Obvious legalism is not the only legalism.

Legalism is an attitude of the heart.

You can’t define “legalism” with strict rules. That is how you get legalism in the first place.

The bad: Appearance-based judging

So in real life, if I see among a group of Christians that everyone is enjoying alcohol save for one awkward person, and think, “That person is legalistic,” then I have become the legalist.

And if I read a fantasy novel in which the author avoids showing a certain sin or swear words or what-have-you, and I decide this means the author is only trying to please people or publishers or Fundamentalists, then yes, the author may be legalistic. But if I don’t know the situation, her heart motivation, or the audience, then I’m definitely acting like one.

In either case I’ve judged someone based on a wrong notion of appearance of evil — that is, whether that person has violated my own personal “rules” and not a Biblical command.

After last week’s quiz ¹, I realize even more how absurdly easy it is to condemn others’ legalism based solely on appearance. No, judging based on appearance is not always sinful, but it’s severely limited — especially if we don’t even know the person, or her heart, or if we simply don’t know how to discern according to Scripture rather than one’s own feelings.

1. We don’t know the person.

I could say that The Shack’s author wrote an overall bad book, with a sentimental style, at-best-silly ideas about God, and strict legalistic attitudes toward Christians who desire to be faithful to Scripture. That’s based only on content. But I don’t know him personally. I can’t say, “This author is doing this because he personally hates X” or “he’s only doing it for the cash cow of liberal ‘emergent’ readers.” (Conversely, if I don’t know this public figure personally, I can’t say for sure, “He only wants to help by reaching out to nonbelievers!”)

Not suitable for editing.

2. We’re not discerning per Scripture.

If I’m reading a novel without swear words, especially if the story veers into “swear words would really make this a better story” territory,” then I may wonder why the story avoids such language. But I can’t require the author to do this because Scripture doesn’t require it. Scripture’s own arguable use of vulgar or “bad” language is at best sparing (Paul’s mention of filthy rubbish or exasperated wish about oppressors’ self-emasculation, etc.).

Also: If my own chief mission is to persuade non-Christians that Christians aren’t up-tight legalists, and if I think someone else isn’t following that mission, then that’s not the other author’s problem. It may not be a problem at all. It may simply be a difference in callings.

3. We’re judging based mainly on feelings.

Biblical judgment is never wrong. But feelings-based judgment may be wrong. And often we use our own feelings to make legalistic judgments, including against “legalism.”

• “You said homosexuality is wrong, and that feels mean to me. You’re a Pharisee.”
• “I read this novel where the story explores lust, and it feels tempting. That’s sin.”
• “I feel like this story is attacking my personal religious traditions. It’s a bad story.”

The good: Pulling out planks

“Now hold on,” a critic may rightfully say. “If you’re judging that someone is legalistic based on appearance, because it appears to be evil judging, isn’t that more of the same sin? A sin on top of a sin on top of a sin?” That’s absolutely right, and that’s why I’m already on that.

Surely there are right ways to discern based on appearance. For example, if I grew up being exposed to a certain legalism — let’s call it by the theological term “You Can’t Watch PG-13 Movies” Legalism — then I’ll be more aware of that sin-struggle in myself and in others. That actually aligns with Christ’s command in Matthew 7: first pull the wood beam out of your own eye — by judging yourself — then you’ll see clearly to help others do the same.

“Hey, brother/sister. I understand you not only avoid PG-13 films for yourself, but also forbid them from your maturing children. While there is a lot of junk out there and we must be careful to avoid our own unique temptations, I wonder if you’ve heard my story. …”

Yet what’s the heart motive in such an approach? The goal is not to blast said PG-13 Movie Legalists. It’s to help in their journey, as we were helped. To help another glorify God better.

It’s a spirit of “Aren’t you missing something that glorifies God?” and not, “Sinner! Repent.”

In the field of fantasy fiction, we can’t afford to get this wrong. I’m convinced that when fiction legalism appears to come up — when someone says “Harry Potter is demonic” or “I can’t enjoy stories without swear words and neither should you” — our approach must be like, “aren’t you missing something (that glorifies God)?” rather than, “Sinner! Repent.”

So here’s an application specific to SpecFaith readers and all advocates of fantastic stories: When you meet someone who appears to be a fiction legalist, please don’t condemn him or her. Instead, reflect God’s Story and share your story in light of His (aren’t we all about stories, anyway?). And gently challenge, performing any careful eye surgery if needed — but always, always after making sure our own vision in this area is certified plank-free.

Two weeks ago, I asked the rather provocative question about whether or not a geek could be a good Christian. I asked it in connection to the hue and outcry that erupted when it was announced that Ben Affleck would be portraying Batman in the sequel to Man of Steel. I thought I might get some interesting reactions and boy, did I.

For example, one of my friends, a fellow pastor named Pat, had this to say to me on my Facebook author page:

The theological reality is that the “good Christian” does not exist.

However, the “charitable Christian” can and does exist.

Sin no more and your faith in Christ makes you well.

Points well taken, Pat.

The more common point that people made was along these lines:

There’s nothing wrong with being critical of a person’s past performance.

And that’s certainly true as well. I’m not suggesting that we should turn off our critical faculties when engaged with a story and simply love it because well, it’s there. It’s okay to leave a movie theater less than impressed with an actor’s rendition of a character. It’s okay to think that an author’s craft isn’t quite there. And it’s okay to express that opinion on-line.

But that’s not really the point I was trying to make.

My partially tongue-in-cheek question has to do with how certain aspects of geek culture and how geeks express themselves might point to deeper sins that can lurk within us. As I reflected on my visceral reaction to the Batfleck news, I saw in myself an uncharitableness that worried me.

And it wasn’t just in me. Rumor has it that after the Batfleck news broke, people actually petitioned the White House to make it illegal for Ben Affleck to ever portray Batman (revealing not only the unforgiving vindictiveness I see in myself at times but also a woeful ignorance of how the United States legislative process works. Perhaps they need a refresher). People, myself included, weren’t even willing to consider that Affleck may have grown as an actor or artist since he last portrayed a superhero in Daredevil.

In other words, it’s not that they were being critical of Ben Affleck’s performance. Instead, they weren’t going to give the man a chance.

At times, it seems like the geek motto should be the same as that of the hacktivist collective known as Anonymous: We do not forgive. We do not forget.

Don’t believe me? Think back to when it was announced that Disney bought the rights to Star Wars and that they were planning to make Episode VII. I don’t know about you, but my immediate, visceral reaction was that George Lucas had better stay as far away from them as possible. We didn’t need any more anticipointment. Once again, I don’t think it’s wrong to be critical of the prequel trilogy. But how can we know that Lucas didn’t learn his lesson and would be able to craft and deliver new Star Wars stories that would knock our socks off once again? We’re so wrapped up in the previous hurts, we’re not willing to give him the chance.

It’s not just in movies. You browncoats, how do you feel about Fox? Or videogamers, how do you feel about EA? The simple fact of the matter is that geeks seem to have long memories when it comes to being burned by their fandoms. Like I said, we do not forgive. We do not forget.

And that’s a problem.

Now I know what some of you might be thinking. “Oh, come on. You’re blowing this out of proportion! Why does it matter if I’m holding a grudge against Fox or EA or George Lucas or whoever?”

Well, here’s the thing. Jesus once said this: “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much.” Sometimes little foibles and eccentricities can point to larger problems lurking beneath the surface

But the Good News is this: God continues to forgive us. That’s what Christ and Christianity is all about. God chooses to forgive and forget, and our freedom from sin is made possible by Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. As far as the east is from the west (in a straight line, no less!), that is how far He removes our sins from us.

That’s why He calls on us to forgive and forget as well. We forgive as God in Christ first forgave us. And that forgiveness is something that should flow into every corner of our lives.

Fandoms included.

Now, I’m not quite done with this subject yet. My problems with Batfleck sparked a few more theological thoughts. In two weeks, though, I’m switching superhero fandoms and I’ll be taking a peek at some geeks’ reactions to Iron Man 3. Until then, may we all learn to forgive and forget just a little bit better.

From time to time I’ve decried the marketing ploy that advertises an author as the next C. S. Lewis or the next J. R. R. Tolkien. Those greats are matchless, in my view, and we aren’t going to see The Next, as if they were simply links in a long chain of literary figures accomplishing more or less the same thing in their generation as those who went before and who will go after.

Recently, however, I read an article by Christopher Mitchell, professor at Biola University’s Torrey Honors Institute, entitled “Still Looking for C. S. Lewis.” In it, he explores what C. S. Lewis gave the world and whether looking for another C. S. Lewis is asking for too much.

Dr. Mitchell’s opening caught my attention at once. He relates how for the past two decades he regularly has entertained the question, where are the C. S. Lewises of our day?

As I see it, then, on one hand marketing people are saying, here is the next C. S. Lewis, and on the other, everyday Christians are saying, where is the next C. S. Lewis? Either the everyday people are not listening to the marketers, the marketers aren’t speaking to the everyday people, or the two simply disagree.

I suspect there is truth in all three aspects. First, these marketers are speaking to a fairly small crowd–those who frequent Christian book stores and who pull a book by an unknown author off the shelf to read the back cover copy, because honestly, that’s about the extent of the marketers’ reach when it comes to Christian fantasy.

In addition, everyday people are not listening to the marketers. For one thing, they have become, by necessity, fairly jaded when it comes to marketing. In part they are adept at looking past it. But if they should allow marketing to penetrate their thinking, they are just as apt to be skeptical about what they’re told as they are impressed by it.

Consequently, any book with the claim that its author is the next C. S. Lewis had better prove it within the first few pages because, if the writing isn’t there, readers who turn to the first chapter will surely conclude the back cover is typical marketing hyperbole.

Thirdly, the marketers and the everyday people seem to be in disagreement about what they’re looking for. This point, I believe, is critical.

Are everyday people looking for stories set in a make-believe world like Narnia? Do they want books they can read to their children? Are they looking for stories with allegorical meaning like The Great Divorce? A Christian-ized retelling of a Greek myth in the vein of Till We Have Faces? A space-travel story about aliens, with Christian implications?

My guess is, those things are what marketers believe readers want in the “next C. S. Lewis,” but I suspect they miss the mark. Readers aren’t so much looking for the same kinds of stories as they are the same depth of story telling.

Lewis’s depth first came from his interaction with Scripture, evidenced by his non-fiction apologetic works. Certainly his imaginative thinking also benefited from his interaction with his colleagues at Oxford, particularly those in the Inklings. In other words, his fiction did not spring to life in a vacuum, nor did it germinate exclusively from the fertile soil of his own imagination.

Rather, Lewis read widely, studied profusely, and spent hours discussing literature and theology with other scholars. Dr. Mitchell summed up Lewis’s ability as “a rare combination of theological reflection and poetic imagination.”

Perhaps he also enjoyed the rare environment of Oxford at the rare time of the post-World War II era.

But aren’t all times and environments rare in their own ways? I can only imagine what Lewis would have done if he’d had the opportunity to express his ideas in Facebook updates or Tweet his thoughts. The latter seems almost laughable, except for the fact that Lewis is so eminently quotable. His ideas are expansive, and he took books to explain his positions, and yet he had the knack of encapsulating deep truths in a sound bite.

In the end, I don’t think writers today should try to emulate Lewis’s stories or writing practices and certainly not his style. Rather, I think those everyday people looking for “the next Lewis” are actually looking for a writer whose fiction opens up spiritual reality the way Lewis’s does.

Of Lewis’s non-fiction, Mitchell says,

In addition to Lewis’ remarkable ability to translate Christian doctrine into lively, jargon-free, accessible prose, he also succeeded in communicating its essential depth and substance, turning what had become for many a mere religious relic into a potentially potent spiritual reality.

I suggest his fiction accomplished the exact same thing. This “next C. S. Lewis,” then, must delve into the depth of Christian doctrine and learn how to translate it into potent spiritual reality through the vehicle of stories. And that, I believe, is precisely what everyday people are looking for.

I’ve read some interesting comments over the past couple weeks. Here’s a sample:

“It’s real this time.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Must. Have.”

“Umm…w-w-what?!?”

“Someone finally did it.”

“Rumor has it that Jeff Gerke finally had to pay up on that bet…”

And one of my favorites:

“Seriously…this is PURE genius.”

What are all those comments about? Why, Amish Vampires in Space, of course. The next book from Marcher Lord Press, due October 1^st. My latest child.

“But, that sounds crazy,” you say. “Sounds like you’re pandering, or mocking, or trying to milk (?), what, three diverse genres in order to get yourself noticed. Seriously, what are you up to? How did this happen?”

I’m glad you asked.

Let me start by saying this was really nobody’s design but my own. I didn’t lose a bet, I wasn’t threatened, and my arm definitely wasn’t twisted. There was no contest, nor is this part of a diabolical scheme to gain readers. (Though wouldn’t that be nice?)

It started nearly three years ago. A Star Curiously Singing was already in print, and possibly even its sequel, The Superlative Stream. I’m not certain. All I know is that one day our fearless leader, Jeff Gerke, surprised us with a mock cover he created. Now, I should mention that one of the things Jeff likes to dabble in, aside from publishing, editing, and writing is graphic design. Three of my five novels feature covers he designed, in fact.

So, one day he sent us all this cover art. The imaginary author’s name was Michael Boone, and the title of the novel was Vein Pursuit. The book was part of the Amish Vampires in Space series. The cover featured a bonneted lady with fangs, a spaceship, and what appeared to be a rack of Amish hats. Jeff called it the ideal Christian speculative novel. A sure bestseller!

The image was great, and it became a running joke not only among us, but also at writers’ conferences that Jeff spoke at.

Years passed, and somewhere in all that time I told him that someone—some MLP author—should write that novel. I didn’t think it was me, because the title screams “camp!” and I don’t do that. Someone like Hero, Second Class’s Mitchell Bonds might be a perfect fit, though…

More time passed. More books were published. But no one wrote that book.

Then last year I started thinking about how such a novel might be written, minus the camp. The genre mishmash has lots of potential for conflict. The Amish are a structured people, governed by routine, rules, and tradition. (As were the societies in other books I’ve written.) But outer space is rarely structured, and vampires are chaos incarnate. Also, the Amish, practicing their interpretation of scripture, are non-violent. Pacifists. Vampires are not.

Then, I got the beginning of a premise, and also, a possible theme. (A discussion I had on Speculative Faith helped with the latter.) Then the characters started to arrive on the scene. I saw a middle-aged Amish man with a secret, and a space captain in a mundane job. I saw a crewmember with a bit of a prejudice and an odd habit, along with an Amisher bishop with prejudices of his own. A thief, a doctor…oh, and science! Lots of science.

So I started writing. Thirty thousand words in, I told Jeff what I was doing. After he stopped laughing, he encouraged me to continue. So I did. Ten months later I finished. The manuscript was roughly 130,000 words long, incredibly fun to write, and generally camp-free. A solid “science meets agrarian” story, with a hematophagical twist.

Jeff read it, suggested some minor improvements, and here we are today.

Amish Vampires in Space. Flying your way in October.

(Editor’s note: Marcher Lord Press has just made the book available for preorder.)

In my years of Christian fellowship and internet activity, I’ve learned much about the sin of legalism. First, some Christians are more legalistic than they’d ever know. Second, said Christians have no idea what real legalism is in the first place.

This is particularly prevalent in the issue of fiction, especially speculative storytelling. Yet it touches all kinds of Biblical doctrine and action, so some of that will also be discussed here.

Fiction. Clearly this topic recurs at SpecFaith. How much “speculation” or “grit” or curses or sexual content are too much? If a story includes questionable content, is its author not a legalist? If a story avoids this content, is its author vulnerable to challenges about freedom?

Fundies are hateful and condemn people to hell. I hate them! They’re going to hell.

Nonfiction. Recently I jumped into a social-network group whose chief function is to mock and slam and of course swear vociferously at supposed “fundamentalists.” Despite this helpful approach to engage lovingly with other created human beings formed in the image of God — even if they are those nasty fundies — I thought it would be interesting to see for myself whether my gentle challenges to one post would be welcomed. Nope. Naturally I was blasted just as much as if I’d come in there and said “Haw haw, UR all goin’ to Hell.” I even set a trap related to the “abstain from all appearance of evil” phrase from 1 Thess. 5:22 (KJV). It wasn’t that clever a trap, but folks fell for it. How did they know I was a legalist? He looks like one! But that’s a false interpretation of the verse. Burn him anyway!

Irony much?

I’m afraid said irony continues when we’re trying to identify legalism in stories or authors.

If we don’t care how the only non-legalist ever, Jesus Christ, defines the sin of legalism, then anytime we try to sic the accusation on others it may come right back around to bite us in the backsides. How does this occur? To explore more, let’s have a Where’s the Legalist? quiz.

It works like this: After each anecdote, consider which of the listed responses is legalistic.

Where’s the Legalist?¹

Figure 1 (fiction):

A new novel by a professing Christian author includes a dystopian future in which sex-tourism and -slavery has overrun the world. A team of elite evangelical commandos, highly trained (and perhaps surgically altered) to resist the temptations of this sordid world, infiltrates the headquarters of the sex-slave operation. The story shows clearly that sexual perversion and slavery is reprehensible, yet with semi-detailed descriptions (seeming-positive descriptions quickly become negative for impact), and ends reflecting Gospel light.

Response A: “I cannot read a story like this, and no other Christian should. Being holy and Christlike always means we cannot be exposed to even some descriptions of sin like this.”

Response B: “I might not read a story like this, but other Christians might be able to.”

Response C: “Serious Christians must read this story if it’s well-written! We need to have more of these kinds of realistic stories around, which don’t shy from the world’s evils.”

Figure 2 (nonfiction):

A Christian pastor writes a web article in which he decries the constant encroachment of the homosexual agenda in society and government activism. Though the pastor’s entire repertoire makes it clear he also finds fault with Christians who do act as if homosexual desires are unforgiveable sins, in this article he critiques only the homosexual lobby.

Response A: “In context with other reminders, this is a helpful and Biblical contribution.”

Response B: “This pastor is legalistic. ‘Christians’ have spent years fighting gay advocates with religious law. We should only share the love of Christ, not condemnation and politics.”

Response C: “Good for this pastor. Down with all homosexuals. We must protect children.”

Figure 3 (fiction):

A new movie by a professing Christian director explores a world of demonic possession and exorcism. The story is visually impressive and capably acted and edited, though some critics charge that the film doesn’t extol the Biblically (and otherwise) documented power of the Name of Christ over Satan’s forces. In response the scriptwriter and director say this: “We’re not about theology. Our goal is only to tell a good story and make people notice.”

Response A: “It is dangerous to get involved with demons like this. I question their faith.”

Response B: “I agree. Preaching like this in a story would only be legalistic.”

Response C: “Is it ‘freedom’ to fear Jesus’s Name in a story in which He is needed most?”

Figure 4 (nonfiction):

A popular female pop star conducts a lascivious routine on national television, sparking outrage from civilian Christians in their various media and pastors from their pulpits.

Response A: “She is going to hell. Hide your children. Society is getting even worse.”

Response B: “Don’t judge her. Judging is evidence of legalism and doesn’t show that God loves her just as much as He loves us. We should only be praying for her and showing love.”

Response C: “We must judge ourselves first, then the world. But this was evidence of sin.”

Figure 5 (fiction/nonfiction):

Actually, this anecdote is 100 percent factual.

A professing-Christian publisher publishes a book in which the author claims to have gone to Heaven. During her near-death experience, she says she saw children who hadn’t yet been born, and gives credence to Mormonism and the idea of the pre-existence of the soul. Defending the book to another author, the publisher says “You know our hearts” and “[It] is not a book of theology.” ²

Response A: “It’s not legalistic to question a Christian book.”

Response B: “No, this author shouldn’t question the publisher’s or the author’s heart and motives. This attitude betrays his legalistic heart and motives to disparage a work of God.”

Response C: “These books about Heaven are dangerous. ‘No eye has seen,’ and so on.”

I’m choosy about books. I’m not so particular about genre, but I’m a terrible snob where the quality of writing is concerned. I want some depth to a story. A satisfaction of the spirit.

I’m less concerned with a story’s action than I am with the action of the language. The words I’m looking for should be overachievers; not content to merely tell a tale, they should also evoke a feeling, provoke an unexpected thought, drill a subtext. I want to read phrases that sing, sentences that paint pictures, paragraphs that resonate like a tympani roll.

Not surprisingly, I don’t often find what I’m looking for. A few weeks ago, however, I discovered the speculative classic (1985) The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Based on what I see in this novel, Ms. Atwood knows how to use words.

I especially appreciated the opening paragraphs of the chapters. They set the mood, wrapping me in a blanket of delight as they urged me to keep reading. For an example, take a look at the first paragraph of Chapter 2:

A chair, a table, a lamp. Above, on the white ceiling a relief ornament in the shape of a wreath, and in the center of it a blank space, plastered over, like the place in a face where the eye has been taken out. There must been a chandelier, once. They’ve removed anything you could tie a rope to.

The opening of chapter 4 is is pregnant with meaning you won’t understand apart from knowing the story, but even at face value, it’s wonderful imagery:

I walk along the gravel path that divides the back lawn, neatly, like a hair parting. It has rained during the night; the grass to either side is damp, the air humid. Here and there are worms, evidence of the fertility of the soil, caught by the sun, half dead; flexible and pink, like lips.

This is seriously good writing, and I enjoyed every second I spent reading it. But you know what? I didn’t particularly like the story. I can see where Ms. Atwood was coming from, but the scenario the book portrays seems a little unlikely.

Perhaps it would have been easier to swallow at the time she wrote it, which was, I suppose, the heyday of the “Christian Right.” But in retrospect, it’s hard to see how this story world could ever be taken seriously. Ultraconservative pseudo-Christians running the country according to a warped version of biblical law? Are you kidding?

In case you’re not familiar with it, here’s the gist of the situation: environmental toxins have caused humankind’s fertility to falter. Women who can conceive and bear children—whole, unblemished children—are a rare commodity. In the midst of this crisis, a Fundamentalist group (I guess that’s what it’s supposed to be) takes over the US and reorganizes society according to their own warped ideas.

I would say their policies are based on the scriptures, but they’re not; perhaps inspired by the scriptures would be a better description, because they take verses and concepts from the Bible and twist them to mean things God never intended.

Under this new order, fertile women serve as “handmaids” to men in the higher echelon. The sole function of this class of females is to procreate, and they have been trained in the proper (supposedly biblical) way to be a vessel for this purpose. The story, as you can guess from the title, is the biography of one such handmaid.

Apart from the basic incongruity of fundamentalist Christians taking power in the US (especially with the initial support of the majority of the citizens), I had a quibble with a couple other aspects of the tale. The first thing I stumbled over was the protagonist’s recollection of when the takeover began: after they shot the president and gunned down the Congress, the army declared a state of emergency and told everyone to be calm, everything’s under control. Then they suspended the Constitution. And there was no reaction from the people. In the protagonist’s words, “People stayed home at night, watching television, looking for some direction. There wasn’t even an enemy you could put your finger on.”

I’m willing to suspend a good bit of disbelief when reading fiction, but I had a hard time getting past that one.

Another thing I had trouble with was the final chapter, where another narrator comes on the scene and explains that all of what we just read was a diary found in a trunk somewhere, and nobody knows if it’s an actual account or a fictional story. In my opinion, the book would have been much stronger without that last chapter, called “Historical Notes on The Handmaid’s Tale.”

Otherwise, Ms. Atwood’s story world was carefully thought out and believable. The multi-dimensional world was faultlessly consistent with itself and full of realistic details, all portrayed with delightful artistry. But I can’t help wondering if the author truly believed the aberrations she described are logical extensions of biblical faith.

Any reader can see the wrongness of the belief systems of this fictional government. But nowhere do we see any attempt to counter the lies with truth. It seems to give the impression that the scriptures, if taken literally, are a danger to civilization, and they should be shunned by all thinking people.

It saddens me to see such a misconception so skillfully portrayed. What literature of similar quality shows the other side of the coin? Are there similarly well-written stories that reveal an accurate understanding of scriptural truth?

I’m not saying these stories don’t exist; only that I don’t know of them.

I freely admit that my literary knowledge, particularly in the world of Christian speculative fiction, is limited.  But in my fumbling explorations, I’d love to stumble across a book with language that makes me grin, as this one does, but tells a story that makes me want to shout, “Amen!”

I’m not talking about allegory, either. I mean a realistic tale with believable characters who love God’s truth and live like they believes it. A book written by a person who loves words and knows how to get the most from each one. The unbelieving world doesn’t have an exclusive claim on dynamic writers, does it?

For anyone reading this who’s written just such a novel, I apologize; my ignorance is glaring. You see, I’m a newcomer to the speculative world and I have a lot of catching up to do. (This is why I’m just now reading these classics for the first time). But I’m willing to investigate any suggestions.

Anyone who’s checked the Spec Faith Summer Writing Challenge final poll results already knows we have our winner: Austin Gunderson.

Entry by Austin Gunderson

Afraid? Bri couldn’t say she was exactly afraid. What a funny question. The supersonic freight train wouldn’t crush them for another seventeen seconds. Her new contact must be a paranoid sort; judging by the proportion of time he’d spent glancing over his shoulder, his head might’ve been screwed on backward. Bri rolled her eyes, tossed back her hair, and extended a hand. “Don’t worry about the mop-up crew. They might not be aiming for us, but they can’t miss. Just upload the package.”

The man faced her and, with a nervous shrug, yanked off his right glove. Bri had expected to grasp a sweaty, trembling palm, but the fingers which engulfed her own were pleasantly dry and firm. That was the first red flag — one too many. Bri tried to snatch her hand back, but the man simply kicked her in the shins and was suddenly the only thing holding her upright.

Seven seconds left.

The man slid a fingertip down his narrow implant from elbow to wrist, and Bri shuddered as the upload commenced. Then she screamed. All she could see was blue. The package was a Trojan. Her scream choked off as motor functions abruptly stalled.

By the time the train passed, Bri had lost the ability to sense its sonic boom. She knew she’d been hauled clear of its path only because she was still alive.

This could not have gone any worse.

– – – – –

Congratulations, Austin! (Contact me at rluellam at yahoo dot com to arrange your gift card prize!)

What a close contest this turned out to be. We had a great selection even before we boiled the challenge down to the three finalists. That less than four percentage points separated first and third place is a testimony to how hard it was for readers to choose a winner. Congratulations to all the finalists. I wish we had prizes for everyone.

But now, I have to ask. How many of you writers (not just those who entered this contest) would be interested in participating in a short story contest if you were required to pay a $5.00 entry fee?

I’m thinking perhaps we could offer prizes to more than the first place winner. There’s also the possibility that the winning entry might be published online as part of the prize. But before we can go much further, we need to know if there’s sufficient interest in and willingness to participate in a contest with a minimal entry fee.

So I’d appreciate your vote in yet another poll, and please share this liberally with other speculative writers. Thanks in advance.

Editorial note: as part of a discussion about Christian speculative fiction at Mike Duran’s blog, I challenged him to read one of several recent novels released by traditional Christian publishers and answer for himself the questions he posed in his article. He accepted the challenge and selected A Cast of Stones by Patrick Carr. In addition, he invited his Facebook friends to join him (see for example, Katherine Coble’s review). A lively discussion ensued, in part prompted by Mike’s review and those by participants in the CSFF Blog Tour featuring the book the same week. Here is Patrick’s answer to some of the issues that cropped up in the discussions.

Becky

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When I discovered that my first book, A Cast of Stones was not only going to be reviewed on the CSFF Blog Tour but would also be examined as an indicator of the state of Christian Fiction, I was thrilled. What author wouldn’t be pleased with a “twofer” for their work?

When the reviews came in, however, I admit to feeling somewhat like a lab rat in the midst of a psychological experiment. Not only was my book being critiqued, but my editors, my publisher, and the entire industry was as well. Many of the remarks and criticisms were spot on. Others, however logical, missed the mark. So I asked Rebecca Luella Miller if she would entertain a response and to my delight, she agreed! Thank you, Becky.

Let’s address the content first. Or rather, let’s address what’s in the book and what’s NOT in the book. First, my protagonist is a drunk. This was always my intention because I wanted to show that a deeply flawed character could rise to be a hero. I chose drunkenness because it’s a very visual defect and lent itself well to description.

The editors at Bethany House never blinked an eye at using a drunk who literally has to crawl from the muck at the beginning of my book. As far as I know, there was never even a discussion at softening or changing my character’s obvious flaw. I was pleased that people, for the most part, seemed to take to Errol. Early on, when I submitted A Cast of Stones to the ACFW Genesis contest, one of the judges told me no major publisher would be interested in a drunk as a protagonist. I was happy to find they were wrong.

But the criticism has been posited that I should have had more realistic language and sex in the book as well. People have assumed that this was Bethany House’s decision. This is logical, perhaps, but incorrect. I don’t know whether my editors would have allowed more graphic language and relations than I wrote. To be frank, they never got the chance. Maybe if I thought I could handle it deftly enough, they would have had the opportunity.

The decision, however, was mine, not theirs.

My reason? I have read any number of excellent fantasy novels, and I mean ABA secular works, that have no language or overt sex in them. Take a read through David Edding’s Belgariad or Raymond E. Feist’s Magician or Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game if you doubt.

Let me address the language first. I was writing a fantasy, a different place in a different world in a different time. Modern swear words would be anachronistic and would only serve to distract the reader and pull them out of the story world I hoped to create. I could have devised a swear-word set similar to the one Robert Jordan created for The Wheel of Time, but it would have required a LOT of repetition to establish in the reader’s mind, and quite honestly I didn’t want to sacrifice the word count it would have required.

Now, let’s talk about sex. After all, if Solomon can talk about it in graphic, albeit symbolic, terms, why shouldn’t Christian writers? Simply put, I didn’t want the burdens those scenes would place on me. Are my scenes perfectly realistic? No. But I didn’t want to climb inside the mind of a nineteen-year old male and recount those sorts of thoughts. The only reference I had access to was my own set of memories, and I am frankly unwilling to unpack those attitudes and images and place them in my prose.

Why not? you might well ask. Shouldn’t our fiction be real?

There were a few reasons, and I will list them in reverse order of importance.

First, I am something of a public figure. I teach middle school and high school and I try to interact with my students in more than just an academic fashion. I want them to know that I love them and pray for them. I don’t want to confuse their perception by having them read sex scenes written by their geometry teacher. Some of my students are 12-years old and many of them have read my book even though the target audience is admittedly a bit older. Many of my students have yet to develop a sufficiently nuanced view of the world and I didn’t want my witness to suffer.

Second, I’m a father. Children are often acutely aware of what their parents do or say and I was very aware of this fact when Bethany House awarded me a contract for my work. Even though my sons are of an age where they can see me as a man and not just a father, they are still my children. They all have a rather whimsical sense of humor and I can imagine what they might say after reading some “realistic” language and sex in my book. “Hey Dad, do you actually kiss mom with that mouth?”

But the most important reason is my last. I REMEMBER what it was like to be an adolescent male. Maybe I was the exception, but I thought about sex a lot. My awareness of girls and the knowledge of sex were new and mysterious and the passages I read in some of my books only served to fire my imagination. We live in a society where our children are bombarded with images of sex and highly sexualized behavior every day, and I believe young males are particularly vulnerable in this regard.

There is a fine line between describing something and glorifying it. My books contain violence, but I was careful not to revel in it like so many of our movies do. Likewise, I didn’t want to be responsible for inciting something in my readers that would lead them to objectify women. There is too much of that occurring already. Instead, I wanted my fiction to offer them a place where they can be free from those attacks for a while.

Bethany House never needed to say anything to me in this regard. So the discussion about what to include or not include in my book, while entertaining, misses the mark. A Cast of Stones could have easily been published by a mainstream, secular house. I think it is good enough. In fact, I have tried repeatedly to have it shelved in the bookstores with science fiction and fantasy instead of Christian fiction.

But even if my work had been published by TOR or Del Rey, the content would NOT have been measurably different.

What would have been different? The length. The criticism has been laid at my feet that the books are too short. They lack sufficient world-building and description and thus fall short of works by Jordan, Rothfuss, and Martin. Well, there’s only one thing I can say.

You’re right.

But there are two reasons for this. One, Bethany House knows their audience better than I. A massive fantasy tome was deemed too big of a risk. Publishers are businesses. They have costs, payroll, and a bottom line. They need to make a profit to stay in business and, quite frankly, the Christian market for a massive trilogy is limited, precisely because we can’t get our works shelved with mainstream science fiction and fantasy.

Two, I’m a new author. I don’t have an existing fan base to draw upon to mitigate the financial risks that a long fantasy trilogy would create. I hope to change that, but the secular publishing world treats their authors the same. If you don’t believe me, take a look at how J. K. Rowling’s books changed once she’d proven her market draw or observe how Guy Kay’s book length expanded after the success of his initial Fionavar Tapestry, a trilogy of three fairly brief works.

I would have loved another fifty thousand words per novel to flesh out my world and lend it depth, but realistically, that will have to wait. Given the constraints, I had to make the decision to either abbreviate the world-building or skimp on the story. I chose the former and I think the reception and reviews of the people who have read the book indicate I made the right choice. Many have applauded me for creating an epic fantasy that is more “readable” than most.

So there you have it. I can’t speak for “Christian Publishing.” But in my opinion, some of the discussions miss the point. My novel is not substantially different from, say, Ender’s Game, Magician, or The Belgariad. Where it is different, I hope, is that people can see the allegory and symbolism in my work and that God will be glorified.

If God didn’t originally create it, should we?
(Photo credit: “brainloc” at Stock Exchange)

All of it. All fiction is, by definition, a story of things that didn’t actually happen. Or do you really believe that one person can just randomly and accidentally stumble upon mystery after mystery, and outwit the police in solving the crime? That there’s a rich relative just this side of death, just waiting to write his unknown niece or nephew into his will? That the guy bagging your groceries is actually just waiting for the next random terrorist cell to come bust up his neighborhood so he can break out his Special Forces skills and save the town?

It’s fantasy. It doesn’t happen. Pretty much ever. And you know something? That’s okay.

Before we go any further, let me start with a bit of a warning: this is going to be one of those “I’m offended that you’re offended” kinds of posts. I’m not sorry you’re offended by the idea of Christians writing high fantasy or science fiction; I’m annoyed.

Recently I read a blog comment that suggested writing about the Fantastic may be verboten among Christians, because it doesn’t deal with what’s real. That the fantasist is working under the assumption that he or she could “ever imagine something better than what God created.”

I’m going to suggest that reality is a poor indicator of something’s worthiness. A great many things have survived unreality, and have been deemed very worthy indeed. The telephone. The automobile. The computer. A winged machine which could help a mankind defy gravity; another to help him break even the bonds of this atmosphere.

People!

Let’s talk, you and I, about people. Long ago, we didn’t exist. Neither we, nor even a Universe in which for us to live. There was nothing. Nothing but One Being. People? We were as satyrs. As Pegasi. In the beginning, we were figments in the imagination of God. So, we believe in a God who has existed for eternity, in a state outside what we know as Time and Space. We believe this being turned Creator, forming first His heavens and the beings within, and then the Universe we call our own. Oh, and us. He created us, too.

But we have a problem with unicorns and talking cats?

Speaking of us, let’s continue our discussion, shall we? God, says the Bible, created people in His own image. So this Creator God created Man in His image and, lo and behold, it turns out we, too, are creative. It turns out we also have an imagination.

Randy Streu of Diminished Media Group

So, this imaginative Creator God came up with something that didn’t exist, made it exist, and imbued it with His own likeness. We, too, have the desire to create. Because we are a mere likeness, our own creativity is but a shadow of His. Just as we cannot love as perfectly as He can, cannot in our own power live as perfectly as He wills it, we also cannot create as He can create. Yet, we who are in His image do create. It is ingrained in our DNA to do so. The very act of creation, then, is worship.

Creation, by its nature, is fantastic; you cannot create what already exists. As a storyteller, it must go without saying that the tales woven aren’t real. So, any objection to fantasy fiction which attacks the unreality of the stories and thematic elements is in fact an attack on the nature of fiction itself. And, by proxy, an attack on the act of Creation.