I realize I may have scared off half our readers with a title like “The Discipline Of Reading Fiction,” but it introduces the subject I want to explore better than anything else I could think of. The problem is that “discipline” seems antithetical to “fiction.” Above all else, we’re told with some frequency, that fiction is for entertainment. So why would you ever need discipline or to cultivate discipline in reading it?

At quick look at novels we regard as classics reveals that fiction has a long history of being something more than entertainment. There’s no indication that the writers of old saw themselves as entertainers. Rather, they had something to say to their culture and chose a medium that showed what they wanted to say rather than laying it out through didactic prose.

Today, however, because our culture screams for something to fill the void of meaningless, to jar people into feeling alive again, our cry has become, “Entertain me!”

In fact, the best stories–even from those writers of old who wrote to show that they believed in hell (Dante) or the fall of Man (Milton) or Man’s struggle against God (Melville), or whatever–do entertain. They show admirably well, but they also make us feel.

“Feel” is what our culture is looking for. Consequently, we want our fiction to be thrilling–giving us the sense of riding a roller coaster or bungee jumping off a bridge. Or we’re looking for it to be fear-inducing, pushing us to the edge with suspense and evil. Perhaps we read to vicariously conquer, enjoying power and control and victory. Then again, we might read to bask in the bliss of romance–the excitement of new love, the thrill of relational intimacy.

Whatever the sought-for emotion–though I suspect most of us don’t analyze what emotion we’re after–we are most content with our fiction if it successfully brings us within the grip of those feelings.

The problem is, feelings are ephemeral. I can read a book that makes me laugh out loud, then within a day pick up another one that pushes me to despair.

In fact, that’s where many of us are in regard to our reading–simply riding the tide of emotion from one story to the next. Some of us prefer one emotion over another, so we seek out books in a particular genre that feed on the feelings we prefer. Others of us enjoy experiencing the gamut, or one particular emotion in the winter, another in the spring, and so forth.

When we evaluate books, the chief question we ask is, Did I like it? Generally if we respond favorably, we’ll say we couldn’t put the book down or that it was a page turner. If we respond negatively, it’s often because we couldn’t get into it or we lost interest. In other words, we evaluate fiction based on how it affected us, how well it entertained us.

Writers, then, who want readers to like their books begin to write more and more to generate those passing emotions. In essence, the process spirals away from fiction actually saying something, but also from readers actually looking for what it is the author might be saying.

Readers get inoculated by “fun” fiction, and no longer approach stories as vehicles of ideas, shown not told. When we as Christians do look for meaning, we are primarily looking for a Christ figure and a picture of redemption. We rarely dig deeper.

I came face to face with my own deficiency in this area on Sunday when my pastor, Mike Erre, made a reference to Lord of the Rings. He was talking about idols, particularly about what Psalm 115:8 reveals–that we become like the thing we worship. (He has defined worship as that which we value highly above all else–hence, all people worship, even atheists). The Lord of the Rings reference was this: “The ring is the most brilliant depiction of idol worship” as Smeagol went from an upright being into one crouched over, rounded, if you will, traveling on hands and feet, and closed in on himself, valuing only his precious.

Oh, wow!

I see that. Now.

I hadn’t thought of it in those terms before. But why not? I’d have to say, because I wasn’t looking. I had rather glibly considered the ring a representation of sin, but never thought more deeply, never made the connections and parallels to the idolatry that might exist in my own life, never asked what was shaping me into its own image.

So, what if we started reading with an eye toward more than a quick jolt of emotion? What if we started digging around in our fiction and looking for priceless treasure that reflects truths from Scripture?

Perhaps we’ll need to retrain our reading habits. Instead of inhaling, like the teen who scarfs down his burger and fries without even tasting them, we may need to slow down, intentionally. We may need to think about the story, re-read passages, discuss them with friends, compare the ideas we discover with what the Bible says.

Some readers are undoubtedly complaining that fiction today doesn’t demand this kind of thoughtful treatment–it’s either too shallow or too preachy. I think that’s true more often than I wish. But think about why. If readers come to fiction looking for a thrill ride, why would writers put in thought-provoking material? Wouldn’t they expect readers to hate those books, looking instead for the next Twilight? On the other hand, if a writer is intent upon saying something to readers who aren’t mining stories for truth, he may feel the only way to get his ideas across is to state them obviously and often–which, of course, may come across as preachy.

I believe there’s a synergy between writers and readers. However, it seems to me writers are getting the bulk of the blame for poor fiction, especially in Christian fiction. But we readers ought to bear our portion of the responsibility. And we can change. We can approach reading with our minds as much as with our emotions. We can intentionally look for something more than what pulls at our heartstrings.

Of course, reading in this way requires a measure of discipline. But worthwhile things usually do.

(Real-life parenting and other tasks can sideline other efforts, as was the case for this series begun last year. Two other featured series, Speculative Politics and the first Speculative Faith Reading Group: The Hobbit installments, occupied the break. Now Politics is over, and we’ve caught up to The Hobbit book where the first film ended. We now return you to your irregularly scheduled program featuring Pastor Jared Moore: Teaching Story Transitions.)

Christian books, family manuals, and other materials jump directly from the “children, be sheltered” stage to “parents, shelter your children” — with little discussion of what comes between. That’s why parents must plan how they will teach their children’s transitions.

First we must recognize un-Biblical story discernment. Second, we learn to practice our own discernment — not treating children as innocents corrupted by the world, but sinners who need Christ. Third, we begin not with seemingly practical motives to discern, but with knowing and loving God’s Story. And fourth, we may choose to apply this to teaching our children by using what’s known in classic-education circles as the “trivium” method.

Per the Trivium, a first teaching stage involves mainly teaching children how to use truth-discernment tools. This is the introduction process. As you guide them to some stories and away from others, you begin to train them to do the same for themselves. What do they think about what they see? More vitally, based on God’s Word, what does He think of it?

Then comes the Trivium’s second stage, into which parents and teachers gradually phase:

2. Middle-grade exploration: Challenge children to discern more on their own.

In classical education this is called the “logic stage.” It starts at about the fifth grade and phases out in eight grade. Here, one teaches children to begin thinking more analytically.

Quite naturally children at this age have already begun growing beyond memorizing all the tools of learning (tools taught through catechesis: memorizing the Bible, understanding how Scripture answers man’s basic worldview questions, and so on). Now they are starting to think through the “why” questions behind all arguments. We assume this growth of the human brain is God-designed because He created all things and holds all things together (Gen. 1:1; John 1:1-4; Col. 1:16-17). Thus we need to capitalize on this development by helping children think through the truth-claims they hear in any stories they encounter.

Our goal is to help children start discerning specific worldviews being presented in media. Remember the worldview questions we asked earlier in part 3:

1. Creation: How did it all begin? Where did we come from?
2. Fall: What went wrong? What is the source of evil and suffering?
3. Redemption: What can we do about it? How can the world be set right again?

Remember also how Christians answer these questions based on Scripture:

1. Creation: The only God who exists created all things, including you, for His own glory (Gen. 1; especially Gen. 1:26; Col. 1:16-17).
2. Fall: Adam and Eve sinned against God, and all creation including humanity fell into sin (Gen. 3; Rom. 3:10-23; Rom. 8:20-22). Thus, all humans are sinners, which means that we are what is wrong with the world (Rom. 3:23; Gal. 3:22).
3. Redemption: God the Son incarnate, Jesus Christ, came to earth to fix what Adam messed up. Jesus Christ — through His life, death, and resurrection — is the only answer for the sin problem (Rom. 8:1-39; John 14:6).

In light of these Scriptural truths, parents need to guide their children to understand how media and stories answers these worldview questions with their own “truth-claims.” Then parents teach their children how to correct the wrong answers with Scripture.

For example, let’s take a brief look at one popular franchise of stories, in this case stories specifically geared for child readers: the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. My wife, children, and I have enjoyed these books (and film adaptations) about “wimpy kid” Greg Heffley, whose comical struggles are endearing to anyone who has endured the horror of middle school.

See if your children can recognize the stories’ worldview. Ask them how the series answers these questions:

1. Why does man exist?
2. What’s wrong with the world?
3. How is the problem fixed?

Does Diary of a Wimpy Kid argue that man exists for God’s glory? Do the stories show that sin is what’s wrong with the world — that sinful humanity is part of what’s wrong with the world? Do they argue that Jesus is the only cure for the sin disease? If not, what do they say? What claims can we accept because they align with Scripture? What must we reject?

Parents and teachers must also encourage children to recognize immorality in stories, and know the reasons why immorality is in this series. Of course, the prime reason is sin; sin taints everything. Put another way, the characters refuse to love God with all their hearts, souls, and minds, and to love their neighbors as themselves (Matt. 22:37-39). Why? Because their hearts are wicked and selfish, in rebellion against God. They do not care about the things of God. That’s the real problem. What’s the solution? They need Jesus!

Of course this series doesn’t present sin as the problem or Christ as the cure. Diary goes askew by not correctly diagnosing our disease. Though some stories more closely align with Biblical truth about either — even without direct allusions to the Gospel — Diary of a Wimpy Kid argues the main character’s problems include, “I’m not having my best life now,” or “I’m not cool,” or “My brother is mean to me.” These are understandable. But they’re not our main problems in reality. They’re symptoms of our greatest problem: ourselves.

So what’s the solution? Even if you do “fix” such problems, you won’t live happily ever after because sin infects all creation and all human relationships. Children must face reality: even if people think you’re cool and your brother stops being mean to you, you’ll still die one day and stand before your Creator, and He won’t be impressed. To hell you will go!

That’s the negative side of challenging children to discern. But we must not end there, for if we do we would miss all the ways stories reflect the truth about God, people, and creation. So we must teach children to find these “fingerprints” — after all, all truth is God’s truth and all lies are Satan’s lies. The Diary of a Wimpy Kid series encourages us toward humility, to laugh at ourselves. It values the traditional family. It doesn’t exalt rampant immorality. It says sin has consequences (though it doesn’t call it sin). It recognizes God’s fingerprints in people (we are His image-bearers). It encourages children to love their parents, brothers, friends, and neighbors. It values human life. It rejects superficiality. The list goes on.

What else may we find? You and your children in this learning stage can find out together as you evaluate the truth claims of stories you encourage them to enjoy. Of course, that can only happen if you are personally involved with media and stories yourself — still hands-on, still guiding your children and practicing your own discernment to avoid material that isn’t beautiful, good, or truthful. But what about the time when your children will finally begin taking the reins of their own discernment? We’ll discuss that last phase in part 6.

At first glance, science fiction and fairy tales appear to have little in common. They’re like water and oil. What could tales about nasty step-mothers and magic share with stories of high-tech gadgets and trips to other worlds?

For starters, both address themes of human experience through the fantastic, and both bear the imprint of the culture of their time. Consider the similarities between fairies and aliens. (I realize not all fairy tales include fairies and not all science fiction stories feature aliens.) If someone today claims strange beings abducted and experimented on them, our first impulse would be to think alien abduction. Something from another world out there in the stars did this. For someone from the middle ages, the obvious culprits would be fairies–intelligent, formidable, human-like creatures from another world that sometimes cross into ours. These motifs are common to fairy-lore stories such as “Sir Orfeo” and “Tam Lin.” Fairies and aliens are not all that different, more like cream and coffee. Maybe we should mix them.

A fellow speculative fiction writer recommended Gene Wolfe’s work to me a couple years ago. I wish I had known about Wolfe earlier. His amazing stories span the gamut of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. He’s also adept at mixing genres, and one of my favorite stories,  “Under Hill,” weaves together classic fairy tale and science fiction motifs into a surprising and satisfying whole. (If spoilers bother you, read the story first. You can find it online or in Wolfe’s collection Innocents Abroad.)

The story begins with Sir Bradwen setting off from Camelot to rescue a damsel imprisoned atop a hill of glass. Bradwen pursues his quest with dogged determination, crossing land and sea. He seems to get closer without ever reaching his destination which always remains a few days’ travel away.

And yet . . .

The tale gained substance at each new place. The size of the hill diminished. Likewise the difficulty of the lower slopes. It was not merely of glass, but of green glass of about the color of this leaf, sir. The princess, once only a beautiful lady from a remote country, gained a name: Apple Blossom.

Wolfe is playing with some classic fairy tale elements here. Several fairy tales make use of a woman atop a glass hill. The motif is common enough to warrant its own Aarne-Thompson type: 530, The Glass Mountain. Apples of some sort often play a prominent role in these stories.

Bradwen eventually encounters a wool merchant who has seen the hill of glass and gives Bradwen directions. He finds the damsel and the hill but discovers he cannot scale it. He enlists the aid of some carpenters from a nearby village to build a type of ladder. Notice that Bradwen uses “technology” to solve his problem rather than magic, a subtle infusion of science into the fairy tale world.

The work, of course, takes longer than expected. To pay the workmen, Bradwen resorts to collecting tolls from travellers. I love this aside, which recounts the not-so-noble knight stealing from the wool merchant to finance his self-serving quest.

After much building, Bradwen climbs to the castle atop the hill. Apple Blossom invites him inside to enjoy the food she takes daily from a “magic box.” When the princess touches the latch, the floor opens below them. They fall into the hill’s center where they encounter not the world of faerie but a very strange one nonetheless. They meet the future, science fiction, a world of time travel and thought-controlled devices.

A very small man with a very small face in a very large head approached them riding in a silent and ugly little cart with invisible wheels.

Apple Blossom identifies him as the man who abducted and imprisoned her. The man calls himself 12BFW-CY- and claims to be from the remote future, when humankind is on the verge of extinction. He offers Bradwen a weapon called a paciforcer which causes anyone who has been “paciforced” to become non-violent and to pass that trait onto future generations. Bradwen, the man of war and violence, is reluctant to take it, but 12BFW-CY- threatens him until he agrees.

“You may trust me,” Sir Bradwen declared, “to do the right thing.”

Indeed, what is the “right thing”? Will the schemes of the future overpower the momentum of the past? Wolfe’s clever combination of fairy tale and science fiction gives us much to think about.

– – – – –
Jeff Chapman writes software by day and speculative fiction when he should be sleeping. Tales of Woe and Wonder, available in the Amazon Kindle store, collects nine of his fantasy stories. He lives with his wife, children, and cat in a house with more books than bookshelf space. You can find him musing about words and fiction at his blog or follow him at Twitter, his Amazon author page, or Goodreads.

Folk theology. Why over-honored? That’s the note I wrote after dialogue in a Christian contemporary/speculative novel I read last year. Now it occurs to me that “folk theology,” simplistic beliefs inherited by tradition and not Biblical study, is behind many alien beliefs common to fiction Christians from another planet(!).

Lame theology also leads to lame non-Christian characters. They don’t behave like real people of the human persuasion. As proof, witness this actual unedited exchange from an actual popular Christian author’s fantasy novel published, perhaps, in dimension 14-B:

Sir Terrance wanted to laugh. “You believe in the White Knight? Whom you’ve never seen?”

“Of course I do,” said Sir Rigelian. “And do you believe that a million gilded d’narr exist?”

“Yes …”

“Even though you’ve not seen them?” Sir Rigelian asked.

“That’s —” Sir Terrance sputtered. “That’s ridiculous. I still don’t believe in the Knight.”

“How do you know he doesn’t believe in you?”

Sir Terrance wanted to change the subject. “That’s impossible.”

“But here we are, going on the famed Quest for the Silver Sandals, against impossible odds.”

Though he had been a skeptic of the White Knight ever since the horrific death of his father, mother, cousins, and five siblings in that bathhouse fire that had left Sir Terrance alone and d’narrless, Sir Terrance had to admit that Sir Rigelian’s profound arguments, which he had never ever even once heard before during all his 47 sun-cycles in the kingdom, puzzled him.

— Original dialogue, based on that of a Christian contemporary/speculative novel

Three conclusions:

1. Sir Terrance is an idiot.
2. Sir Terrance is cousin to another group: a fiction non-Christian from another planet.
3. Sir Terrance may have come off the set of a visually derivative, cashing-in-on-name-recognition-for-a-public-domain-story Wizard of Oz prequel: he’s made of straw.

Like most straw men, this one is easy to dismantle. So I need not do that here. But if it’s this easy for Christian readers to recognize non-Christian caricatures — along with the corny Disney-Santa-Clause-movie-style “apologetics” used against them — how do you think actual nonbelievers think? Do they recognize people who resemble themselves? Will they like this kind of story? Do they feel respected even by Christian authors who show disagreement?

Yes, many non-Christians hate Christian novels for ridiculous reasons, claiming the novels are “preachy” (but secular media such as fornication-celebration songs, the New-Age-ish movie Avatar, and the president of the United States get a pass for preachiness), or because the novels “simulate” in story any beliefs pagans see as “intolerant” and thus can’t tolerate.

But here is a valid reason for pagans not to enjoy Christian novels: they see no characters whose depth, reasons for faith-rejection, or life stories in any way resembles their own.

That’s the problem. What potential diagnoses can we make?

1. Novelists mainly rely on authoritative “nonfiction” for data on nonbelievers.

Thanks in part to popular materials from invading megachurchians about being “seeker-friendly” and things like that, many Christians simply haven’t been trained to be familiar with more than one type of pagan personality at a time. Instead we’re hyper-specialized. For instance, megachurchian manuals and George Barna statistics about the “un-churched” claim most of them are Hurt by Traditional Religion and simply need to be Cared For and to Have Their Felt Needs Met. But even in the less-fluffy sides of faith, Christians may “train” themselves only to deal with certain specific types of non-Christians: the atheist internet troll, the struggling single mom, the Mormon, the postmodern college student, or the Poor.

Often Christians are less adept at thinking on their feet and practicing Biblical wisdom in how they form relationships with non-Christians regardless of which “group” they inhabit.

2. Publishers limit popular novelists to those with Ministry Platforms.

Recently Left Behind mastermind Jerry B. Jenkins woke up and realized that “traditional publishers have tightened their belts, and they keep demanding bigger platforms” — that is, as he earlier said, “a platform on the scale of a megachurch pastor.” (His solution is what one blogger found questionable: a new-author’s publication course for $10,000. Must credit Grace Bridges at Splashdown Books for this link.) Well, fancy that, Super J! But the fact that publishers’ requirements of Ministry Platforms limits newcomer authors is just one of the problems. Perhaps worse, by limiting authors to Ministry People, publishers make popular only novels by writers who’ve learned to see the world only in church-ministry categories.

Thus readers find not Christ-loving storytellers writing from imagination fueled by Biblical truth and their own broader experiences, but what C. S. Lewis derisively termed “the bench of bishops getting together and trying to write plays and novels in their spare time.”

3. Having Christians admonish non-Christians with slogans such as “God believes in you even if you don’t believe in Him” seems ever so spiritual.

Here I’m afraid I must sound mean: if you have a Christian character repeat this slogan, I’m not sure you’re familiar with how human beings think and interact — or how God tends to argue for Himself and His truth in His own Story. It sounds spiritual. But it isn’t of the Spirit.

Spiritual solutions?

1. Get to know actual pagans.
2. Reject other-parts-of-the-body-denying (1 Cor. 12: 12-20) “platform” expectations.
3. Be more “spiritual” according to God’s definitions, not ours.

Yet in some sense, authors and publishers only give Christian readers what they’ve “said” they want. How else may we as readers help change this?

The subject of characters in Christian fiction has been coming up on this blog a lot recently. I’ve appreciated E. Stephen Burnett’s excellent series “Fiction Christians From Another Planet” — Patrick Carr’s guest post about writers using real people as models for their characters – and Rebecca LuElla Miller’s contemplations on the lack of realism in what passes for realism in today’s culture. It’s an interesting conversation, and I’d like to add my meandering tuppence.

Our characters are often (usually?) inspired by real people. Sometimes we snatch someone from life and conscript him into a story. More often, though, I think we lift a trait from one person, add a snippet from another one or two others, and create a composite creature.  It’s probably safer that way—the real-life models are less likely to be offended.

Nevertheless, it’s important that our characters seem real, even recognizable. Don’t you appreciate it when you run across someone in a book that reminds you of a person you know? It’s like an unexpected meeting with a friend, and it makes characters engaging and believable. But inconsistencies in characters’ personalities will make our readers jump ship.

I’ve never watched a lot of TV because it often doesn’t hold my interest. I used to enjoy the early seasons of NCIS because of the quirky, well-drawn characters. Recently, though, I’ve soured on the show, because some of those old friends have been acting out of character.

We run into trouble when we try to make the characters fit the story instead of the other way around. If we want our characters to break character, we must give them a believable motive for doing so – and introduce it well in advance of the surprising event.

Back to the NCIS illustration: Ziva is the daughter of the head of Mossad and a former member of that organization. She was bred, raised, and trained to move through the complexities of international intelligence and intrigue with hardbitten style. But she turns down an offer of marriage by a man who genuinely loves her, because he’s a spy and doesn’t have a predictable 9 to 5 job. Really? If we’re going to swallow that, we need concrete, plausible reasons why her expectations vary so diametrically from her experience.

Or how about the adorable Ducky, brilliant medical examiner also trained to profile suspects. Am I supposed to believe he’d be taken in by a woman who commits serial murders in order to provide him with an interesting new case? I get the impression the writers come up with story lines to titillate, then force their characters at gunpoint to play along. I’m sorry, but as a viewer, that just doesn’t work for me.

I promised you meandering, and I won’t let you down: When the TV show Justified first came out, I started watching with my husband and kind of liked it. It’s based on characters created by novelist Elmore Leonard. Preferring a good book to watching TV any day, I checked out one of Leonard’s books from the library. I didn’t like it, but couldn’t immediately put my finger on what bothered me. After watching bits and pieces of a couple seasons of the show, I figured out the problem: the show’s writers seem to overlook the fact that there is good in the world. Everyone’s evil: every father’s a drunk, every cop’s corrupt, every woman is a self-serving floozy, every preacher is a charlatan, and every churchgoer is a brainwashed puppet. Even the sweet little old lady who bakes apple pies heads up a ruthless family drug cartel.

Yes, stuff like that happens. But I can’t justify (pun intended) showing the seaminess of the world without balancing it with an accurate flip side. Reality is multi-dimensional, and our characters must reflect that. Otherwise the story becomes a cartoon—and not a very good one.

Hollywood is known for its unrealistic portrayals of Christians on TV and in movies. Did you see the recent Bones episode in which the Texas oil tycoon/buffoon discounts evolution and believes in a young earth? He buys newly-discovered ancient artifacts and destroys them. Because of their alleged antiquity, he doesn’t want to believe they exist and doesn’t want anyone else to believe either. He strikes me as a self-portrait of the writers, who apparently don’t think logic and rationality exist in Christian circles and go to ridiculous lengths to keep the actual facts from their viewers.

But as the aforementioned posts have pointed out, all too often, Christian fiction also fails to present an accurate picture of reality. Why? Are we trying to avoid offending someone? Do we want to show that Christians don’t pose a threat but are just the same as anyone else? The unbelieving world might not be offended by what we write, but they’re laughing at us, and rightly so. They know we’re manufacturing Christian Barbies and Kens to fit worlds no real person would populate.

Those who refuse to accept the gospel are offended by it, and we can’t help that. Better to tell it straight and offend than not tell it at all. The fact is, real Christians are a threat to the devil’s realm. He knows it even if we’re afraid to face it. We used to be just like everybody else, but once we put our faith in Christ, we were supernaturally transformed by the power of God into new creatures.

Unspoken or not, that’s the reality. Let’s not be afraid to show this inconvenient truth both through our lives and through our stories.

Last Thursday’s post reminded me of a great work of fiction I discovered several years ago by the incomparable Francine Rivers. No, it’s not speculative fiction, but And the Shofar Blew is a powerful and (dare I say) prophetic story for the church in America.

The tale centers on a dynamic young pastor (son of a mega-church pastor) whose passion to build his small, dying community church into a modern model of success is realized. Under his leadership, the church flourishes and grows into the thousands, but, as we’ll soon learn, the cost of kingdom building comes a terrible price. As the church becomes a more “professional” organization, the pastor’s own family is neglected. He bullies his son and wife because everything is for “the church” – a noble cause, right? Elders who don’t see “eye to eye” with the pastor are quickly silenced and removed from leadership – a necessary part of changing vision, right?  Members and ministries that have faithfully served in the church for years are minimized and overlooked in pursuit of greater numbers – the true measure of church effectiveness, right?

The character development which lingered a bit in the front half of the book paid off well as I soon found myself deeply invested in nearly every character of the book. As readers, we relate to the passionate desires of this well-intentioned young pastor who is torn between “growing the kingdom” and shepherding his own family. We grieve with the lonely wife and the expectations placed on her to put on a happy face through it all. When loyal members who have given so much of their life to the ministry of the small church are belittled, we feel the weight of betrayal.

My heart ached while reading this book. Like any good work of fiction, the tension builds to a powerful climax that is both satisfying and terrifying. But this book is much more than simply a good story, it is a warning to today’s church. Where is the brotherhood? Where is the unity? Where is God?

On a personal note, And the Shofar Blew “found its way” into my hands following an extremely painful moment in life. After 15 years of enjoying and serving a growing ministry of a local community church, my own family found ourselves suddenly and undeniably called to leave a model of church leadership that cared more for professionalism than people. No, there are no “perfect” churches, but God graciously lead us to a smaller church where his Word was boldly preached and the Love of Christ was evident in the brotherhood of its members. That church has grown considerably for all the right reasons. We’ve since been honored to serve as part of that church expansion through a church plant to a nearby city.

God doesn’t need us to “build his kingdom” (I’m pretty sure he’s got that part covered), but he does want us to read his Word and live his love.  And the Shofar Blew isn’t just a warning for pastors, it’s a warning to us all.

Whose kingdom are you building today? Are you building your life on a foundation designed to elevate yourself or Christ?

I recently talked with a friend about a book I was reading and enjoying. The question came up: why? Not, why was I reading it, but what about this book made it a satisfying reading experience?

For one, it’s a fantasy. I love being transported to an imaginative world. There’s something so mysterious and secretive about a character discovering a way into a whole other realm. It reminds me of books I loved as a kid by Walter Farley. No, not the Black Stallion books, though I loved those, too. I’m referring to the Island Stallion books he wrote. The protagonist discovered behind a waterfall on an isolated island, a hidden valley were a herd of wild horses ran free, led by a golden stallion–the horse of the series title.

Of course Narnia accomplishes this same revelation of the secret to a greater degree. Through a wardrobe resides a world of talking animals and satyrs and fauns and dwarfs. What a find!

Another reason I enjoyed the book (I finished it yesterday) was because of the adventure. Lots happened. Danger lurked here and there. The character had to act in bold, daring ways, not always sure who to trust or how to proceed. It felt very much like real life–with an extra dose of danger.

It also wasn’t predictable. I guessed some elements correctly, but at other times I was completely surprised. There were some huge reveals, some great twists. I read to find out what would happen next, pushed by the tension woven into the fabric of each scene.

I also liked the book because I liked the main character. In fact, I “liked” a good number of the minor characters, too, in the sense that they were effective and believable. But the main character, I really liked. I was in his corner and I cared about what happened to him. I wanted him to make good decisions. I wanted him to succeed. I hoped the best for him and worried when he put his faith in the wrong place or acted hastily.

Ultimately, though, I liked the book because I thought it was truthful. It showed the way the world works spiritually, even as it dealt with some of the hard issues connected to the way the world works physically. Was it preachy? In a couple places. Was it allegorical? In some parts. But those things didn’t ruin the story for me. They might have for someone who doesn’t have a Christian worldview, however.

Realizing this makes me wonder whether the books we love agree with the way we see the world. Some have said that we read fiction, not to learn something new but to be reinforced in what we already believe.

Perhaps so. But I also think the best books, the ones I love, show me something in a new way. So I may in fact agree with the world view, but I understand my own beliefs better because of the story. I know that’s true for Narnia.

I also think books that show me how other people view the world are ones I appreciate. Gone with the Wind was that type of book. So was The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck, Émile Zola’s Germinal, Baroness Emmuska Orczy’s The Scarlet Pimpernel, John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, and any number of others.

So what was this book I was reading? If you’re a regularly here at Spec Faith you know the author. I’m referring to none other than our newest columnist, Christopher Miller.

He and his brother Allan authored the young adult Hunter Brown series put out by Warner Press. I had read the first book, Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow three years ago as part of the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog Tour. Some time later I read book two, Hunter Brown and the Consuming Fire. Then a couple weeks ago, I saw book three Hunter Brown and the Eye of Ends in my church library. This was the book I was discussing with my friend.

What about you? What books have you been reading that you’d tell your book friend about? Why did you enjoy them?

Drones. Traffic cameras. High-resolution satellites.

Everywhere you go, from the gas station to the mall, your face and likeness are recorded, but this is hardly new. Your likeness, your mannerisms, even the way you laugh, have been watched and recorded for years, each detail painstakingly noted and written by a shadowy group, hardly noticed, always in the background. Who are these super-spies?

Writers.

Have you ever read a novel or watched a movie and seen yourself or someone you know? It might not be coincidence. When I watched the movie The Blind Side a few years back, I know Sandra Bullock must have followed my sister around for weeks, all unbeknownst. For two hours I gaped at the screen, watching Ramona in a movie about football.

The truth is, writers don’t actually make up characters out of nothing. It’s too difficult and it’s not the way we think. We fashion them out of the people we know or have seen. It’s an interesting idea in a way, that relates back to something I was taught years ago. The Old Testament, the Tanakh, has three different words that are used to describe the act of creation. In essence, two of them mean to fashion or fabricate, but the third means to create quite literally from nothing. A phonetic spelling would be Beresheet.

I firmly believe that the human desire to create, the creative drive of the novelist, musician, craftsman, etc. is evidence of the existence of God. I work in words, my sons in music, and my father-in-law in wood. Yet, we are captives of our experiences and everything we bring forth is related to those experiences. Even our scientists, believers and atheists, alike are captive to the world around them. Read their descriptions of the mechanisms of the cell and you will see the footprints of their experiences. As grand as our imaginations are they are tied to the experiences we process through our five senses.

The ability to Beresheet is reserved for God alone. The ultimate imagination belongs to the creator of the universe. It makes my head hurt trying to comprehend it. As wondrous as the creation of our entire universe from nothing may be, I think it pales in comparison to the billions of souls and personalities that have populated our world since. How much infinitely higher than us must He be, to bring into existence things truly unique, never seen or imagined before.

So, if you see yourself in a book, it might not be by coincidence. Your likeness might have been borrowed by your local author. Even more amazing, however, is that you were imagined by the Creator of the universe. You aren’t just worthy of a novel, you are one.

– – – – –
Patrick Carr was born on an Air Force base in West Germany at the height of the cold war. He has been told this was not his fault. As an Air Force brat, he experienced a change in locale every three years until his father retired to Tennessee. Patrick saw more of the world on his own through a varied and somewhat eclectic education and work history. He graduated from Georgia Tech in 1984 and has worked as a draftsman at a nuclear plant, did design work for the Air Force, worked for a printing company, and consulted as an engineer. Patrick’s day gig for the last five years has been teaching high school math in Nashville, TN. He currently makes his home in Nashville with his wonderfully patient wife, Mary, and four sons he thinks are amazing: Patrick, Connor, Daniel, and Ethan. Sometime in the future he would like to be a jazz pianist. Patrick thinks writing about himself in the third person is kind of weird. You may contact Patrick through his website, email, or Facebook.

Evangelical filmmakers who hope to break past the “be a better you” genre into one more profitable — subhuman effects-laden action blockbusters! — have I got a show for you:

EXT. IN THE VALE – AFTERNOON

Bland Hero arrives and GAZES with GRITTY DETERMINATION at a LITTLE BROWN CHURCH. Then a FLASHY SPONSORED SPORTS CAR arrives. Its door opens to reveal an ABSURDLY SEXPOT FEMALE CO-STAR.

BLAND:
That’s it. That is where They have hidden the Hard-to-Find-ium MacGillicuddy All-Spork Mystic Sword of Destiny and Simplistic Motivation.

ABSURDLY:
Oh, Bland! Be careful.

She bends over LOW, just because.

BLAND:
(with roguish smile)
It’s just a small building. What can possibly go wrong?

SUDDENLY the camera lurches, and then our heroes. We pan UP, FAR UP to the distant tiny church, suddenly not so distant and NOT SO TINY. It leers up out of the earth, sod and rock crumbling about it, walls swelling, boards breaking out, Fellowship Centers turning to extra limbs, STEEPLE ELONGATING into a terrifying face with gleaming red stained-glass window slits for eyes. Tossing away several trees and cars for good measure, it roars into the sky:

CHURCH:
Come to meeee! I have childcare! I have coffeeee. I have uplifting messages! I have solutions to your marriage and career problems. Have felt needs? I will take care of them!

BLAND and ABSURDLY scream and duck for cover.

CHURCH:
You are special! You have self-worth and value and purpose! You have a God-shaped hole in your heart that only I can fill!

BLAND:
The legends were true! Run. Run! The Megachurchian Empire has awakened!

Click for all the recent episodes of this thrilling adventure serial.

No, I’m not a fan of Megachurchians, at least not the ones that talk like that. In reality those monsters are at worst, heretical. In fiction they’re also annoying. And they’re one of the worst spawn of the extraterrestrial menace in focus during this adventure serial.

Yes, God has appointed some churches to stay small and some to grow large; He chooses some pastors to remain “obscure” yet faithful and others to face the challenges of fame and wider platforms. Here I mean only a religious mindset that emphasizes programs, uplifting messages, solutions to “felt needs,” affirming self-worth, and anything except the Gospel.

In reality, this is pathetic. Why reject the thrilling, life-changing, God-honoring, beautiful, and imagination-inspiring Story of Scripture in favor of plain “nonfiction” users’ manuals?

That’s just what the Megachurchian menace does. And it’s done this for a few decades. Yes, I’ve rehashed old real-life protests. But few identify this infection in fiction. In this realm, Megachurchianity assumes that characters are conformist life-forms who think like this:

Charis wanted to cry. Did Michael really mean it? Was he really saying there was a good God who loved everyone in the world — everyone, including her? But he could not mean that, she thought. After all, she was not important, beautiful, wealthy, or special. No one could love her after all the bad things she had done. Not even God.

— Original dialogue, based on that of a Christian contemporary/speculative novel

Once again you could be grumping in response to my grumping. C’mon, there are plenty of people who think like this, and it’s absurd to criticize such people as “conformist life-forms.” But that’s just it: there are only “plenty of people who think like this.” So some people don’t think like this. That’s reality, a reality too many (not all) Christian novels ignore. On the other planet from which these fiction Christians hail, the world is divided into easy groups:

1. Childlike beings whose beliefs are limited to blind faith and voices from beyond.
2. Wicked villains who are beyond redemption, despite the many chances they’ve had.
3. Sympathetic people who don’t believe because of personal struggles or because they simply Haven’t Been Told. They never (horrors) know the Gospel and still reject it, showing that they don’t seek God (Rom. 3: 9-18) and are dead in sin (Eph. 2: 1-3).

Why do some authors think like this? Here are some possibilities, based on novels I’ve read:

1. It’s non-controversial.

In popular evangelicalism this is the default view. Critiquing it sounds nasty and unloving. Alas, despite his positives, even America’s most popular Christian pastor, Rick Warren, is known to focus mainly on people who fit “seeker-sensitive” manuals’ character profiles.

2. It comforts Christian readers.

Thinking that non-Christians may know the Gospel and still reject it, simply because they love their own darkness rather than God’s light (John 3:19), is a scary thought. We’d much prefer to assume better of our neighbors. That is a nice motive — but is it a Biblical one? Is it the best corrective to anti-Biblical judgmentalism? Does it really show love to others?

3. Popular Christian “nonfiction” implies this is how most pagans think.

“Seeker-sensitive” manuals speak with one voice: non-Christians (at least the ones we care about) have “felt needs” for comfort, life and career help, and community. They don’t know Jesus because they’re ignorant, feel worthless, and have not heard about God’s love. Also someone (we don’t know who) has already told them of that whole nasty you-are-a-sinner part of the Gospel. Now we can be Good Cop and share only the story’s Good Parts Version!

I can only say to fiction authors who’ve believed this propaganda: you need to get out more.

Starter solution

Yes, some pagans do think like Megachurchian seeker-friendly manuals say. But many do not. They hate God. They crave idols. They don’t fit Christians’ comfortable profiles.

So authors, wake up and acknowledge those kinds of people. How else can you love them? And how else can readers “meet” them in your stories, and wrestle with their refusals to conform to Megachurchian personality profiles? If we only ever “meet” pagan characters overcome by platitudes like “Really? There’s a God who loves — me?”, the author has gone beyond corny and into semi-digested corn. Worse, our Hero looks ridiculous, for in such stories we see only a sort-of Gospel that only works on sort-of people only in sort-of reality.