, to know that the show’s creators were taking a direction leading away from the story Lewis Carroll originally wrote?

But . . . then, . . . I didn’t much care for that original story, did I, so what could a show tampering with it do to hurt it for me? I watched the premier last week and how glad I am that I did.

The show opens with a young Alice climbing out of the rabbit hole down which she’d fallen, and running home to tell her family she’s all right. Her father is more shocked than glad to see her because she’d been gone so long, they’d given her up for dead.

Alice tells about her adventures in Wonderland, but no one believes her. The more she insists she’s telling the truth about all the strange happenings, the more her family worries. For the first time her father suggests she might be going insane.

She determines to return to Wonderland to find proof she can bring back to show everyone she is not lying, imagining, or out of her mind. Over the years, during her many journeys into the fantastical world, she falls in love with a handsome genie. When the Queen of Hearts appears to kill him, Alice returns home broken. Her father, more convinced then ever that she is insane, has her institutionalized.

The story jump cuts from young Alice to a grown-young-woman Alice in the Victorian-era mental hospital telling a board of doctors that yes, in fact, she now knows Wonderland isn’t real, that she did make it all up. Their response to her retraction after all these years is less than favorable–they don’t believe her disbelief now any more than they have ever believed her veracity.

To avoid spoilers, I won’t tell you what happens next, but suffice it to say, Alice manages to return to Wonderland, this time in search for Cyrus, her genie she fell in love with. She’s given to believe he may still be alive and that idea coincides with what she feels in her heart. Wherever she searches, however, she comes away with no evidence that he survived, and those closest to her tell her she is making up what she wants to believe rather than accepting what actually is.

Sound familiar?

At home Alice was excoriated for believing in Wonderland; in Wonderland she is criticized for believing Cyrus is still alive. Despite the doubts, opposition, and betrayals, Alice holds fast to what she knows to be true, though admittedly her belief that Cyrus lives appears to stand on the shaky ground of her emotions. Still, she’s admirably confident and firm in her convictions. She wavered in the asylum only because she thought she had lost her purpose–Cyrus.

There’s much to like in this show, judging from the first episode. The acting was superb, the fantastical setting remarkably inventive and other–perfectly suited to the feel of the Lewis Carroll story. Behind the techno cleverness is a sound story–a heroine who is strong in her own right and determined to achieve her goal. It’s easy to jump on board and cheer for Alice to succeed.

Deeper still is the issue of belief and Alice’s willingness to cling to what she knows though people in both her worlds doubt her word and actually work to dismantle her . . . shall we call it, faith?

I have no reason to believe the creators of Once Upon A Time In Wonderland were aiming to make any religious statements. More likely, they are espousing the popular, “the strength is within you if you only look hard enough to find it” worldview. Alice, after all, doesn’t rely on magic or a knight in shining armor to save her. In fact she’s tied to a Knave, wanted for his unscrupulous past deeds and inclined to steal the only thing of value Alice has–if it were possible. And yet she manages to deal with a number of obstacles using her own guile and physical prowess.

Despite the difference in worldview, I see her predicament as remarkably similar to what Christians face. We live in two different worlds–that of “Wonderland” where miracles happen, and that of this world where our beliefs mark us as silly or insane. Sadder still, in the community of faith, where people say they believe in the mystical, the spiritual, the religious, when Christians who believe in the authoritative Word of God proclaim our love relationship with the Author and Creator of all, we receive dark looks for our “know it all” attitude.

In short, as unintentionally as I believe it to be, I think the writers of this first episode of Once Upon A Time In Wonderland uncovered the Christian’s plight. Consequently the story resonated with me. I connected with Alice–her excitement to share her adventures, turning to dismay at the disbelief of her family, mirrors the experience of many in the Church.

As a piece of speculative fiction, I think Once Upon A Time In Wonderland succeeds. The “what happened after she got back” approach was a great way to connect with the original story but to clue viewers that the tale they were about to watch was new and different. I believe the show fulfilled that promise. I highly recommend Once Upon A Time In Wonderland, at least the premier episode.

In 1940, Mortimer Adler’s iconic How to Read a Book was first published. For those unfamiliar with the work, there may appear to be some irony here. After all, if someone couldn’t read a book, how would writing a book on the subject help them?

Of course, Adler wasn’t really writing about literacy, per se, but rather about the task of reading for true understanding and comprehension, which as we all know (if we’ve ever gone beyond what we might call casual reading and really wrestled with a challenging work) is not as easy as it first appears.

I bring Adler up because I do find myself thinking from time to time that the task of reading requires more education than simply learning what words mean. More to the point, I think that for Christians, some reflection on how we read is in order. To that end, I’d like to offer a few thoughts on reading from a Christian perspective.

To illustrate the things I would like to say, I will be referencing two well-known poems, John Donne’s “Holy Sonnet 14” and Percy Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind.” (The advantage of choosing poems is that they are brief and easily looked up online, so that anyone unfamiliar with them can remedy this lack in just a matter of minutes.)

Even if you don’t know anything about Donne or Shelley, a reader coming to these two works will quickly discover they represent more than just contrasting styles: they offer contrasting worldviews. “Holy Sonnet 14” opens with this poignant appeal, “Batter my heart, three-person’d God,” and the poem as a prayer for the triune God’s forcible intervention into the poet’s unworthy life continues from there. We might then summarize the poem’s general purpose as a prayer to God for sanctification.

Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind” is also a prayer of sorts, and like “Holy Sonnet 14” there is a sense of desperation in the tone as the poet makes his heartfelt appeal for a higher power to intervene in his life — only this higher power is not the triune God, but the West Wind, which may in all likelihood stand symbolically for Nature. Shelley speaks of striving with the West Wind in prayer in the fourth stanza, and in the fifth, says to the Wind, “Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is… Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!” Shelley’s poem, then, is a prayer to Nature for inspiration — a very different kind of prayer, I think we would all agree.

So, how would a Christian read these two poems? I think some Christians would read them both, rightly perceive their different worldviews, and then conclude that Donne’s poem was “good” and Shelley’s was “bad.” Still some others, might first praise some of Shelley’s poetic technique but ultimate come to the same conclusion, that there is no place for Shelley’s “Ode” in a Christian’s life.

Personally, I can’t agree with either position, even the more nuanced second option. I think that recognizing the pagan nature of the poem is expected of me — and with this recognition, a rejection of what it represents — but beyond that, I think I have quite a bit of freedom with how I view the poem, and I mean here more than just the poetic elements.

With this in mind, here are some reasons why I really value Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind,” even given my objection to its fundamental theme.

1. The language is beautiful — I am, in general, very fond of the English Romantics even though their view of life was often diametrically opposed to my own, and Shelley is no exception. When he is on his game, he writes with both beauty and power. The following excerpt from the poem demonstrates this as it speaks of the power of the wind not only to effect the surface of the mighty ocean, but the plants that grow far below…
   

   “Thou For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
   Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
   The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
   The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
   Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
   And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!”

   The picture of the foliage on the ocean floor hearing the mighty echo of the West Wind’s voice far above and trembling and despoiling themselves is really magnificent, isn’t it?

2. The shared human experience is real — near the end of the poem, we learn that Shelley has been driven to this prayer to the West Wind out of some extremity, and he is desperate for inspiration and aid. He cries out in a moving line, “I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!” There have certainly been times in my life since this poem first captured me in college, when I have felt the weight that Shelley speaks of just after this line, and when I have thought to myself, “I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!” It is not to the West Wind that I cry out, but his poem and his phrasing have at times given me the words that I utter in the extremity of my own need.
3. The longing for the supernatural is an echo of truth — Shelley’s prayer is directed to the wrong source, but there is in it an echo of what we ought to do, to seek something greater than us when we have been brought to our knees by the inevitable weight of life. The urge and longing to seek out the Divine is clearly expressed here, and that longing for the Divine we can commend as God-given, for the longing to find that something larger than us to which our hearts bend is a gift from God.

I think there are lessons here for any kind of reading — including speculative fiction. A lot of poems and short stories and novels that fundamentally present a worldview which I do not share, nevertheless, may have any of these good attributes: literary beauty, powerful illustrations of our shared human experience, and echoes of spiritual truths that point (perhaps indirectly) to the source of all truth.

This is not to say that everything is acceptable to read. There are lines that we must draw, and I have no wish to deny that. What I do deny is that this process is as simple as identifying the worldview of a literary work as “Christian” or “Not Christian” and then throwing out everything in the second group. I think the discernment which God calls us to, penetrates deeper than this.
Interestingly, Donne’s own poetry shocked many Christians in his own time — and no doubt, even in generations after him. In “Holy Sonnet 14,” he concludes his prayer for God’s forcible intervention in his life by saying he will never be chaste, “except you ravish me.” This image is one of many that is meant to convey that where we resist God’s sovereign, sanctifying hand, he must do in us even that good work which we resist — and yet, the frank, sexual nature of the image made many a good churchman blush.

All this to say, the struggle to figure out what is permissible to read is not new in our own time. What’s more, it isn’t easy, in any time — at least, I don’t think it is meant to be. Thinking more carefully and looking more deeply than we sometimes tend to, might be a good start.

– – – – –

“L.B. Graham is the author of The Binding of the Blade, a five book fantasy series, the first of which, Beyond the Summerland, was a Christy Finalist in 2005. He writes fantasy/sci-fi and contemporary adult fiction. In addition, he teaches Worldviews and serves as the Bible Department Chair at Westminster Christian Academy in St. Louis. His latest book is The Darker Road, the first book in a new fantasy series called The Wandering. For more information about his published works and forthcoming titles visit his web site.

This week at least two of my favorite ministries took some missteps. Naturally I would think so, because I write for SpecFaith and love imagination, I may wrongly object when other Christians aren’t behaving “speculatively” enough or else condemn speculation outright. But because I actually love these ministries, I may be a good critic.

Exhibit A (today’s only exhibit): Desiring God Ministries.

Author/pastor John Piper focuses this Oct. 8 column specifically on preaching. Folks in Piper’s circles tend to do that: They will speak not necessarily to “lay Christians,” but to other preachers about preaching. Fortunately we “lay” folks can still appreciate what’s said because Christians must avoid sitting back and letting preachers do the heavy lifting for us. In this case it’s a vital distinction: Piper is talking primarily to preachers about preaching.

… In handling the Scriptures, sanctification and speculation rise and fall in inverse proportion. As speculation increases, sanctification decreases. The more guessing the less blessing.

Few people would give their life for a speculation. Few will gouge out an eye or cut off a hand, because of a guess. Suppositions make weak expositions.

The “needle’s eye gate”: never existed.

“In handling the Scriptures,” “few people would give their life [sic] for a speculation [about the Bible,” “suppositions make weak [Biblical] expositions,” et cetera — again, Piper speaks primarily against valuing speculation about the Bible over the “sure word of God.” He then offers a few examples. I could offer a few more because we’ve all heard these sermons — the supposed “needle’s eye gate”¹ behind Jesus’s warning in Matt. 19:24,² suggestions that Old Testament prophecies about Israel are somehow also about the U.S., and of course those dashed Nephilim who at best distract from Gen. 6’s meaning.

Biblical speculation is okay, but at best secondary to Scripture’s clearer meaning. If we read Matt. 19 and get distracted by researching a “needle’s eye gate,” instead of taking seriously Christ’s warnings against self-righteous reliance on our own wealth, we’re doing it wrong.

Yet Piper seems to downplay the value of speculative imagination far more broadly:

What About Poetry?

Two qualifications:

1. Poetry and preaching are not the same. Illuminating fiction and authoritative exposition are not the same. I love poetry and fiction. These are by nature inventive. They too have their place and their power. But the sanctifying power they have is owing decisively to the deeper truths they convey, not the imaginative structures that convey them.

At least from my reading of it, this drives me all sorts of crazy.

1. This reduces the sanctifying (holiness-making) role of Biblical poetry and fiction.

Did the Spirit-inspired Psalmists not “preach” in their poetry? Did Christ not “preach” in His parables? Granted, specific truth-transmission via Biblical expositional preaching is the most direct way to learn about God’s truth. Yet this view too easily becomes: “expositional preaching is the only way or most often the best way to grow holy in His truth.”

2. This reduces the value of Biblical speculation that does contribute to holiness.

For me, certain views of Scripture once were tantamount to bizarre “speculation,” such as the notion that God is absolutely sovereign yet works with man’s choices. So to say, “That’s only silly speculation, but this is the clear Word of God” may be right or may be wrong.

Spurgeon is Biblical and expositional, but also topical and speculative.

Furthermore, why not speculate about certain glorious truths of Scripture that help us fix a picture to an otherwise abstract truth? Good preachers do this all the time at Resurrection Sunday alone. What did Christ feel on the cross? Scripture tells us some, but we may fill in the rest — yet hold loosely to the images and not valuing them as highly as God’s Word.

Recently I’ve been reading a compilation of edited Charles Spurgeon sermons: Spiritual Warfare In A Believer’s Life. Being unfamiliar with Spurgeon beyond the ubiquitous quotes from him, I’ve been stunned by his faithfulness to Scripture (as readers often report) but also his openness to topical preaching and speculation! In exploring Satan’s temptation of Jesus in Matt. 4, Spurgeon keeps to the text, yet suggests Christ may have been truly afraid (which is not a sin) before Satan tempts Him to jump off the Temple pinnacle. For a whole paragraph that feels almost Lewis-like, Spurgeon compares this strange desire — “you may fall, so go ahead and get it over with” — to our own inclinations to sin so we won’t sin.

Is this flawed “speculative” preaching? Surely not (and not only because Spurgeon did it).

3. This implicitly rejects the sanctifying power of other imaginations.

“The sanctifying power [poetry and fiction works] have is owing decisively to the deeper truths they convey, not the imaginative structures that convey them.” Alas, this couldn’t be more wrong! Yet for a while I’ve wondered if some Christian leaders hold this view.

Here Piper says plainly what many are thinking: Even if fiction is good, it’s only because of the “deeper truths” it conveys.

Previously I’ve taken this to a logical conclusion: why then not cut out the artsy middle man and only rely on expositional preaching and systematic theology? Clearly the best reason is: God didn’t communicate His own Word this way. “Systematizing” what He did communicate can be helpful. But God did not “pre-systematize” His original Word.

Strangely, saying “imaginative structures” can only help by “conveying” truth is contrary to Piper’s own rightful extolling of the beauties of God, the wonders of God, the awe of God. To use Piper’s own frequent examples of the Grand Canyon’s beauty, one might as well gaze over the canyon and very “spiritually” conclude that this natural wonder’s only benefit is that it helps us think that “God is big, just like this canyon.” Is the Grand Canyon only useful as a spiritual prop? Should we then not even bother about the “imaginative structure” of this (ultimately) God-created wonder? Test rocks? Take photos? Explore hidden trails?

Piper’s teaching has blessed thousands, even if solely through his clarifying phrase, “The chief end of man is to glorify God by enjoying Him forever.”³ We grow in holiness primarily through God’s sure Word, yet also with all His other gifts. His gifts include poetry, fiction, and all other good expressions of imagination. “Deeper truth” alone is not beautiful; it is half-truth. Truth needs imagination. And we cannot enjoy imagination without “imaginative structures.”

Or as another writer said it:

Fiction and poetry provide authors a unique way to glorify Christ that more overtly intellectual genres, like theology, simply can’t. These genres that aim directly for the heart and soul—rather than aiming at the heart through the mind—do not argue for belief, they show what it looks like and make you feel it. Theology, devotionals, and other books in the “Christian Living” section of the bookstore talk about belief explicitly. Their goal is to explain truth as clearly as possible. Fiction and poetry, on the other hand, tell the truth, but tell it slant. They offer an author a way to give his beliefs flesh and blood by enacting them in the confusion of the real world. In fiction, belief is not what you look at, but what you look through.

You said it, brother. Oh wait. You said that?

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Glad to be posting again today since last week, as you may have noticed, I was absent. Unfortunately, I spent a portion of the day with my Internet provider trying to find out why I wasn’t able to access the web. Nothing solved until late Tuesday, and then I’m still not sure what the issue was. The level-two technician I last talked with said I’d be contacted by someone else within seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours! Unbeknownst to me, the problem was fixed, however, and I never heard back from them.

In other news, you may have realized that our regular Tuesday columnist, Christopher Miller has left us. He and his brother have gone into a new business, and Christopher found that his time too stretched to continue here at Spec Faith. We hope to unveil his replacement soon. And now, to the topic of the day.

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For a long time–maybe up to the present–Christians who wrote speculative fiction did so because they couldn’t find the kind of stories they enjoyed most. Not in the science fiction and fantasy sections of general market bookstores. Not on the fiction shelves of Christian stores.

The general market selection of science fiction and fantasy, it seemed, didn’t include stories that delved into spiritual truths handled from a Christian perspectives. Christian stores, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the fact that more and more Christian worldview science fiction and fantasy novels existed.

Times, they done changed already. The number of Christian speculative novels has mushroomed, in part because of the revolution in the publishing industry brought about by e-readers and by print-on-demand technology which makes self-publishing affordable.

Add to this fascinating mix the fact that speculative fiction has moved to visual media in a big way. And not just stories devoid of spiritual truth. J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings broke into the public eye in a dramatic and financially successful way. Three of C. S. Lewis’s Narnia books followed less successfully, but the three-part version of Tolkien’s The Hobbit has kept those passionate for Christian speculative fiction hopeful.

Superhero stories expanded the list, if not intentionally, at least by accidental imitation of the greatest Hero of all.

TV and video games have joined the foray, adding many more stories centered on the confrontation of good and evil, though that “good,” as in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, might be “good witches”–a concept mirroring that used by J. K. Rowling in her Harry Potter books.

Speaking of Rowling, it would seem she is diving back into the wizardry world she created, but not through the means of a novel. Rather, she is writing the screenplay at the behest of Warner Bros. for a Potter spin-off. The story will follow the adventures of the fictional author, Newt Scamander, who wrote one of the Hogwarts textbooks, Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them.

The movie is not a prequel or a sequel of the Potter books, Rowling explains. And Harry, Hermione, and Ron don’t make an appearance. Rather, the movie will be an expansion of the magical world in which the books took place.

So the question: do we need books? Isn’t it possible that visual storytelling will replace books?

According to Christian young adult fantasy writer Ashlee Willis Leakey, books are essential:

Anyone who does not love books is, in my opinion, missing one of the greatest joys in life. God gave us words. He gave us minds to use them, voices to speak them, hands to write them down, and imaginations to let their creativity fly free. Books are community – they are the way we remember things, and speak to one another. They are portals between worlds, keys to time’s endless path.

Books. We need them. Don’t try to argue with me. We need them.

I’m not arguing, I can assure you. I write fiction, after all. But is it true? In this day and age, with the development of visual technology that can recreate literally anything a person can imagine, do we need books?

Will Rowling’s new movie be as beloved as her Harry Potter ones were? Will the visual way of telling stories supersede books, much the way books superseded the bard and oral narratives? Does the media matter, or is the question really about what we tell, not how we tell it?

We had a good discussion on this topic last May. (See “Books Versus The Screen.”) I think it’s worth revisiting, however, because I believe we’re in the middle of a storytelling revolution. I used to say, a publishing revolution, but the fact is, visual media is changing with lightning speed, as is the method of delivery.

People can view stories on any number of mobile devices. Might not viewing become preferred to reading, especially if we’re reading on devices rather than from books?

So what’s your projection? What will storytelling look like in ten years? Twenty? Fifty?

Should readers work hard to pass on the love of books? Should we cling to our hard copies like soon-to-become antiques? Should we accept that storytelling will forever be altered and work toward incorporating the best aspect of books with the best of visual media? Are text-enhanced movies a possibility? Or movie-illustrated books?

Just fifty days.

Exactly fifty days now until the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special, The Day of the Doctor, Christ and Pop Culture is three parts into a 12-part series exploring Doctor Who’s Doctrine.

I’m blessed to assemble and help edit that series, titled after a phrase I first began using on SpecFaith.¹

We want to explore Doctor Who’s stories, characters, themes, Christianity vs. humanism, romance, visuals and music, and of course proven fandom since the program’s 2005 restart.

Here I’d also love to hear SpecFaith readers’ reasons for loving Who. More on that later.

Doctor Who’s Doctrine, Part 1: Mad Man with a Box

This series intro by me includes one of the worst puns by a Christian Doctor Who fan ever, or perhaps simply one of the worst puns ever: “Zeal for your Whos has consumed me.”

When I was a child, I thought like a child and enjoyed Christian programs for children. Those included the Christian Broadcasting Network’s anime TV series Superbook, in which children travel in a whirling “time vortex,” and Adventures in Odyssey, whose stories often included a time machine-like device shaped (at first) like a phone box.

Now that I’ve grown, I don’t put away these childish things. Also, I enjoyed finding what may have been their inspiration.

Doctor Who’s Doctrine, Part 2: Genre Roots

My friend Royce Hunt wrote this; he loves classic Who and out-geeks most other fans. And yes, that’s him in the Fourth Doctor cosplay, including his wife’s handmade ten-foot scarf.

An instant fan, I watched the classic Doctor Who series until PBS stopped running the show in 1992. To me, only that series has lasted through time, sparking the imaginations of children and adults on account of great story writing—but also thanks to some creative plagiarism.

Yes, classic Who fans who also know science fiction novels will find that Doctor Who stories aren’t that original. Some are even blatant rip-offs. How does that affect the show’s stories?

Doctor Who’s Doctrine, Part 3: Exterminating Evil

From CAPC editor Jason Morehead, this recent episode briefly explores the Doctor’s conflict with enemies such as the Daleks, before emphasizing the Doctor’s own challenging nature:

When you first meet the Doctor, in any of his incarnations, he seems like a walking bag of eccentricities, from his fashion sense to his mannerisms. But what has been part of the revival’s brilliance is its revelations that the Doctor, for all his brilliance and derring-do, is a shell of an alien. All his eccentricities actually conceal a demi-god who verges on breakdown, and he’s certainly more than the benevolent-yet-eccentric savior we may think. He’s a “mad man with a box” — and the emphasis is on mad.

Coming up

Next on CAPC I’ll write one or two further episodes myself. (Yes, I am beginning to feel like a certain other showrunner Steven [with a V].) We’ll continue exploring the series’s magic, its diversity of fans, the music of Murray Gold, love stories (and sporadic agenda moments), themes borrowed from many religions, and of course the Doctor’s faithful companions.

Lord willing, two weeks before this series’s conclusion before Nov. 23 (Who’s anniversary date), we’ll semi-conclude with a two-parter called Best In Show. It’s for that miniseries that I ask you: What’s your fan “testimony”? What are your favorite Who episodes, story arcs, Doctor actors, companions, musical cues, planets, time eras, visuals, villains, anything? How have you enjoyed God’s beauties and truths through Doctor Who’s beauties and truth?

Your answers here may be included in that two-parter about 1.5 months from now.

And with that request, I definitely feel like Steven “Grand Moff” Moffat, holding contests for people to contribute to a Doctor Who series. One difference: I would tell the truth about whether The Doctor actually dies or if I’ve finished using the Weeping Angels.

U.S. politicians are throwing temper-fits because of a federal “shutdown,” wanting to make people go without the NASA.gov website and World War II memorial access, and Disney is making films about its animated villains such as Maleficent and now also Cruella de Vil.

These topics actually relate, thanks to a scarily astute portion of C.S. Lewis’s Perelandra.

If you haven’t read at least the first two volumes of Lewis’s Ransom Trilogy (often termed the “Space Trilogy”), Perelandra follows the Godly and scholarly Dr. Elwin Ransom to the planet Perelandra (Venus). There on this watery world, Ransom encounters Venus herself, an innocent emerald Eve-like woman in a domain uncorrupted by sin — just before that corruption arrives in the form of scientist Dr. Weston.

One of the villains of the trilogy’s previous novel, Weston now shuns his former classic humanism in favor of a cosmic variety. No longer does he worship “man” (really an ideal of man in his mind); instead he gives himself over to a “life force.” Slowly Ransom concludes that this is a devil, or perhaps the Devil himself, and thus begins a grueling spiritual battle.

Or rather, the battle starts out spiritual. As this Satanic enemy wearies of engaging Ransom in debate over the green lady’s soul, he attempts startling psychological warfare. Readers to this day may be haunted by one of these ploys in the night, when Weston — hereinafter referred to as “the Un-Man” by a philosophizing Random/narrator — calls out through the dark, “Ransom.” When Ransom answers, he only says, “Nothing.” Each time Ransom replies he only says, “Nothing.” But when Ransom stays silent, the Un-Man still asks, over and over.

This brings Ransom’s slow realization about what his demonic, ultimate-evil enemy truly is.

[Ransom] taught himself to keep silent in the end: not that the torture of resisting his impulse to speak was less than the torture of response but because something within him rose up to combat the tormentor’s assurance that he must yield in the end. If the attack had been of some more violent kind it might have been easier to resist. What chilled and almost cowed him was the union of malice with something nearly childish. For temptation, for blasphemy, for a whole battery of horrors, he was in some sort prepared: but hardly for this petty, indefatigable nagging as of a nasty little boy at a preparatory school. Indeed no imagined horror could have surpassed the sense which grew within him as the slow hours passed, that this creature was, by all human standards, inside out—its heart on the surface and its shallowness at the heart. On the surface, great designs and an antagonism to Heaven which involved the fate of worlds: but deep within, when every veil had been pierced, was there, after all, nothing but a black puerility, an aimless empty spitefulness content to sate itself with the tiniest cruelties, as love does not disdain the smallest kindness?

This may explain political temper-tantrums and show the absurdity of the Disney movies.

Political enemies

If you’re a spiritual sister or brother from another cultural “mother,” you may offer another example; mine may suffer at least a selection bias, at least based on yesterday’s headlines.

Several articles covered the federal “shutdown,” because of which the American executive branch shut down some websites (including NASA.gov) and even closed attractions for no apparent reason. One incident occurred at the World War II memorial in Washington, D.C., a memorial that is outdoors, easily accessed, and which would require more federal costs to shut down than to leave alone. In short, that closure certainly appeared designed to prove to American citizens that they must suffer more than usual under this “shutdown.” The executive branch says: Fine, you want to shut down government? Then people can take THIS.

I would take all this back if evidence released that somehow, authorities who bring in more staff to close an always-open outdoor landmark somehow need less government resources than when it’s business as usual. But right now it looks like “an aimless empty spitefulness.”

Ransom’s thoughts on his enemy are so true: some enemies, in politics and any other field, are morally inside-out. On the surface they appear deep. Inside they’re infantile and nasty.

Disney enemies

Some witches just want to watch the fairy-forest burn. And that’s all we need to know.

This is why attempts to explore backstories of some fictional villains seem so absurd. For now let’s bypass the fact that these are likely motivated only by name recognition; movie-makers want to cut through the “fog” of other media especially since the internet arrived. Who cares to know “the events that hardened [Maleficent’s] heart and drove her to curse young Princess Aurora,” as this IMDB description says? Who needs a story focusing solely on Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmatians? If there’s any deep thought going on here, it seems of the worst sort: that we must explore evil, explain it, give villains a backstory, every time.

Such explorations do not always add “realism” or nuance. If anything they provide escapist fantasies, taking us away from this fact: that some evils, when you look under their skins, are supported by the skeletal structure of absolutely nothing but “black puerility” and spite.

Everybody wants an empire.

Some overachievers actually manage to get one, temporarily. We who are less ambitious carve out a tiny niche of our world to reign over, even if it’s just the arrangement of the medicine chest’s contents.

If I were to tell you that the kingdom theme is the basis of a great many storylines, you’d be justified in saying Duh.  Fact is, it’s hard to think of a title in any medium (literary, film, video game) that doesn’t involve, at its essence, the striving of one kingdom for supremacy over another (or others).

One might even say this theme is genetically hardwired into the human psyche.

I’m hardly the first to point this out. Nor is it novel to suggest the reason for the constancy of this theme is our innate knowledge that this world is a battlefield with a throne as the prize.

Illustrations abound, both fanciful and serious, of this kingdom and the battle to possess it. But what, exactly, are the spiritual forces vying for? What does this kingdom look like? I suspect it’s so essential and obvious we can’t see it, like air. But in the Bible, God gives us the general idea.

One thing we should grasp is that His kingdom is—as are his human creations—both spiritual and physical. Take a look at the story the Bible tells. It begins in Genesis 1:1 with the creation of heaven (spiritual) and earth (physical), the dominion of which the serpent tries to usurp. It ends with a new heaven and new earth (Revelation 21:1), with God forever seated on the throne. What unfolds in between is an outline of the events that bring this everlasting kingdom into existence.

In relation to this, we find two phrases in the gospel accounts: the kingdom of God and the kingdom of heaven. Most commentators say these are one and the same, just two ways of conveying one thought. But a careful reading of the passages in which these phrases appear reveals a clear difference between them. The kingdom of God refers to the spiritual dimension of the kingdom, which Jesus ushered in at the time of his first appearance. The kingdom of heaven speaks of the physical aspect, for which creation still waits (Romans 8:19-25).  (Easy way to remember which is which: God is spirit/the kingdom of God is spiritual; heaven is a literal place/the kingdom of heaven is a literal, physical kingdom.)

The Bible explains this in rather plain language. When Jesus speaks of the kingdom of God, He tells His hearers that it cannot be seen (Luke 17:20-21) and that it’s entered spiritually (John 3:3-5). Romans 14:17 tells us it’s intangible, not a physical thing. 1 Corinthians 15:50 declares flesh and blood cannot inherit it. If you do a search for kingdom of God throughout the Bible, you’ll find no contradiction to this understanding.

The kingdom of heaven is found in the gospel of Matthew and nowhere else in all the Bible.

As you probably know, Matthew’s target audience was the Jews of his day, and he wrote to demonstrate to his brethren that Jesus was their long-awaited Messiah. Their scriptures promised that, when He came, He would usher in the kingdom. They understood this kingdom to be of the physical sort. God’s promises to Israel throughout the Old Testament involved actual real estate, military victory, bodily health, financial prosperity—all physical things. So when Matthew wrote of the kingdom of heaven, it was the flesh-and-blood dominion that he spoke of. And this perspective is why, in Luke 1:68-75, it was a purely physical kingdom that Zacharias believed his son John would be the herald of, according to prophecy.

Matthew shows Jesus declaring that this kingdom was “at hand” (Matt. 4:17 and Matt. 10:7). Indeed, in Acts 7:56 He did stand poised to return and establish His earthly kingdom immediately after His resurrection. But when His people rejected Him one last time, He sat down to wait (Colossians 3:1).

We tend to forget that, for now, God has given the devil control over the physical kingdoms of this world (2 Corinthians 4:3-4).

The days of the wicked one’s reign are numbered, of course. At just the right time (which day and hour no man can know), his dominion will be taken from him (Revelation 20:1-3), and the physical and the spiritual aspects of the kingdom will be united under Christ’s headship. But that’s still in the future. At present, it’s only the spiritual kingdom that’s established on this earth. We who follow Christ are citizens of it (2 Corinthians 5:17) with Christ as our Lord, though we remain physically in the devil’s realm.

All this is not merely academic; it matters in a vital, practical way. Failing to embrace these realities can lead to our trying to take from the devil something that, for now, is rightfully his. (Rightfully because God has ordained it, not because the devil is righteous!) Notice our Lord’s response in Matthew 4:8-10, when Satan offered Him all the kingdoms of the world. Though Jesus turned down the offer, He never contradicted that the kingdoms were, in fact, Satan’s to parcel out as he chose.

What God has given, only God can take away. Trying to wrest the physical world from the devil does Satan a favor, as the effort misdirects our attention and resources from what Christ has commissioned us to do. That is, bringing lost souls into the spiritual kingdom He’s already established for us.

It’s not rare for fiction to deal with the spiritual realm, but it’s usually sensationalized in Peretti-esque horror scenarios. Few stories reflect the scriptural distinction between the spiritual and physical aspects of Christ’s kingdom, and we don’t often see realistic portrayals of the sort of spiritual warfare believers actually face in this world.

Some years ago, I expressed reservations to a writer friend about the subject matter of her story, which involved demonic powers. Her reply: “Spiritual warfare is a very real thing, and people need to know that.”

True. But as mortal beings, our comprehension of the spirit world has severe limitations. Moreover, the Bible gives strong cautions against believers venturing into these areas. Satan’s power is such that no one but Jesus Himself is able to face him; not even Michael the archangel dares to go toe-to-toe with him (Jude 9). It’s foolish and  presumptuous to think we can jab at the Leviathan (Job 41:1-8).

As eternal citizens of Christ’s spiritual kingdom, we’re to be aware of the enemy’s wily devices (2 Corinthians 2:11)—but not run forward to meet him. Rather, we arm ourselves with the protection God has provided and stand—merely stand—in Christ (Ephesians 6:10-17). The battle is His, not ours.

It might sound contradictory to say Christian speculative fiction should be realistic. But in view of the kingdom truths as revealed in the Scriptures, the literary world might do with less pulse-pounding entertainment and more solid spiritual realism.