“It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were . . . But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you.”
~ Samwise Gamgee

I daresay we’ve all read some of those great stories. Stories keen enough to reach into our very souls. Deep enough to plumb the depths of our hearts. True enough to lift our spirits from the ashes. Stories that haunt us for days, weeks, months after turning the last page.

The great stories. The ones that really matter.

But how do you define a great story?

This means something different for each reader. Books that touch my heart may seem trivial to another. While the novel that brings them to tears may leave me crying tears of boredom.

If we all had the same literary taste, there would be no need for half of the books published each year. And the world would be a much duller place.

From an early age, I was raised on a steady diet of Tolkien, Lewis, and fairy tales. Eventually, I broadened my literary ventures and explored the classics and then modern literature. Although I now feast upon a smorgasbord of genres, speculative fiction always has been and, no doubt, always will be my favorite.

Yet while the majority of my favorite books—those I consider great stories like Sam was talking about—also belong to the speculative fiction genre, not all of them do. You are just as likely to find a historical as a fantasy on my shelf.

So my definition of a great story is not limited by genre.

Within my list of great stories, there is tremendous variety in style. Some books are simple and beautifully so. Others are fascinatingly complex. Some stories are woven in beautiful prose, while others are sharp and piercing as a knife.

So my definition of a great story transcends mere writing style.

What about characters, then? Perhaps they are the common thread. All the great stories on my list boast memorable characters. Characters who come alive and step off the page to take up residence in the reader’s heart. Characters who are both relatable and worthy of emulation. Who live through the best and worst of times and are stronger because of it. Who endure the darkest hours of the night to rejoice when the new day comes.

But can a great character alone elevate a novel to a position among the great stories? Perhaps, and yet it seems there must be something more.

My definition of a great story probes deeper than genre, style, prose, life-like characters, and a plot so full of twists and turns that it makes your head spin, to a story that whispers the echoes of eternity.

The echoes of eternity? An odd turn of phrase, I must admit. What does it mean?

A story that whispers the echoes of eternity is a tale of great depth. Not just the characters or the plot, but the overall story itself points to something greater. It leaves you with a sense of longing and the knowledge that this visible world is not all there is.

I love the way C.S. Lewis writes of this longing in The Weight of Glory.

In speaking of this desire for our own far-off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness . . . We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience . . . The book or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing . . . For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never visited.

A story that whispers the echoes of eternity is a tale that reflects truth. In my view, this is the beauty of speculative fiction. More so than any other genre, speculative fiction possesses the ability to present truth in a different fashion. To reflect the glory of God and His character in new and unique ways. To ask deep questions. To explore profound thoughts and uncompromising truth.

In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, while flipping through the Magician’s Book, Lucy stumbles upon a story “for the refreshment of the spirit.” Though she cannot remember the story afterwards, “ever since that day, what Lucy means by a good story is a story which reminds her of the forgotten story in the Magician’s Book.”

To me, a great story will always point to the Greatest Story of all in some way, shape, or form. That doesn’t mean that every story I read or write must have an overtly Christian message. Nor does it mean that I will not read a book that is not written from a Christian worldview.

But in my opinion, the truly great stories are those that, transparently or subtly, reflect the Greatest Story. Stories that encourage, strengthen, and inspire longing. Stories that echo eternity. Those are the stories that stay with you. The stories that really matter.

What is your definition of a great story?

(Note: the Resurrection series will resume next week with the final part, Resurrection, part 4: Creation Will Rise.)

Some themes, phrases, or single words in story descriptions make me instantly shut down.

This happens regardless of author, length, publication, or pleasing cover images. All those can be great or the story by itself wonderfully written. In fact, it’s arguably unfair for me to have these kinds of shutdown standards. With such stigmas, I could miss a great story.

Yet I still have story shutdowns, and so do you.

Here I’m summarizing some, not to complain, but to challenge you to challenge me. Maybe some of these are unfair shutdowns. Tell me if you think so. Or maybe you’d agree and have more of your own shutdowns to offer, also to be respectfully challenged. Let’s begin now:

• Satan.

I am sick enough of Satan in real life. In fiction he’s almost as rampant. In fact, one can make a strong Biblical case for Beelzebub’s physical limitations in real life, yet in fiction he has attained seeming omnipresence. He broods in Hell, he fathers children, he possesses people, he’s altogether not nice. But consider this, Satan-exploring folks: not even Frank Peretti, kingpin of the original spiritual-warfare thriller, thought to involve the Horned Prince of Horror in his stories. Maybe we should resist those Devil tropes.

• Lost orphan princes.

One day I hope to read a story in which the foundling Chosen One child turns out to be the long-lost son or daughter of — a middle-aged couple from the village across the kingdom. And that lost child, in a stunning plot twist, turns out to be the long-lost heir of — a small farm with two adjunct barns and a blacksmith shop. Any author who can make that into a great and God-exalting story would have my respect.

To me, this author simply “got there” first.

• Nephilim.

Once upon a time your columnist had an inspiring idea: why not attempt an epic fantasy series set in the pre-Flood age, when mankind — contrary to perception — had all kinds of amazing Biblical-steampunk-style devices, plus dinosaurs? This is a very cool concept, yes, but several great storytellers have already done it. But I did not know that until one day my sister found and withdrew Flight to Eden by Douglas Hirt from a Christian-store shelf. (Later I enjoyed this Biblical fantasy romp and its two followups.)

So I can’t fault that concept. Rather Christian fantasy’s near-constant emphasis of the Nephilim makes me shut down. Folks, delving into highly speculative possibilities such as human/demon sexual relations, giant hybrid creatures, and ultimately seeming to blame Satan for human sin just doesn’t do it for me. Not since Flight to Eden, anyway.

Especially when the Nephilim mentioned in Gen. 6:4 could be nothing more than a name for the equivalent of the Mafia — a human group with great physical strength and fame.

Evil demons having relations with victim humans is Biblically questionable, based more on myths about incubi than actual Scripture. Second, it makes Christians sound like little more than guests on late-night conspiracy-centered radio, or potential targets of a meme that mocks a certain History Channel program host. We can get our “whooo, it’s supernatural” X-Files-fashion jollies in other ways.

• (Related) Aliens are actually demons(!).

Been there, speculated on this. Yes, this is vital to know; yes, Christians must be armed with apologetics to take on the occult and religious nature of many aliens-and-UFO cults and personal religions. But enough with the copious amounts of fiction designed to prove this possibility. Let’s move on.

• “… In the tradition of C.S. Lewis.”

There is only one C.S. Lewis, and he does not share power. If he did, a modern Christian novelist would be the last to know. So perhaps we ought not put that boast atop books. It’s like saying, “Here is an actual Christian fantasy novel! Very rare in these parts!” Currently more than 500 such novels are listed in the Speculative Faith Library. Rumors of these stories’ rarity have been greatly exaggerated.

• Dragons.

I really hate having to include this one, particularly because as of this writing the Speculative Faith Library includes approximately 47,000 titles with the BookTag dragons. But what can I say? Books that include dragons are fine — that’s almost a staple of fantasy genres — but I’m not attracted to books whose central selling point seems to be “Look! Dragons!” Of course, many of them aren’t intended for me. Plenty of middle-grade or even teen readers may still be attracted by “Look! Dragons!”

• Really horrible front covers.

Sure, I might read a self-published novel. But if the cover is made of a generic stock-image photo that’s been un-proportionately enlarged to the point of pixelation, underneath the novel’s title in an orange ultra-beveled PowerPoint 97 font face, then I’m sorry, I’m already sure an author/reader relationship won’t work.

What shutdown factors, fairly or unfairly, put you off reading a particular book or author?

Last month I offered the opinion that we Christian fiction writers shouldn’t hide our lamps under a bushel; we should present the gospel message in a manner that’s both artistic and unambiguous. As several commenters pointed out, fiction isn’t the place for pulpit-pounding, however. The goal is to draw readers into an gripping story that illustrates the point rather than skewering them with it.

There are countless ways we can do this. One example of an engaging presentation is that of Eustace, the boy-turned-dragon, in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. He’s soon sorry for his greed, and his companions are sympathetic to his plight; but neither he nor they are able to nullify his sin’s effects. Everyone’s helpless to change his situation until he meets Aslan, who tells him, “You will have to let me undress you.” The lion peeling off the dragon skin and dressing Eustace in new clothes is such a clear illustration of salvation that it makes me tingle as I think about it.

We might focus on various aspects of the story: man’s fall from perfection, God’s authority to judge sin, our inability to save ourselves, the self-sacrificial love or perfect holiness of Christ. It’s not even necessary to show a salvation experience. Sometimes, the message comes across when a character refuses the opportunity to be redeemed.

In one of my first attempts at a novel—which will remain f0rever unpublished, since I typed it on an old-school typewriter and later tossed it, page by page, into the burn barrel—a character stood at the “moment of decision” but chose to reject Christ. She’d suffered at the hand of an abusive father and valued her new-found independence too highly to submit to the Lord’s, or anyone else’s, authority. The book concluded with her feeling certain she’d made the right decision, and she looked toward the future with confidence. Nevertheless, a beta reader (who, interestingly, rejects the Lord herself) complained that the end was too depressing.

We can, and I believe should, present the gospel in one form or another, and to one degree or another. But it’s not only important that we show it, rather than tell it. We also need to keep it basic and centered on Christ.

The simple gospel is a gem of unfathomable proportions. It needs no elaborate setting to make it breathtaking.  Bury it in the sands of an epic desert fantasy; hide it in a dragon’s lair; launch it across the galaxy in a starship for an eager reader to find. Give clues to its existence and whereabouts so the reader can find it. But make sure it’s the gem the reader finds, not the box it’s in or the filigree that surrounds it.

I like the way Paul put it in 2 Corinthians 11:3. He wasn’t writing to fiction writers, of course, but to real people struggling to live out their faith in the real world. (And isn’t that what we are as Christian writers?)

He said: But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.

The King James Version here translates the Greek word haplotes as “simplicity.” Some of the modern versions (NIV, ESV, RSV) translate this as “sincere and pure devotion.” But since haplotes means single or simple, sincere and pure doesn’t convey the intent of the word that Paul, under the Spirit’s inspiration, chose here.

A complex mathematical formula might be sincere, pure, and true; one might even call it beautiful or elegant. But it’s not simple. It’s not single. Only a person trained in higher mathematics can understand it.

The gospel—the one we dare not stray from or corrupt with our religiosity—is beautiful and elegant in its simplicity. It’s as basic as “Jesus Loves Me” but profound enough to transform lives in real and substantive ways.

There’s great depth to the Bible, and, although the gospel story runs through all the scriptures, other doctrines are important as well. But where reaching the lost is concerned (as our Lord commands us to do), the simple gospel is what we must present. Theological issues, like predestination, free will, eternal security, replacement theology, baptism by immersion, transubstantiation, pre-, post-, or a-millennialism, etc., can be confusing at best, and too often bitterly divisive.

The anger, name-calling, accusations, and sometimes savagery that go along with these disagreements tend to turn people off Christianity (small wonder). But separate Jesus from the religiousness—put him at a table with lawbreakers—show His compassion for the weak and imperfect—reveal His impatience with the hypocritical loudmouths of the religious hierarchy—and people who shun churchiness will be drawn to Christ’s divine humanity. When we show His love for them, His sacrifice on their behalf, and His triumph over hopelessness as being something they can get in on, we participate in the Great Commission.

“What is the meaning of it, Watson?” said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. “What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is far from an answer as ever.”

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has put it plainly in The Adventure of the Cardboard Box. The befuddlement of the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, the world’s greatest fictional detective, when it comes to the purpose of evil sticks out like a splinter in our thumb. Here is, fictionally speaking, one of the most learned and astute minds of all time, one who rarely misses a thing, and he is stumped when it comes to the mystery of evil. He can’t solve this puzzle. It is a haunting question beyond his, and our, grasp.

The problem of evil is not a new subject by any means. Humans have been wrestling with the purpose of evil ever since Adam and Even consumed the fruit of the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. And no wonder, there is little else that has so drastically effected mankind and our world as the presence of evil in it. When evil entered our world we were forever changed.

One of the things that I love most about fiction is the means it provides to explore and observe the meaning of evil in our tales. Evil is, after all, one of the most essential elements of storytelling. In fact, I would venture to say it is THE most essential element of story, for without crisis, conflict or depravity of some kind, a story cannot exist. Imagine reading a book in which nothing ever goes wrong, no challenge is presented, no feat is overcome, our hero remains fearless from beginning to end.

B-O-R-I-N-G.

Human storytelling cannot exist in a vacuum of goodness alone. We are, by nature, children of evil who wrestle with our own shortcomings in part through the tales we tell. We see it at work in our own world and must find ways to cope. So we write. We tell stories. Some write lightly around it; others, like Doyle, address it directly. In fiction, Homer, Milton, Mary Shelley, Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Flannery O’Connor all tackle the issue of the meaning of evil head on. Dostoevsky deals with it directly and powerfully in his masterpiece, The Brothers Karamazov. In it, Ivan Karamoazov challenges his Christian brother Alyosha about the problem of evil:

“Tell me frankly, I appeal to you – answer me: imagine that it is you yourself who are erecting the edifice of human destiny with the aim of making men happy in the end, of giving them peace and contentment at last, but that to do that it is absolutely necessary, and indeed quite inevitable, to torture to death only one tiny creature, the little girl who beat her breast with her little fist, and to found the edifice on her unavenged tears – would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me and do not lie!”

“No, I wouldn’t consent,” said Alyosha softly.

The power of the mystery of evil in story is so great that it has been said that this fictional exchange may be the single strongest case against the concept of a loving God ever made. After all, how could we allow ANY good purpose to exist in evil if it meant something so horrible must be the foundation of the good purpose?

There are many answers proposed answers to this question and I will not attempt to answer them all here. In fact, I hardly feel qualified at all to speak on the matter because even though true evil has struck my family, it has not struck us as deeply as it has much of the world, and there are many greater minds that have more adequately tackled the subject in other writings.

I will, however, offer a few observations as a writer which I feel best capture the a brief glimpse (incomplete as it is) of the meaning of evil.

1. OUR STORY IS NOT YET FINISHED

Earlier I mentioned that story is so strongly tied to evil that it could not exist without it. But if tackling evil in story is essential, so too is the overcoming of it. Too often we measure goodness by the “here and now” and give little thought to the hereafter. We can’t see past this particular dark page of our lives because we are currently in it and the meaning of it all eludes us. It is right to feel this way – to ignore the reality of the moment is to rob our own lives of the beauty of the drama of human existence. If we cannot cry and mourn and question God, how can we be authentic to the story that is being told in our lives?

And yet, as Christians, we know there is more to the story than meets the eye. We know there is a world to come, in which all that is wrong will be made right. We are promised a good ending that Christ is preparing for us even now. The Overcomer will overcome and deliver us to the promised land.

I say this because that glorious ending would not be nearly as glorious if we have not tread a difficult path to get there. How much sweeter will the air of life be after passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death? How much greater will the light appear for those who have known the darkness? Will it not make us stand up and sing?

Perhaps, in this way, the allowance of evil is the one thing that can cause us to look for good more than anything else?

But what of tragic endings, you ask, what of the child raped and murdered by the ravenous madman? How can that possibly end in anything good?

Evil’s roots grow deeper and its thorns become more painful when we allow them to prick us in the real world. When it does, we no longer are comforted by mere platitudes. It requires something deeper to recover from these moments. Something supernatural.

A relative on my wife’s side of the family, a beautiful young girl with developmental disabilities, was lured into a forest, raped and murdered. I’ll spare you the details in this blog post, but if you want to read more you can by clicking here. To say this act was anything but unbridled evil is to lie to ourselves. If there is any good in it I cannot see it. If there was meaning in it, it is beyond my understanding.

And as horrid as this act was, as deranged as the mind of the boy had become to take advantage of such a wonderful light in our world, it pales in comparison with what evils unfold around the world every day.

Recently, I had the unfortunate task of viewing and aiding in the editing of raw footage brought back from Sudan where an entire village was massacred by a horde of mercenaries. What I saw in that raw footage from the aftermath of the midnight attack made my stomach turn. Children dismembered, bodies burned, things I have tried desperately to forget. It was pure, depraved evil, the likes of which I have never seen before.

If the story ended there, I would be like Sherlock Holmes questioning the meaning of it all. There would be none. There COULD be none.

But the story of the survivors of that village is one of hope and forgiveness. A husband and wife who lost everything in the midnight raid returned to the very same village to rebuild the town and to share the love of Christ with the other survivors. They did it, despite their darkest fears, because they new that they must forgive the men who killed their family and neighbors. God’s love, his goodness, is now being seen in the lives of those who went through the dark times and came out of it with a hope that defies all explanation.

If they can forgive their enemies, can I not forgive my neighbor when he offends me?

We may never see the final chapters of evil be overcome in our lives. But we know that it can, and that it will. That one day the ultimate judge will return and set things right. He will restore all things and we will live in the light forever more. Until that time, we must wait and hope and trust and persevere through the darkness.

2. OUR STORY IS NOT OUR STORY

In the end, we are not the ones who suffer the most. God himself, the Author of our world, has not spared himself from the worst of it.

At the center of all human tragedy lies the crucifixion. The moment when God turned his wrath completely on himself. He surrendered his human son to the most vile and depraved form of torture ever devised by man. To this day crucifixion remains the most horrific form of killing. And if God did not spare himself, but gave himself up for us all, there must be good in it. He would not do this for nothing. There must be something that we can take away from this evil that gives us hope.

I contend it is this: consider, for a moment, that God had not allowed Adam and Eve to take the forbidden fruit. Imagine a world in which we never experienced evil or sin. Perfect from the beginning and perfect to the end. Do you not see the cruelty in that as well? We would know God as creator and father, but we would never experience or know him as anything more. We would never experience mercy or forgiveness. We would have no need to call him Savior or redeemer. We would be robbed of the deepest measure of his love for us.

How awful it would be to live in a world that had never been touched by evil at all.

And that is the point of it. Evil is not really about us at all. It is about God. It is about his glory as our savior. With that in mind, with evil placed soundly under the submission of a Sovereign God, we can make sense of the unthinkable. We long for the conclusion of the story because it is when our joy and His joy will be made complete together. United at last, with our savior we will look back with great accomplishment at the lives we left behind – lives we once thought were everything, but turned out to be only a passing breath.

Perhaps this is why evil is so necessary in story, because without it redemption is not possible.

In this way, the authors who most understand redemption are the authors who most understand story.

Artistic or not. In the mold of Gene Wolfe or C. S. Lewis. Time travel or portal fantasy. Christian or general market. Traditionally published or self-published. YA or adult. Space opera or supernatural suspense.

On the surface speculative fiction seems fractured into a thousand pieces, which undoubtedly explains the numerous small enclaves of speculative writers and fans that exist in cyberspace. Some readers enjoy dwarfs and orcs and dragons, others hang on the stumbling gait of the undead or the baring of werewolf fangs. Still others clamor for stories set in the imagined wonders of the scientific future or in the future collapse of that society.

How is it, then, that all these divergent stories–from Princess Academy: Palace of Stone by Shannon Hale, Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin, the Wingfeather Saga by Andrew Peterson, the Safe Lands series by Jill Williamson, Beckon by Tom Pawlik–end up lumped together in the catch-all category, speculative fiction?

Clearly the stories all have a “what if” component, but as John Otte recently pointed out in his post “A Different Sort of Speculative Fiction,” Biblical fiction is dependent upon the same element. And so is historical fiction, and, it could be argued, all fiction.

Then what unifies speculative fiction. Fantasy has the feel of the ancient, urban fantasy, the edge of the contemporary, and science fiction the projection into the future. Christian speculative fiction suggests a Christian worldview or shows a symbolic representation of some Christian truth or the overt Christian gospel.

Fantasy employs quests and medieval tapestry, other worlds and other creatures, and of course magic!

Science fiction employs space journeys and futuristic tapestry, other worlds and other creatures, and of course science!

Supernatural suspense or horror employs the journey of life and contemporary tapestry, this world and other creatures, and of course the supernatural!

Am I wrong, or are the commonalities showing?

First is the word “other.” Speculative fiction employs lots of “other” whether that refers to places or people or both. In short, speculative fiction recognizes the existence of something beyond what we can see and know by our powers of observation.

Even science fiction. While extrapolating from present observation, sci fi must still turn the known into imaginative projections which inevitably lead to the unknown other–replicated persons, extraterrestrial creatures, sentient artificial intelligences, or perhaps some other “other” which no one has thought of yet.

Similarly, each contains a source of power extending beyond what we know and experience as “normal” today. Fantasy makes no pretense–the power is magic and the source often unknown or unexplained. Science fiction makes no pretense either–the power is science and the natural extension of the way technology is unfolding, including the ethical and moral questions which may arise along the way. And yes, supernatural suspense or horror makes no pretense either–the power is from the supernatural beings that people the world, unseen for the most part, by the majority of humans, but wielding monumental influence.

The real unifying force, then, seems to be the understanding that what we see and know in the physical world isn’t all there is. Our rational faculties haven’t uncovered (or haven’t yet uncovered) all there is, and some of what we can’t determine rationally is more powerful, more influential, often more dangerous, than we suspect.

As I see it, this element is the very thing that makes speculative fiction more true than its pedestrian cousins–even that written outside a Christian worldview. In many ways, speculative fiction is the proof that Romans 1 is true when it says

For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because that which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse. For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened. (Rom 1:18-21)

Speculative writers are simply acknowledging God or imagining the world in such a way as to explain the evidences of God they cannot ignore. Truthfully in our world there are supernatural beings with power we don’t have, and the direction we take today will influence our future destiny.

In other words, speculative fiction is the most truthful fiction of all–even that which seems staunchly opposed to God and His good news.

Introduction

Carole McDonnell is a writer of fiction, devotionals, and essays. Her Christian, speculative fiction, and multicultural stories appear in various anthologies, and her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. She lives in the Hudson Valley with her husband and two sons. Her fantasy romance novel, Wind Follower and her Bible Study, Seeds of Bible Study are both available online at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Follow Carole at her blog, YouTube, Twitter, or Facebook.

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I have spoken to you of earthly things and you do not believe; how then will you believe if I speak of heavenly things? John 3:12

I tend to avoid Christian mainstream fiction for two basic reasons. The first: they often preach the law. Yes, even when they are trying to preach the gospel or—better yet—the kingdom of God, I inevitably feel as if I have been shown yet again why the Ten Commandments are the right way to go. It often seems to me that while Christianity is about showing the world the tree of life, many writers end up bringing their readers to the tree of knowledge of good and evil.

The second reason concerns me as a lover of fantasy.

With the exception of an answered prayer or the odd spiritual coincidence, much mainstream Christian fiction allows little entry to the supernatural.

But fantasy does. Every writer, religious or not, has a worldview. We see the world emotionally, spiritually, socially, politically. But a Christian fantasy writer wants to show that Earth and the universe have spiritual supernatural laws that affect humans, non-human, or non-terrestrial characters. For us, Christianity is not only about semantics/doctrine/rules. We understand that the world is magical, that the Christian sacraments are not only about obeying rules but that they have an affect on both unseen and seen matter and entities, and that doctrines are really keys to power. In short, we take Bible verses seriously as starting points to our stories.

The exploration of the supernatural is problematic because some Christians actively live de facto in a closed universe and they pooh-pooh the supernatural, thinking the supernatural unenlightened or irrational. Others hate the word “supernatural.” And still others fear it.

In addition, non-Christian writers also explore the supernatural and there is often an overlap. The Bible has given us all God’s revealed truth about sin, mankind, evil, and the devil. But other cultures also have some glimpse of the truth. Thus, the Greeks can write about family generational curses, or the writers of the Matrix can depict a world within a world, or a group of rationalistic scientists can declare that the universe is a simulation.

The Biblical fact is this: Jesus said “I have spoken to you of earthly things and you do not believe; how then will you believe if I speak of heavenly things?” John 3:12

There are earthly truths that are so untenable to our human minds, so high and unattainable to our human intellect, that we simply do not believe them. And the Bible is full of verses that open a window on what real reality—or heavenly things—might be. And these verses can also be used as seeds for stories.

A fantasy writer could take the concept of Jesus being the Word of God and create a novel where the world is made up of people and their doubles born from their spoken words. Another could look at the verse, “God’s word is active and powerful” and create a world where words have a life of their own. Yet another writer could look at the verse, “The stones will cry out” and can build a whole universe where stones and matter can react to the emotions around them.

All these possible stories have this in common: they would bring us nearer to the Truth. Poets, madmen, inventors, and visionaries are often linked together.

When considering a theological doctrine or a religious activity such as the “laying on of  hands,” a Christian fantasy writer could invent a story about some force or invisible “substance” within each person (and especially within Christians) that can be passed from one person to another. Or he/she might create a story based on the tower of Babel where an invention is made that suddenly changes the communication and language centers of the brains or all humans on earth.  Are all believers really in God and in each other as Jesus said in His high-priestly prayer? A Christian fantasy writer could explore this truth by creating such a world.

How magical is this world? And how magical is it intended to be? And how powerful could we Christians be if we took some of the stranger (seemingly metaphorical) verses literally? Christian fantasy writers explore this.

Throughout the Bible, we humans are encouraged to ask God to open our eyes and to use our imagination to understand the knowledge, the height, width, depth, length of God’s power working in us who believe in Christ.  A good Christian fantasy  is like a good sermon. Not because it preaches at us but because it opens our eyes to the godly, the numinous, the weird, the magical, the banal, and this marvelous light God has called us to. 

The stone is gone. The earthquake has ceased. Guards have fainted at the sight. Into the dawn the Son strides forth to spread the news — and to share His Resurrection.

Jesus does not keep His Resurrection to Himself.

And based on almost all fantasy, science fiction, space operas, and blockbuster superhero adventure films, humans also love to share the concept, regardless of whether they know it.

Which of course first leads to the question: did The Avengers steal from The Iron Giant?

Hero’s rebirth

(Spoilers ahoy.) In Brad Bird’s 1999 animated film, a huge metal outer-space invader robot ultimately refuses to follow his own created-nature as a weapon. “No Atomo,” he firmly says, referencing the evil villain of his child friend’s comic books. Then, fetching an old sign piece from a junkyard, the Iron Giant sticks its letter “S” on his chest. “Superman.” At the film’s climax, an accidentally launched nuclear missile is streaking toward the boy’s village. Now knowing his destiny, the Iron Giant launches himself into the sky, both arms thrust forward. Into the missile and its explosion he goes, after contentedly intoning, Superman.

Next in The Avengers, another launched nuclear missile is streaking toward New York City. Now knowing his destiny, Tony Stark launches himself into the sky — in this case snatching the missile — then to save the city, throws it and himself into a space portal. Iron Man.

Ah, a late arrival to the comparison! In The Dark Knight Rises, a nuclear bomb is about to destroy Gotham City. Bruce Wayne has the only nearby aerial craft, (supposedly) only able to be flown manually. He jumps in, tows the bomb across the city and over the ocean, and (presumably) sacrifices himself in yet another massive nuclear explosion. Batman.

An idea steal? Oh yes, but not from The Iron Giant ¹. Rather the idea traces back:

Batman <— Iron Man <— The Iron Giant <— Superman <— Jesus Christ: God-Man.

Just as those fun fictitious heroes seem to “share in” His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, so they attain an imitation “resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:9-10). Do I mean these superheroes’ creators mean them to reflect Christ ²? No. But such heroes do reflect His people.

And, per the very meaning of the word Christian, His people reflect Him.

Shared Resurrection

Like God Himself (was this reference intentional?), Resurrection comes in three parts:

Christ Is Risen —> We Are Risen; We Will Rise —> Creation Will Rise.

Yet one of these is not like the other.

1. Jesus came back from death, His first Resurrection, all at once, in the past.
2. Creation’s resurrection will also come all at once, in the future.
3. Our resurrection is the only one split into two or even three: past/present/future.

I wonder why He chose to split our resurrection two or even three ways? Perhaps like this:

1. Spiritual resurrection.

God resurrects people from spiritual death ³ (Ephesians 2). For them, spiritual resurrection is in the past.⁴

2. Resurrection realization (or sanctification).

God’s spiritually resurrected people live out the results of resurrection, growing to be like Him (Phil. 3:8-11).  For them, these fruits of resurrection-realization are in the present.

3. Physical resurrection.

God’s spiritually resurrected people, after they live out resurrection’s results, must die and go to the present-day Heaven (Phil. 1:23). Yet physical resurrection is in the future.

Even in the current Heaven they await this, “that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed” (2 Cor. 5:4) — not unclothed, a disembodied spirit, but further clothed, made more physical and solid and pure than before, a body like Christ’s (Romans 6:5; Phil. 3:21). But now we groan as we await the new bodies He will give (2 Cor. 5:2; cf. Romans 8).

Resurrection questions

Also, if physical(?) Resurrection is at a “Rapture,” it must become the first of multiple “resurrection” sets.

Physical bodies like Christ’s. What does that mean?⁵ Will we have all His powers? Surely not, such as His abilities to “apparate” and ascend. But some people do think that yes, after the resurrection we’ll have powers such as omniscience.

For example, in the final Left Behind series prequel, The Rapture, human “resurrection” comes at the Rapture, and then everyone flies away to heaven. Once there, you are floating in an ethereal void, and suddenly have telepathic-like understanding of all the mysteries of God’s eternal plan (including mysteries such as His Trinitarian nature?), and have no time or spatial limits. Really, does that sound like a resurrected body to you? Does the Bible say our bodies will be “spread out” like a spirit’s, knowing all things? Not once. Never.

Really, those concepts are not only beyond Scripture, but contradictory to 1) God’s unique omni-everything nature, 2) Christ’s right to have a still-“upgraded” resurrection body with unique powers, 3) plain good sense of logic and fun. Would you prefer knowing everything all at once (if that were possible)? Or spend eternity asking, talking, learning, adventuring?

Of course, it helps to know that resurrected people will dwell in a resurrected creation. …

I know that the Speculative Faith site is all about speculative fiction, which in this case is defined as science fiction, fantasy, counterfactual history, allegory, all those fun genres populated with fantastical stories and odd creatures. But today, on the Wednesday of Holy Week, I’ve been musing on a different form of speculative fiction, one that most people wouldn’t put under this particular umbrella.

Biblical fiction.

Wait, stop laughing. I’m being serious here. In many ways, Biblical fiction is just as speculative as anything that has elves or space marines.

This is something that I learned first hand a number of years ago. After watching The Passion of the Christ, I started musing over the role of Joseph Caiaphas in the trial and death of Christ. Specifically, I couldn’t get past the idea that everyone thinks that he or she is the hero of his or her own story. Caiaphas, in putting Jesus on trial, wasn’t twirling a waxed mustache and chortling over how great it was that evil was triumphing. No, he was doing what he believed was right.

So it got me to thinking: what would a story with Caiaphas as the hero look like? What might have been going through his head while he dealt with the Jesus question? What forces would have led him onto that collision course with history?

It was a fascinating idea and something that I wanted to explore. So I started doing some research into what we knew about Joseph Caiaphas. I had heard about the Caiaphas ossuary, but that was about it. So I did some digging and came up with . . . well, not a lot. There are some traditions in the rabbinical literature about the House of Annas (Caiaphas’s father-in-law). Flavius Josephus has a few details about the man also. But there were a lot of large gaps in the record. So I expanded my research into the historical time period, reading about how the Roman Empire interacted with the leadership in Jerusalem during that time period, about the various rebellions that occurred when Archelaus succeeded his father, and so on.

And as I studied, I started coming up with  interesting questions: how would Caiaphas have reacted to those rebellions? Why was Caiaphas able to hold on to his office as chief priest as long as he did when his predecessors were being replaced by the  Roman governors on a yearly basis? How might Caiaphas have reacted to Caligula’s decision to install a statue of himself in the Temple? Just what was the relationship between John the Apostle and Caiaphas and how did it develop? In short, there was a lot of fodder for a fun book only I hit a problem.

I didn’t know the right answers to any of those questions. If I was going to answer them, I would have to fill in the blanks with my best guesses.

In short, I’d have to speculate.

Now I realize that you’re probably rolling your eyes. But let’s be honest, that’s what Biblical fiction authors have to do. Yes, they can turn to historical and archaeological research to help them make those guesses, but by and large, when presented with gaps in the story, they have to start speculating on what might have happened. If they’re really skillful, it’ll be hard to tell where the facts stop and where the guess work begins. But it’s still a form of speculative fiction.

Take Judas Iscariot, for example. Why did Judas betray Jesus? What were his motives? Was he only in it for the money? Or did he have a deeper motivation?

Now, personally, I’m not sure that Judas was just in it for the money. If he was, he wouldn’t have repented and tried to return the money. I certainly don’t think he’d have hung himself. Instead, it’s my belief that Judas was a true believer, who desperately wanted Jesus to be the Messiah. But when Jesus was acting Messiah-like enough, Judas tried to back Him into a corner. He wanted Jesus to prove He was the real deal by using His power to defeat His enemies. When that didn’t happen, Judas freaked out.

Am I right? I have no idea. And I know that other people don’t agree with that theory. For example, in Tosca Lee’s book, Iscariot, she presents a much different picture of Judas, one that was born from years of research. The picture that she presents of Judas is similar to my theory, but with some key differences. I won’t get into it now. Spoilers and all that. Needless to say, it makes for fascinating reading but it still is speculation on Lee’s part, just as my theory about Judas is speculation on my part. It very well could turn out that Judas was only in it for the money but then had a sudden and violent attack of conscience. We won’t know this side of eternity, but it’s still fun to speculate.

Or how about another example. Pontius Pilate is a pretty big figure in the story of Jesus’ death. What motivated the Roman governor to do what he did? What do we actually know about Pilate?

Well, the historical record is pretty quiet about him. We know of a few other incidents involving Pontius Pilate, ones that are recorded in Josephus and by the Jewish philosopher Philo. But those are only a few small threads.

But they were enough for Dr. Paul Maier to write what I consider one of the best Biblical fiction stories out there, namely Pontius Pilate. Dr. Maier is an expert on that time period and he pulled together a number of extra-Biblical sources to piece together as much of Pilate’s life and career as possible. He even set a pretty high standard for himself: he would stick to the historical record as much as humanly possible. He’d keep his artistic license to a minimum. He even has extensive end notes in the book to explain his reasoning for why he portrayed certain incidents the way he did. For example, both Lee and Dr. Maier depict what happened when Pilate built an aqueduct for Jerusalem, but they disagree on how Pilate secured the funding for the project. Personally, I find Dr. Maier’s explanation the more plausible one.

In spite of that caution, though, Maier still had to speculate on a lot of it. There are gaps that had to be filled in. I think he did an exceptional job doing so, but it’s still extremely educated guesswork.

So do I think we should expand our scope a little? No, a lot of this has been tongue-in-cheek. The Biblical fiction authors I’ve met would probably be horrified to be lumped in with us.  But maybe it’s okay to get out of our own wheelhouses from time to time and see what else is out there. I know that both of the books I mentioned helped me understand Jesus and what He did better. And on a Wednesday during Holy Week, maybe that’s the story we should focus on more.

I’ll leave you with this question: What’s your favorite fictional portrayal of the events of Holy Week (in book, audio, or movie form)?

Storyless – the word struck me like a two-ton bomb out of the midnight sky. “Being without a story.” What a dreadful word for an author to dwell on. What would the world be without story? I shudder just typing it. I love stories. I can’t imagine living life without one. And yet that is precisely what many would have us believe about our own lives.

Case in point: just last week I had an exchange with a friend on Facebook who has abandoned his “childish” faith in Christ and “grown up” into an atheist. With his big boy pants firmly tightened around his waist, he now fires shots at his Christian friends in hopes that they will engage him in discourse. Many do. I’ve often avoided it because I know it’s only intended to antagonize people, but I set my better judgement aside for once and decided to jump in. I’m glad I did.

It seems, my friend has convinced himself (as every atheist ultimately must) that all morals are myth – fables fashioned by mere mortals to deceive other mortals into living in peace with each other. For them, believing in God is about as effective as an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. Oh, there may be a grain of truth here and there in all religions but Christianity (like the others) is nothing more than bedtime stories devised to scare us into being “good” (as if there is such a thing as good or bad without a God).

Simply put, my friend is living as if there is no Story. As if the world he populates is a blank sheet, spawned by some random blank sheet bang that came from nothing. For him, the laws of order in the universe are really nothing more than laws of chaos. It’s about as believable as a book that writes itself, if you ask me. He chooses to believe in this nonsense because the alternative is that there IS order, there ARE laws and he IS subject to the authority of the Author. He chooses to believe and worship “nothing” because the only other option frightens him.

And so, I say, he is living a storyless life. (Shudder…there’s that word again.) He cannot accept the fact that he is written intentionally and for a purpose; that there is a loving Author who does not make mistakes.

Thank God that Scriptures tell us a different story. They show us that there is a plan for all men; a reason for both good and evil. It claims that we are part of a story in which every one of our days is known and determined, the ending of which is already written.

Psalm 139:13-16 – “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

One cannot read the Bible at face value and deny the fact that all throughout its pages, it boldly claims there is a great story at work. The Author has never lost control or taken a back seat in his writing. His will is always moving forward.

But how, you may ask, can I claim this when so much evil and suffering abounds in this world? Is the Author evil?

Let me answer with another question. Who are you, O Character, to claim you know better than the Author what is needed in his story?

As an author, I don’t ask my characters for permission to let them suffer or face evil. I know the troubles they face will ultimately be for their good. I don’t revel in the difficulty, but without trials their overcoming would not nearly be as good. We do not know what is good for us. Our perspective is two dimensional, the Author alone has the full picture.

As Randy Alcorn puts it in his book If God is Good, “How many of us would have chosen to leave the warmth and security of our mother’s womb for a world of noise, bright lights, cold, hunger, and thirst? Think how much we gave up when we left the womb. Yet, knowing what you know now, would you want to go back?”

The story is perfect. We can trust the Author to do what is best. But the best part of all is that we, the characters, are not left alone in this Story and our struggles. The Author has not abandoned our book, leaving us on the shelf after having so loving penned it. He has done something more wonderful than any other author ever could. He has written himself into it, to live among its pages and with its characters. He has not spared himself from the darkest parts. He has not asked us to go through anything he has not himself overcome.

No, the Author has written this story in his own blood. And so, we cannot fault him for the plot twists we don’t like. No man has suffered more than he has.

The Story, HIS story, is always at work.

Life is not meaningless. For those who trust the Author, we can live with confidence and hope. We don’t have to live a storyless life. And that is something worth believing.

I’m glad for the Story. Are you?