Christmas is coming, and according to some media purveyors, this year’s “holiday wars” version is different. Apparently more people have simply had it with these sorts of things:

• PETA (insert sarcastic yet clichéd alternate acronyms) says not to pardon the turkey.
• “One Poll Says 45% Would Rather Skip Christmas” is the headline of this CNBC article.
• “It’s time to ban Christmas presents,” one columnist says. To be fair, that headline is worse than his actual suggestion, which is better phrased in the actual piece: “This isn’t about stopping festive fun, it’s a challenge to pressured, blithe and habitual gift-giving.”

Who would object to that last, anyway? I would only say the columnist has no Truth basis to object to materialism, children’s greed, and going into debt to “give.” After all, certain U.S. government leaders are having a fine and dandy time endorsing all three societal ills. Why not bring this to the individual level? What objective morality opposes materialism?

The Christian answers: Christ’s morality. If Christ matters more than material things, if all was created by Him and for Him (Col. 1: 15-20), then He decides how things must be used.

Otherwise, all we possess is created things. Temporary pleasures. Materialism.

But clearly people are finding out that doesn’t bring lasting happiness at holiday-time. So what’s their solution? Address the heart problem? Root out the source of materialism — idolatry? Replace that false glorification of Things with true glorification of their Creator?

Of course not. That would be inhuman. Instead, lurch into secular legalism. Wrap up “re-gifted” rules against gifts. Replace materialism with moralism. Idolize not celebrating over celebrating. And while you’re at it, swing wild from potential gluttony or even real animal cruelty (say, to turkeys) to worshiping creation itself and even birds (Rom. 1: 22-23) rather than the Creator (Rom. 1:25) and rejecting God’s permission to enjoy meat (Gen. 9).

All along, your motive for living becomes a great big don’t, an anti. Don’t hurt poor animals. Don’t be greedy. Don’t spend too much on holidays. Better: don’t celebrate at all.

These may be the same people who detest legalistic churches.

Ah, the freedom of duck-diving into a massive money bin, and snapping your own neck.

Ha! We don’t need clichéd hellfire-themed pulpit-pounding to make “religious” constraints. We invent those using our own “secular” imaginations. In all false religions (including those beliefs disguised as “secular politics”), man calls freedom “slavery,” and slavery “freedom.”

This includes enslavement to distraction, an oft-discussed plague in the age of iEverything.

Kids text more than they talk. Dinners are interrupted by buzzing iDevices. People surf the internet while watching their TV and listening to music and ranting about overstimulation.

Often such idolatrous cravings for constant self-distraction are at the root of materialism.

It won’t work to say “do one thing at a time,” or “stop becoming a digital zombie and be a part of your community.” It also won’t work simply to demand we purge our materialism. At best that creates a vacuum. What can replace materialistic distraction? Without God, only more laws and legalisms. Merely different distractions. Going from bad to worse.

Only the true Hero, Christ, of the true Story of reality, His Word, can change this.

Only Christ can replace fake-freedom legalism with true freedom.

And only Christ can purge forced-disillusionment for Himself-exalting enchantment.

Behold His wonders

Have you seen the face of wonder? Such imagery appears in many Christmas songs, often as a sort of golden-age-of-Christmases-past remembrance. The eyes of a child; the thrill of our own childhood holidays, visiting family, foods, gifts, and music; always some previous age.

Here I speak not to those who’ve experienced real hurt or pain, particularly during holiday seasons. Rather, I am thinking of the willful Distracterati. This faction may include “adults” who want to be disillusioned, hip, and trendy-victim-esque. Who prefer songs about angsty breakups to songs about true love. So cool are they. Cool fools, really.

I demand: why so forcefully disillusioned?

Who said wonder and enchantment should only be for children?

It wasn’t C.S. Lewis who created this concept, yet according to biographer Alan Jacobs in The Narnian (I found the quote here), Lewis’s life was transformed by this truth.

Lewis’s mind was above all characterized by a willingness to be enchanted and […] it was this openness to enchantment that held together the various strands of his life—his delight in laughter, his willingness to accept a world made by a good and loving God, and (in some ways above all) his willingness to submit to the charms of a wonderful story, whether written by an Italian poet of the sixteenth century, by Beatrix Potter, or by himself.

“What is ‘secretly present in what he said about anything’ is an openness to delight, to the sense that there’s more to the world than meets the jaundiced eye, to the possibility that anything could happen to someone who is ready to meet that anything.”

Openness to enchantment. Willingness to accept a world made by a good and loving God (while also, I would add, accepting the reality of sin). And (gasp) a willingness to submit.

Behold the real reason behind forced-disillusionment, “coolness,” and even materialism.

By nature, we don’t want to submit. Not to enchantment. And definitely not to God.

Without our Creator/Savior, every “joy” is either an imposter or at best fleeting.

In gift-giving, holiday feasts, epic stories or anything else, we can get hints of God-glorifying enchantment. Yet they all point to and find their fulfillment in Him, the only Giver of every good gift (James 1:17), “who richly provides us with everything to enjoy” (1 Tim. 6:17).

Yet this is not mere gratitude for material gifts. I have wondered if Thanksgiving should follow rather than precede Christmas. God’s greatest gift for which we should be thankful is His Son, His life of righteousness, sacrificial death for sinners, resurrection that guarantees our present spiritual resurrection and future bodily resurrection, and His coming Kingdom.

Only through that Epic Story of His redemption can all holidays, gifts, and fantastic stories be redeemed to enchant His people.

Do your fantasy-world Elves sing “tra-la-la-lally” from treetops? J.R.R. Tolkien’s do. And just recently while re-reading The Hobbit, I found I’ve finally grown accustomed to this concept.

Here’s the Elven poem’s finale from chapter 3, our first visit to the Elven realm of Rivendell:

(Reading lyrics) “‘Fa-la-la-lally, ha ha’?!”

O! Where are you going?
So late in returning?
The water is flowing!
The stars are all burning!
O! Whither so laden,
So sad and so dreary?
Here elf and elf-maiden
Now welcome the weary!
With tra-la-la-lally
Come back to the Valley,
Tra-la-la-lally
Fa-la-la-lally
Ha ha!

Tolkien’s Elves aren’t the spritely dwarf-like creatures who either make toys at the North Pole or manufactured cookies inside a computer-animated hollow tree. They’re a race of more-transcendent beings, ancient and wise, noble and courageous and good and serious.

Or are they? Tra-la-la-lally.

From The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002).

Well, they weren’t that silly in The Lord of the Rings film adaptations, the thought may occur. In that case, I have a compound word of rebuttal: shield-surfing.

Tolkien’s Elves are all over the place. They’re not angels, and they’re not devils. They’re not human; they’re not animals. They are immortal yet can die of battle injuries, broken hearts, or even their own tragically stupid choices. Elves were the first created-beings for Middle-earth. They have an “original sin” history, as we know from the epic told in The Silmarillion. Elves have compromised with evil, built secret xenophobic fortresses to keep out evil and all other outsiders. Elves in The Hobbit alone range from silly (the tra-la-la-lally band) to serious (Elrond) to noble yet greedy (the Elves of Mirkwood and their king, Tranduil).

In that sense, perhaps Elves are more human than they, or we, would like to admit. Without falling into the “it’s all allegory” trap, we might nevertheless suggest they are the “special people” of Middle-earth, a la Old-Testament Israel or New-Testament Church. They are meant to help redeem creation and other peoples in turn. How do they do this?

What informs Bilbo’s high view of Elves in The Hobbit, and in the rest of Tolkien’s works?

 Chapter 3: A Short Rest

1. Read chapter 3, the whole chapter.
2. For those familiar with The Lord of the Rings, In this chapter, as well as the last, Tolkien is not nearly as detailed with his descriptions of geography. Why do you think that is?
3. Tolkien is, however, detailed with descriptions. Do you as a reader tend to take your time with these, perhaps trying to imagine what the world looks like? Or do you maybe tend to read quickly (or even skip?) to get back to action or dialogue?
4. How do you imagine Elves? Little cartoon men in a tree who make packaged cookies? Pointy-eared staffers at the North Pole who assemble Christmas presents? How have you pictured “elves” from other stories, and how are they different from Tolkien’s view of them? After reading the Elves’ ridiculous song, how would you describe them?
5. So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it. Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so. (page 47) Thought: Tolkien’s Elves, at least here, seem to demonstrate a quality I would call “holy (H-O-L-Y) ridiculousness.” What do you think about this term? Is it a good one?
6. They were elves of course. Soon Bilbo caught glimpses of them as the darkness deepened. He loved elves, though he seldom met them; but he was a little frightened of them too. (page 47) Why feel this way? What else do we know that is joyful yet frightening?
7. Dwarves don’t get on well with them. Even decent enough dwarves like Thorin and his friends think them foolish (which is a very foolish thing to think), or get annoyed with them. For some elves tease them and laugh at them, and most of all at their beards. (page 47) Why do dwarves not like Elves? Is there a “bad guy” in that conflict? What are the two peoples’ differences? And why does Tolkien say it’s foolish to think Elves foolish?
8. For those familiar with Tolkien’s other works, do the Elves here seem different from the more-serious and ancient Elves of The Lord of the Rings or even The Silmarillion?
9. [Elrond’s] house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Evil things did not come into that valley. (pages 49-50) Would you like to go to Rivendell? How come?

What do you think of the two swords’ names, their powers, and ancient histories?

A lanky old man in faded jeans, lizardskin boots, a blue flannel shirt, and a battered cowboy hat walks up to a roadside stand in rural Texas manned by a young fellow in overalls and a John Deere cap. There’s a hand-lettered sign on the stand: “Pete’s Platypuses”.

The old man spits tobacco juice onto the gravel road and adjusts his hat. “Mornin’, Pete. How’s business?”

“Mornin’, Bill. Slow as usual. I don’t understand it. The platypus is one of the world’s great wonders. People should be coming from miles around to buy one.”

“Seems you’re not lacking potential customers. They’re lined up all the way back to the state highway over there at Dolly’s Ducks.”

“Ignorant yokels wouldn’t know a quality product if it bit ‘em in the leg. What could be more boring than a duck? She doesn’t even sell the colorful ones. Plain white ducks, day in, day out.”

“Well, they’re pretty versatile. Soft and fluffy, lay eggs, keep the bugs down if you turn ‘em loose on your front yard. Besides, you can stuff pillows with the feathers, and in a pinch, you can serve the critters up roasted for dinner.”

“I’ll  wager you enjoy sitting on your front porch watchin’ the grass grow, too. Here…take a good look at this platypus. It’s got a bill and webbed feet, plus a beaver tail, fur, and poison spikes on its hind legs. It’s warm-blooded, and it lays eggs. Tell me that’s not more interesting than some stupid duck.”

“Maybe you’re trying to sell to the wrong crowd. I hear tell there’s a steady market in Australia for platypuses. You could set up shop there.”

“No, sir. No way, no how I am ever leaving my Lone Star homeland. These are Texas platypuses. I’ve specially bred these animals to reflect the unique heritage of the Longhorn State in a manner that is instantly recognizable, yet subtle and tasteful. See that white patch on their sides? If you turn your head just so…”

“I see it! Hook ‘em Horns!”

“Amen, brother. Now, the way I figure it, once those Australians see the innate superiority of these Texas platypuses and the culture that spawned them, they’ll  want to become Texans themselves, and I won’t be able to keep up with demand for my fine product.”

“Pete, I don’t believe anyone has ever changed citizenship on account of their taste in pets.”

“I only wish I could sell more of them to Americans. The hayseeds around here buy the same thing over and over again. Ducks, ducks, ducks. No sophistication, no sense of adventure. Yeah, I’m talking about you, Dolly! Nice hat! You got a pilot license for that thing?”

“I think she’s ignoring you.”

“No matter. She can’t keep selling those ducks forever. People are bound to get tired of them eventually. Listen, the key to the future is attracting the attention of the city folk. That’s where the real money is. Take a gander at my Urban Platypus version.”

“Wow. What did you use to get his fur to stand up like that?”

“Hairspray. The ripped jeans and little combat boots were the hardest part. Poison spikes’ll do a number on you if you’re not careful.”

“How’d you get him to sit still for the tattoo?”

“Oh, that’s henna. Painted on. Hard to tell from the real thing, if you don’t look too close.”

“So, you sell a lot of these?”

“Not yet, but I have high hopes. It sure riles up Dolly and her customers. They think it’s unnatural. I’d better put this one away before they round up some tar to go with all the feathers over there.”

“Mmm-hm. That gal in the calico and pinafore looks like she’s ready to put a hurtin’ on you.”

“How about you, Bill? You gonna stand here jawin’ all day, or are you going to buy yourself a platypus? I’ll give you a special discount.”

“Sorry, Pete. I’ve got to mosey over to Dolly’s. Wife sent me here with specific instructions to buy her a duck, and I don’t want to think about what might happen if I come home with something else. Best of luck, though. Hook ‘em Horns!”

“Right. Thanks for nothin’, buddy.”

“And Pete, you might want to work a bit on that sales pitch. And smile more. People enjoy a nice smile.”

“Do tell. Enjoy your duck, you ignorant yokel.”

I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of telepathy. The ability to climb outside the buzz and rumble of my own thoughts to experience the world through someone else’s eyes, ears, nose, tongue and fingers. Even its simpler form, just to converse silently with another being, gripped my imagination from early childhood. I devoured Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern series and Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance Cycle, both about young people with telepathic links to dragons. I longed for such a close connection with my kitty companion, to experience life inside his head for just five minutes. As a Christian, I made many connections between telepathy and how God speaks to our minds. Quietly, gently, in that still, small voice.

Since the age of five, I’d had dozens of stories and characters spinning through my brain, all connected in the same universe. At ten, I wrote my first short story about a boy with a telepathic link to a horse. The boy lost his way in a dark, enchanted forest, his mother sent the horse after him, and the horse endured many perils before finally finding and rescuing his friend.

As I grew older, I moved away from telepathy between humans and animals to explore what implications it might bring between two human-like creatures. I loved K. A. Applegate’s Animorphs series with the telepathic Andalites. Orson Scott Card’s “buggers” in his Ender series (along with Star Trek’s Borg) taught me what group telepathy might be like. As I began dating and endured the frustrations of trying to find the ideal partner, I thought, Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if there was a race of people who didn’t have to go through this? What if they knew from the moment they were born who they were destined to marry, and their happiness in that marriage was guaranteed, as long as their partner survived? The mechanism for this unity, I decided, would be telepathy. How many women have exclaimed, “If only I knew what he was thinking!” Moreover, the members of this race could actually switch bodies with their spouse when they’d grown close enough. Imagine how it would feel to actually be someone else, what fresh perspectives it could give you not just for understanding your partner, but the whole world.

I dubbed my new race “Terrians,” because they also had the ability to affect tectonic plates and cause earthquakes. Most importantly, they could dip into their spouses’ subconsciouses and bring out hidden fears and buried pain. This mental therapy would allow the Terrians to endure the carnage of war over a long period of time without snapping. They also had a telepathic partner of the same gender who they fought with side by side, and an animal partner. Thus the Terrians became very formidable warriors.

To avoid overusing telepathy as I developed the rest of the Kingdom, a solar system of planets in which the Terrians lived, I gave the other Kingdom races particle manipulation abilities. I kept thinking about the marvelous mechanisms God created to help various creatures survive in harsh environments, and tried to design something similar. For example, the Glacians, the people furthest from the sun, could transfer heat energy from outside objects into their own bodies, thus freezing the objects but keeping themselves warm. The Pyrans, living closest to the sun, could do the opposite. The Solarians, who lived on a planet with extreme climate changes, had extra organs and tissue sacks for storing water and fat and could adjust their metabolism to go for weeks without eating or drinking. The Noctans, who lived on a planet covered by dark clouds, could gather the little amount of photons (light particles) that made it through the atmosphere and transfer them wherever needed to grow their crops. The Nimbans, who experienced frequent lightning storms, could control which direction the lighting struck and even produce large amounts of static electricity like an electric eel.

But if these “Kingdom Seekers” were warriors, who were they fighting? Another thing that had always fascinated me since childhood was the Arabian Nights. Why, I wondered, are most fantasy novels based on European mythology? I loved the Telmarines in C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series, but it bothered me that they were usually the bad guys. My favorite book, the Bible, had as its heroes a Middle Eastern people. Thus I created the Hierarchy, though I soon realized that in war there often aren’t “good guys” and “bad guys.” It depends on what side you’re on, and both the Hierarchy and Kingdom had their virtues and faults. In any case, mind powers became a very important part of the Hierarchy’s counter warfare, from prophecy to clairvoyance to telekinesis. Out of these abilities came the monara, a group of mostly noble women who used mental manipulation to encourage (often force) animals to aid them in battle. Unlike Terrians, they had multiple animal bonds.

I loved the idea of monara, but didn’t really do anything with them. Through middle and high school, I wrote a series of five novels I called the Immortals about a traveling space band who performed mostly in the Hierarchy and eventually got snagged into the war. The books stunk. As a tween and teenager, I knew nothing about how to plot a good story. I eventually abandoned the series and started writing screenplays for my film major in college, then revisited the first Immortals novel to see if I could salvage it. I soon gave it up as a lost cause, but one character really stood out to me. She was in one scene. Just one. The main character needed to get a ring for the woman he wanted to propose to, so he contracted a treasure trader. She was young, had one silver and one gold eye, and a big, black, ugly bird on her shoulder. I started to daydream about this treasure trader and wonder where she came from and who she was. One day, much to my shock, I heard her answer.

“My name is Renagada and this is my bird, Acha. Have we got a story for you!”

I listened in rapt attention as she told me how her bond with Acha was different from the other monara. She didn’t send him pain. She felt his pain. She didn’t force him to protect her. He wanted to protect her, like a parent bird protecting his chick. Instead of many animal bonds, Rena just had Acha. They both knew each other’s mind inside and out, the way a Terrian knew his animal’s mind. There was only one problem. Acha was a carrion-eater. Kind of like a vulture on our world, and what mother would be thrilled with her daughter having that perched on her shoulder all the time? In fact, her mother wanted Acha dead in hopes that Renagada would gain other beast bonds. Rena had no choice but to leave her beloved fiancé and flee into the desert with Acha. Along her and Acha’s journey to become treasure traders, Renagada would make a wealth of discoveries about the war, the universe, and faith, and become a traitor to the greatest treasure she ever knew.

Thus the catchy title Treasure Traitor and its entire plot unfolded before me from the single image of this outcast girl with a bird on her shoulder. While my creative process sure took a round about way to get me from that original childhood short story to my first published novel, the journey was not in vain. An entire universe of planets, people, and plots wait to be written, not least of all An Honest Assassin and Unique Clone, the next two books in the Treasure Traitor trilogy.

So how about you? Ever wanted a telepathic connection with another person or animal? If you could be “bonded” to anything, what would it be and why?

Post a comment in the section below for a chance to win a signed copy of Treasure Traitor. Be sure to include your email address in your comment. Contest will run until midnight (Eastern time) Sunday, November 25.

– – – – –

Laura Popp’s passion for fantasy compelled her at a young age to write her own tales, and she has kept at it ever since. Her novels, short stories, and plays have won numerous local and international awards in the fields of children’s literature and science fiction. In her “normal” life, she has been a model, film maker, teacher, world traveler, and missionary to Japan; India; Malawi, Africa and the U.S. Her ultimate dream is to have a television series based on her Hierarchy/Kingdom universe. She currently lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma, with her two cats. You can find her on Facebook, her travel blog, and her website.

Stories are not mere “entertainment,” or means to morality, or distractions for children. Over 12 parts, this series has explored this theme: Reading stories is an act of worship.

For we as readers (or viewers, or listeners), what does this practically look like in daily life?

Click for the complete series.

It means we may fight against idolatrous “worship,” of a story’s experience, of fighting for a Cause of specific genre promotion, or of the craft of writing your own stories. Perhaps most perilous in speculative story fans’ lines of work, we must identify “weirdness”-idolatry and fight it with Biblical cures. Fantastic tales aren’t wonderful only because they’re “weird” or niche, but because they have purpose beyond themselves and are echoes of the true Story.

God glorifies Himself across a “color spectrum,” not only in a single shade of light brighter or darker. We see this in His true Story of reality. And we see His self-glorification — which should move us to worship — either through man’s stories, or over them or by contrast.

Throughout all this, I have thought more often about why I love stories. It’s not because I only want entertainment as its own end, is it? We all have long ways to go! Yet I’ve been encouraged to find this: While I may not always want to worship God through the stories I enjoy, at least I want to want to do this. For that desire, I rejoice. Similarly, even if I don’t always desire God, at least I’m wanting to desire Him. Only He could do that. (Disclaimer: Desiring God is a great ministry about this. Also, fortunately its name is not trademarked.)

Now as we come to the end(?) of this series, I’m curious how that looks in your life.

Just a month away …

Especially as Thanksgiving and Christmas nears, this is a premier time to be a fantasy fan. Maybe it’s my imagination, but new Christian speculative stories just keep coming. This last summer was an excellent season of fantastic films, even beyond The Avengers (still the best 2012 film thus far, I say). And of course next month, merely 30 days from yesterday for Americans, we have the release of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, the first of a trilogy.

If one views worship as more than singing or overt “religious” tasks — an easy argument to make, but more difficult to put in practice! — we have a whole hymnbook-full of “songs.”

I’ll start with examples only because I’m the columnist. By no means am I a pious paragon of worshiping God “100 percent” in all I do. No one can be, this side of Heaven. Yet that’s no reason not to try. Christians work out our own salvation, to please the One Who saved us, knowing it’s He Who works in us (Phil. 2: 12-13). We’re not fatalists. True faith brings good works (James). That doesn’t leave out any life area (Rom. 12:1-2). “The road goes ever on.”

So how is your God-glorifying, worshipful, speculative-story “singing” voice?

(Partial) diary of a speculative-story fan

Yes, I’ve already pre-ordered mine. More-patient and less spoiler-averse people than I can hear a slightly-abridged version of the score (no pauses) here.

Thursday, Nov. 1 —

Began my annual listen-through of the The Lord of the Rings complete score by Howard Shore. For the last several years I’ve tried to do this every year, as a lead-up to Christmas music. I love this film score. In my view it is the best in the world, perhaps soon to be equaled by Shore’s film score for The Hobbit. I don’t know Shore’s motives, yet in his music he so perfectly captures the majesty of Tolkien’s subcreation of Middle-earth and its lands, peoples, and stories. Music is God’s creation; Shore and others can only repeat it in varying ways. They can only polish the silver cast from God’s own molds.

As I listen, I’m not only taken back to Middle-earth, but rejoicing in echoes of good clashing against evil. Delighting in the whimsy of the Shire and the Hobbits. Being captivated by the ancient mysticism of Elves. Listening to my own heart beat to the pulse of battle.

And I’m tracing the echoes back to the source: from (the presumably non-Christian) Shore’s music, to the Christian Tolkien’s creations, to the Author and the Story that inspired him.

Friday, Nov. 9 —

Stayed up late until about 12:30 a.m., to finish Freeheads, the final volume in sci-fi author Kerry Nietz’s DarkTrench Saga series. Now I enjoy reading “secular” novels, sometimes, and more often enjoying “secular” films (such as the aforementioned The Avengers). Yet there is just something to a Christian novel, by a Christian author, who isn’t merely writing a story to repeat truth or to entertain, but to flesh out or even “incarnate” Biblical truth with what-if questions in an entertaining and skillful way. I can only compare it to being in church and being glad to hear the singing of a crowd — and even more joyful to hear my wife’s voice in the midst. Here is a talented voice, a dear sister, the artful worship of someone who is family.

Click to see the complete feature series so far.

Saturday, Nov. 10 —

Afternoon: I facilitate an eighth reading-group session at my church for The Hobbit. Today we read through much of chapter 8, “Flies and Spiders.” We discuss questions such as: “Why do so many stories include the idea of a ‘dark forest’ or ‘dark place,’ where a very land or tree can be evil? (Examples: Snow White, Hansel and Gretel, Pilgrim’s Progress.)”

I remain convinced that God wants us to worship not only individually but collectively as a body of believers. Thus, our story-enjoyment is best done more often together as His family.

Evening: I start re-reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Weeks ago I finished re-reading The Fellowship of the Ring, then took a break for DarkTrench book 3. Now back to LotR. Again I’m lost in the grandeur of Tolkien’s masterpiece. Battles remind me of the need to fight lies with God’s truth. Tears shed at the death of Boromir remind me of the evil of death yet also Christ’s hope of resurrection. The whole story echoes true, final victory.

Wednesday, Nov. 14 —

A bonus item I threw into a Christmas order arrived: “Heaven’s Bright Sun,” an older album from my new- favorite Irish synth/prog rock band. Its Christian emphasis and roots are clear to hear; the band’s lead vocalist, Joanne Hogg, is a Christian. This live-concert album includes greatest hits, including the title track from their “Journey Into the Morn” album.

Again, while I love The Lord of the Rings and other music by non-Christian composers, there is simply something different about listening to the worship of spiritual family members.

Especially when they name a song after a “Be Thou My Vision” line, and it sounds like this.

Thursday, Nov. 15 —

In the morning I finish re-viewing the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode “Starship Down.” In this, the vessel Defiant is attacked by Jem’Hadar warships, and plunges after them into the depths of a gas-giant planet. One blast severely wounds Captain Sisko, leaving only him and Major Kira Nerys, a very religious Bajoran woman, on the darkened bridge.

Kira tries to keep Sisko awake by talking about mundane work issues, but Sisko is falling asleep. They realize they always talk about work, and Kira confesses that Sisko being the revered Emissary means she finds it hard to relax and be herself around him. In response, Sisko asks Kira if she can tell him a story. [Later …] Sisko’s condition worsens. Kira begins praying over his prone body in her native tongue.

— from the Memory Alpha episode summary

Of course, the captain survives. And Gene Roddenberry would have hated this scene, which gives me no small pleasure. I appreciate Roddenberry and love original Star Trek, but fans who love Jesus even more know how overtly anti-God TOS’s themes often were. What irony that in Deep Space Nine secular humanism finally faced real challenges, and religion finally got its due respect — especially a true religion with actual deities like the Bajoran faith.

Yes, the Bajorans have a made-up religion. Yes, the other legacy of Star Trek is promoting humanism, feminism, “tolerance” and other mirror-universe “moral majority” notions. And it cannot compare to a more-truthful science-fiction told skillfully by a family member.

But to see a positive, attractively presented character exhibiting alternate-world faith made me think of true faith, and made me grateful He answers real prayers in the real world.

What’s your own partial speculative-story worship diary?

I attended my first writers’ conference in 2007 as a wet-behind-the-ears newbie certain of only one thing: God had called me to write.

It wasn’t much to start with, but it was enough. In the course of a series of divinely-arranged circumstances, I boarded a jet in Ohio (my first experience flying since 1975) and flew to Dallas, Texas for the annual American Christian Fiction Writers conference, ready for… I had no idea what. It was a writers’ conference, and I wanted to be a writer. That was the extent of my expectation.

This occurred the day after my dad was admitted to a nursing home. He’d moved in with us in 2004 at the age of 88. For three and a half years, I’d done what I could to ease the pain of his physical and mental deterioration.  I’d planned to have him stay short-term at a care facility while I was at the conference, but his condition took a sudden nosedive. A week before my scheduled trip, he was hospitalized, and it was plain that the round-the-clock care he’d require upon discharge would be more than I could provide.

So we changed those temporary accommodations to permanent ones. The day before I left for the conference, he was moved from the hospital to what we all knew would be his final home on this earth.

My soul wept all the way to Dallas. It was puffy and sore when I entered the hotel. Though the conference experience was wholly new, I felt no trepidation; I hurt too much. Shifting into what I hoped looked like professional-writer mode, I checked into my room, which I’d booked with three women I knew only virtually. I had never met anyone there, but I was determined to meet as many people as I could, learn as much about the business of writing as I could, and put everything else out of my mind for the weekend.

I hadn’t taken into account the fact that this was an organization of Christian fiction writers.

One of the first people I met was a multi-published author who’d done a paid critique of my then-WIP, The Story in the Stars. We met before the conference officially began. One of the first topics of conversation was our dads. One of the first things we did was cry and pray together before the throne of our mutual Father.

I hadn’t expected that. I had no idea the conference would involve hundreds of sisters and a handful of brothers singing praises to our Lord, lifting the rafters, testifying to the employees and other hotel guests, “How great is our God! Sing with me! How great is our God!” I never anticipated meeting so many people from so many walks of life and backgrounds who were all on the same page concerning writing and faith.

I didn’t know God had arranged this trip for my healing as much as my writing education.

This isn’t an ad for ACFW; it’s more like an ad for God. But I don’t need to sell Him here. You read this blog because you’re already embarked on this amazing journey aboard His Majesty’s vessel Saved by Grace.

Yvonne’s columns will now appear every other Wednesday on Speculative Faith.

It’s reassuring to know I’m not alone on this sea. To rub virtual shoulders with others who love fiction but can’t stomach romance novels. To hobnob with souls whose thought processes travel through a different shaped conduit, perhaps, than what carries the typical Christian current, but are no less Christ-followers.

I’m thankful for the heart and hard work of the founders and keepers of this site. For the thought provocations and discussions—even diametrical disagreements—conducted with a refreshing respect and utter lack of rancor. I’m grateful to be welcomed, not as an oddity or amusing change of pace, but as one who belongs.

Above all, I’m thankful to serve a King who delights in giving His children just what they need at just the right time.

How great is our God—sing with me!

The age of Speculative Politics is over. The age of The Hobbit reading-group series is about to re-begin.

Since part 1, Hobbit hype has grown like Shire gardens all over the world. A second trailer and multiple television spots released for the film to release Friday, Dec. 14 (earlier in New Zealand).

Yes, I’ve already pre-ordered mine. This time, thanks to rightfully higher demand, it seems we won’t need to wait years to hear the complete score.

A French website accidentally released 60-second preview clips from the film’s score by Howard Shore, then quickly took them down — though not before I, personally, was rocking out at my desk to “Blunt the Knives.” Then Empire went ahead and released the whole score, streaming, if you don’t mind no track division or pause button.

In fact, as I write this introduction to part 2, I’m temporarily breaking my new no-spoilers vow and listening to a few tracks. A few. Up until “Misty Mountains Cold,” sung by Dwarves.

It’s wonderful music.

Click to see the complete feature series so far.

Many have said Howard Shore “gets” Middle-earth better than film director Peter Jackson. Yet Jackson must be admired for, evidently, making a film with adaptation respect beyond mere fan-service. At least two Tolkien songs, with very few changes, will pass into the film. And the rest of the story seems to honor The Hobbit’s fantastic whimsy, as opposed to the more-serious atmosphere and themes of The Lord of the Rings books and film version.

Of course, no one truly knows Middle-earth as well as J.R.R. Tolkien himself.

And in that respect, we turn again to The Hobbit, specifically chapter 2, in which Bilbo the reluctant lucky-fourteenth member of Thorin Oakenshield’s Dwarf-company, first tries to put his “burglar” skills to the test. He nearly winds up, along with they, being treated as …

Chapter 2: Roast Mutton

1. Read chapter 2, pages 27 to 30 (It was not the last time that he wished that!).
2. Why do you think Bilbo, despite all his protests, find himself on an adventure?
3. Have you memorized the Dwarves’ names by now? Do you know anything about their personalities or motivations? If not, is that a bad thing? Could a newer fantasy story include 13 characters who seem very much alike? Why did Tolkien “get away” with it?
4. Bilbo was sadly reflecting that adventures are not all pony-rides in May-sunshine … (page 32). Imagining this, and perhaps recalling our own trips, is this sad or amusing, or both?
5. “Now it is the burglar’s turn,” they said, meaning Bilbo. “You must go on and find out all about that light, and what it is for, and if all is perfectly safe and canny,” said Thorin to the hobbit (page 33). How do the Dwarves, and Thorin in particular, seem to regard Bilbo? How do their apparent attitudes add tension? Which makes the story more interesting, and thus keep us reading — “outward” struggles like the weather, or “inner” struggles?
6. 

   (All referenced page numbers are based on this edition.)

   Read pages 33 (Off Bilbo had to go …) to 39 (… before they were satisfied).

7. Yes, I am afraid trolls do behave like that, even those with only one head each (page 34). Tolkien “speaks” to readers as if trolls are real (same with hobbits). Is that confusing?
8. For those familiar with The Lord of the Rings, this scene could seem very different. Unlike the dumb monster trolls of that epic, these trolls talk, bicker, have names like “Bill Huggins,” and have possessions — including a talking purse! Is this at all weird?
9. Why do you think Bilbo wants so badly to impress the Dwarves, even with the trolls?
10. Read pages 41 (“Silly time …”) to the very end.
11. Does Bilbo’s attempt to do “burglary” and impress the Dwarves seem to succeed or fail?
12. How does Gandalf seem to view the Dwarves, and view Bilbo? After Thorin challenges Gandalf to tell where he went, why does Gandalf speak in riddles? Finally, here we see Gandalf doing some “magic” for the first time — how does this “magic” strike you?

Veterans Day, aka Armistice Day, has a particular resonance for me, since it’s also my birthday. It’s a sobering thing to discover, at a very young age, that you were born on a day that commemorates the ending of a war—and not just any war, but arguably the most horrendous war in human history. I found that sense of perspective helpful in orienting myself in both history and in my relative significance to the larger universe.

Getting a day off from school didn’t hurt either.

We also take the opportunity to remember and honor the sacrifices of those who have served in our nation’s armed forces throughout its history to the present day. Living in a prosperous country whose shores have not been touched by war in a very long time, it’s easy to forget those who stand guard at lonely outposts, far from friends and family, putting their lives at risk daily to keep our land free and secure or to help others to do the same.  It’s easy to think of war as something that happens to somebody else—out of sight, out of mind.

It’s good to set a day aside to think about that a while.

Becky recently discussed war in the context of fantasy fiction, but I prefer science fiction in this case because it seems to grapple more directly with the topic of war itself. It not only speculates about how war might evolve but almost invariably speaks to the impact of war on the individual, and on how the lot of the soldier doesn’t really change very much, no matter how exotic the weapons, or the means of transportation, or the battlefield might become.  It also talks about what happens in war’s aftermath, and how warfare leaves an indelible imprint on soldiers that can make them misfits in the same society that sent them off to fight.

The idea of “duty” comes up a lot, the sense that we have a responsibility to take action when evil arises, that acting in defense not only of one’s home and hearth, but often in aid of strangers in peril next door, halfway around the world, or perhaps even across the galaxy, is somehow essential for those who would call themselves human beings…or children of God. That sense of duty is something a military person learns early in their career, and it begins with a commitment to the people beside you, fighting on your left and right. If you take that training to heart, it never leaves you, even when you’re out of uniform and spending your golden years dozing in front of the television in a rocking chair. Ask any veteran.

Here’s an illustration from one of my favorite writers of military-flavored science fiction, Keith Laumer. It’s a tale of two forgotten veterans who never forgot their duty: “The Last Command.”  Read the preface by David Drake and the afterword by Eric Flint, too.

Here in the US we commemorate a number of events associated with war. One of those is Veterans’ Day, formerly known as Armistice Day–a day to remember those who fought and died in World War I to earn the peace established by the Versailles Treaty. Now the day is an opportunity to recognize and honor any soldiers or former military personnel who served in the armed forces.

Certainly thanking those who served is appropriate as is commemorating those who died. And what better way than to think about wars and warriors in speculative fiction. After all, there are plenty of them. Fantasy is filled with armed conflict–good fighting evil. Science fiction isn’t short on military engagement either, Avatar being a prime example.

I couldn’t begin to do an exhaustive study of the subject–there simply are too many wars and warriors in speculative fiction. But I thought it might be interesting to look at some commonalities.

Warriors Serving The Dark Side.
From J.R.R. Tolkien’s orcs to Stephen Lawhead’s Demon Hoards, Stephen Donaldson’s Cavewights, Terry Brook’s Once Men, and Star War’s Storm Troopers, legions follow Evil. Generally speaking these are faceless beings, easily entrapped or seduced because of their desire for power or fear of it. They follow mindlessly and are motivated by greed or selfishness more than anything else. They are also largely expendable, not redeemable.

Often there is a hierarchy, with an inner circle holding more power, such as the Watchers in The Last Guardian, the Nazgul in The Lord of the Rings, or the Wolves in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Their power often seems overwhelming, whether because of their numbers (Storm Troopers, orcs) or because of some ability they possess (the Borg), the firepower at their disposal (the Watchers in The Last Guardian), or their access to magic (The Others in George R. R. Martin’s The Game of Thrones). Generally they derive their power or position from the antagonist who has either created them, deformed them, or infused them with what he can use.

Certain warriors may rise to second in command or come to that position through an alliance, but they are either vying to take over (His Dark Materials) or are being set up (Morgan Rhodes’s Falling Kingdoms).

What can you add about warriors serving the dark side?

Warriors Serving the Side of Truth.
The forces of good seem more eclectic, more individual than do those of evil. Faramir leads a company of men to defend Osgiliath in Return of the King, Théoden leads his Rohirrim, and of course Aragorn brings the lost army of the undead oathbreakers.

Generally the forces of good seem to be outnumbered (Wayne Thomas Batson’s The Door Within) or lacking in resources (Lloyd Alexander’s The Chronicles of Prydain). However, they are loyal (Reepicheep in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader), to the point of willing sacrifice, seem less interested in personal goals than in the good of the land and people (Wizard Fenworth in Donita Paul’s DragonKeeper Chronicles), and are determined even when all seems lost (Frodo in Lord of the Rings).

In addition, the army of good often seems more complex, more conflicted. Good and evil aren’t always as clear, their path may be uncertain. The D’Haran army, for example, in Terry Goodkind’s The Sword of Truth, first follows Darken Rahl against the protagonist, Richard, only to give him their loyalty later in the series.

Boromir in Lord of the Rings, of course, is the classic example of a conflicted warrior–believing he knows what will save his nation but bowing to the will of the council … until he doesn’t, then repenting of his madness in the end.

The Ents take their time in The Two Towers decided with whom they will side and whether or not they will take action. The Dwarfs in Prince Caspian and The Last Battle similarly follow a conflicted path, and not all end up making the right choices. In other words, generally speaking, while evil warriors rarely are redeemed, it seems good ones can be lost.

What else have you noticed about warriors of good?

Wars are pivotal.
In some instances, wars are the precursor. For examaple, foundational to Terry Brooks’s Shannara is the war between the Word and the Void. In The Seeker of Truth Darken Rahl invades the Midlands. The defeat of Talking Animals is part of the backstory of Prince Caspian.

Wars can also be part of the increasing conflict as they are in The Book of Three and The Fellowship of the Ring.

Less often, it seems, wars bring a story to a climax. The Last Battle does so, though the cause appears lost. The Return of the King ends with the battle for the Shire, a much smaller battle than the epic fought earlier in the story.

What are your observations about war in speculative fiction? Any thoughts about war and peace in the world today and those who serve to protect your nation?

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Don’t forget to leave a comment to Friday’s post by Merrie Destefano to be eligible for a chance to win a copy of her YA novel Fathom.