(Every story has them: tropes, cliches, hackneyed plot “twists” — common ideas that can’t help getting repeated. Whole websites are devoted to ridiculously addictive attempts to catalog every single trope in every single “secular” story. Naturally, Christian novels, especially speculative ones, aren’t immune from this phenomenon. Here is a partial list, as originally published here.)

I’ve been reading a lot of Christian spec-fic lately, and I keep noticing repeats. Certain elements everybody loves, like the Chosen One or Nephilim. These things are called tropes. In the interest of improving Christian spec-fic as a whole, I’ve decided to compile a list of these tropes and present them for your education. Or amusement. Or both.

Aliens. There are no aliens, only Nephilim.

Alien planets. These are not allowed. If humans aren’t on Earth, how would God find them for the Rapture?

Altar-call Ending. Sometimes this ending is the reason the book was written in the first place. The Hero goes to a Church/Chapel/Cathedral, kneels before the altar, and accepts the Christ-figure with a fantasy-ized version of the Sinner’s Prayer. Usually this is directed straight at the reader.

Angels. Winged musclemen in white robes who fly around with fiery swords, beating down demons. See This Present Darkness. Occasionally an angel will appear as a smiling young man in a white shirt who mysteriously helps the hero or dispenses advice, then vanishes. This is sometimes confusing, because the Christ-figure does the same thing.

The Antichrist. According to Revelation, this is some dude who gets possessed by Satan and becomes the One World Leader. At first he’s good, then he turns bad and starts chopping off heads (of Christians). The ultimate big bad, most Christian books wind up trying to prevent his rising or fight him when he comes. See Left Behind.

Armor of God. This is a physical suit of armor that represents the one in Ephesians — the Helmet of Salvation, the Belt of Truth, and so on. The Sword of the Spirit and the Shield of Faith are usually the most important parts. Commonly seen in post-apocalyptic stories.

The Bad Girl. This is the harlot/tramp/whore who exists only to tempt the Hero from his path of righteousness. She only cares about her own pleasure. We’re treated to graphic descriptions of her entire body except her breasts. She usually works for the Antichrist.

The Bible. This is called anything but the Bible. The Book of Light, the Holy Book, the Holy Writings, the Sacred Scriptures. But it’s always the Bible and grants either obscure knowledge or superpowers. Expect clumsily-reworded Bible verses.

Breasts. No woman has these. We might be told that she has some nice “assets”, or that she wore a shirt that showed off her chest. But breasts, as we know them, do not exist. Perhaps women in Christian fiction have udders instead.

The Chosen One. This is a kid, or a guy, who goes on a quest to find the lost artifacts, or the birthright, or the sage, or something, that will help him defeat the Big Bad. See Antichrist.

The Chosen One’s story is “yet another medieval setting with overt Christian allegories during the tale of [an] orphan who turns out to be the lost son of royalty about whom there is an ancient prophecy that he will defeat evil and bring peace.” — E. Stephen Burnett, Speculative Faith

Christ-figure. There is always one of these. He might be a man in a white robe, or he might be a lion or some other sacred animal. He shows up to give the Hero advice, help the Hero when the Hero has reached his lowest point, or in rare cases, actually do something interesting like swing the battle in the good guys’ favor. In other words, the Christ-figure is a literal deus ex machina.

Death. An unpleasant way for the hero and supporting cast to go hang out with the Christ-figure.

Demons. Insidious beings of pure evil. They appear as either patches of living darkness (see the Vashta Nerada) or as scaly lizard-like beings that breathe out sulfur fumes through long fangs. They can also appear only as a whisper in the hero’s ear telling him what a failure he is. Demons can only be slain by angels and occasionally good Dragons. Occasionally the most devout Chosen One can exorcise them.

Dragons. Most dragons are evil because they represent Satan. Some dragons, however, swing too far the other direction and are just dinosaurs with spikes and sometimes wings. Sometimes, you might meet a dragon that is the traditional fantasy type, breathes fire and has wings. But these are hard to find.

The Future. Christian science fiction can’t look too far ahead because of the Rapture and the Antichrist. There’s no future past that.

God. Generally a caricature of the Christian God, God is a distant deity who sits in heaven and allows bad things to happen to people to make them come to a better relationship with Him. Sometimes God answers prayers or resurrects someone, or heals a wound at a crucial moment. There will usually be a conversion scene where the Chosen One, guided by the Christ-figure, will come to believe in God. Then the Chosen One will get all kinds of Divine Power and beat down the bad guys with it. God is a Deus ex machina.

Heaven. A glowy gold place with lots of light and people who have already crossed over. The hero’s murdered parents/girlfriend/grandparents/best friend are always shown hanging out here, waiting for the hero to encounter Death and join the party.

Magic. There are only two kinds of magic: Holy and Demonic. Because all magic comes from God or Satan. There is no neutral magic, and thus no neutral magical practitioners, even in high fantasy worlds with otherwise standard fantasy rules. Good magic is only used for healing and defense, making everyone either a Paladin or a Cleric. Black magic is used for mind control, summoning demons, and other, far more interesting things.

Magic can also come from Science. Science magic is basically a superpower, like increased magnetism, or super-developed brain lobes to allow telekinesis or telepathy. This kind of magic squeaks past the Occult-radar because it’s more like Spider-Man.

Monsters. Monstrous creatures are always 100% bad, whether they’re genetically engineered, part human, or anything in between. Monsters seem to ascribe to the action movie school of thought, where everything and its brother is out to single-mindedly eat the hero.

Nephilim. These are half-human, half-fallen-angel people. There are no aliens, elves, mermaids, dwarves, or any other fantasy race. There are only Nephilim. They can be tall and handsome with pointy ears, or tall and ugly, or tall with big round eyes like aliens. They can be any combination of man and animal (man + horse, man + goat, man + fish). The Rephaim and the Anakim are almost never mentioned.

The Pure Girl. This girl is the Right Choice for the Chosen One. She’s kind, helpful, supportive, and never thinks about sex. She is the Proverbs 31 Woman. If the hero is not saved, the Pure Girl will show him the error of his sinful ways and guide him to repentance.

The Rapture. The only future allowed to Christians. This is when God returns to Earth and vacuums up all the Christians, leaving behind all the bad people for judgment. This is when the Antichrist takes over. Usually has elements of an Ultimate Escape Fantasy followed by seven years of Ultimate Revenge Fantasy.

Satan. The original mustache-twirling villain, always out to take over the world. Satan is always behind every bad thing happening, no matter how fantastic the world.

Sex. This is only allowed if it’s part of a character’s backstory and involves rape or some kind of abuse. Sometimes, depending on the publisher, the abuse can be very graphic. This is so the heroine can be Saved by God later in the book, and learn to love the Chosen One. Love scenes between two married people are never as graphic as the abuse scenes.

Kessie Carroll

Snakes. See Dragons.

Villains. Often the villain is the most likeable character in the whole book. He may be a misguided rogue, waiting for the Christ-figure to show him the error of his ways. Or he is a psychopath, possessed by Satan or a demon, bent entirely on destruction.

As a writer, I’m fascinated by the value God places on words.

It’s been that way since the beginning, when He spoke the universe into existence. Let there be light.

Doubting God’s words led to humanity’s downfall. Did God really say… ?

God is a writer. He wrote with His finger on stone tablets on Sinai and in the dust of the ground in Jerusalem. The names of the redeemed are written on the palms of His hands.

Sometimes His words are clear and to the point. For God so loved the world…

Other times, He instructs through analogy. A farmer went out to sow his seed…

Now and then, He just tells stories. A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers…

His words are living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword…

Man’s words can be murderous. And anyone who says “You fool!” will be in danger… and The tongue… corrupts the whole body…

You get the picture; words are important to God. His words, our words. We must handle them all with care.

That’s why I hesitated when I first felt led to write. It’s a tremendous responsibility, and I didn’t (and don’t) feel capable.

I’m good at churning out words. Lots of ’em. Most of ’em blather. But words that convey what God wants people to hear? That’s another matter. Yet that’s what, I’m convinced, He’s called me to do.

It would take too long to explain why I consider this writing gig a calling rather than the result of my own ambition. But the proof, if such things can be proved, is the fact that ten years ago, I didn’t like sci-fi. I turned up my snobby little nose at all Christian fiction. And now I write Christian science fiction. Def-in-itely not my idea!

I hope I never fall out of awe of this. I pray it never comes easy. When I cease to sweat over every word and pray over every plot point, I’ll know it’s time to quit.

I don’t care a whole lot about what other people think about this aberration that’s lately shaped my life. Sure, it’s nice to get positive feedback. But no matter what you do, somebody’s going to complain about it, sometimes caustically, and I try not to be too concerned about that. I just sidestep the snares and fix my eyes on Him.

You’d be hard pressed to find a Christian author who doesn’t claim the same thing. “This is what God has called me to do.” “I write for God, not men.” “My writing is a ministry.” But from that common point, even within a common genre, our opinions—and works—often diverge. Widely. From zombies, magic, and dragon-breath flames to God’s holy voice speaking only King James.

You’ve got writers (and I’m one of them) who are diligent to keep every detail of their writing on the Bible’s narrow road. Others bemoan the dearth of Christian vampire stories and see no reason to make their story lines scriptural. Sometimes when these word warriors face off, blood boils in both camps.

Oh, wait—aren’t we all in the same camp?

God knows.

Yes, God knows.

I’m pleased to see more variety in Christian fiction in recent years. Especially gratifying is its overall increase in quality since those not-so-distant days when I shunned the Inspirational shelf in the local library. Most of all, I’m amused that I, of all unlikelies, have been assigned a bit role on this stage.

Changing attitudes and new technologies have the publishing world all a-flutter. But while the chaos rages around them, readers sit atop a treasure of easily-available and affordable choices. Whether your tastes are bonnets or battle scenes, you can find something to your liking in Christian fiction. Even—gasp!—science fiction.

It’s about time, I must say. God created science, after all, so why should the devil get all the cool stories about it?

God also created words. Let’s use them the way He intended from the beginning. Creatively. But with great care.

This year I can’t go to the American Christian Fiction Writers’ conference in Dallas, and I’m okay with that. Overall I enjoy writers’ conferences, but they can tempt me to focus overly on the wrong things: promoting my own Movement. Cause-idolatry.

Ah, but I can’t blame any conference! It’s my problem. It may also be yours, joining other idols we may worship instead of the Author as we enjoy reading stories.

(I try to define rightful worship here, and began exploring false worships, idolatry, here.)

Idol identified: fighting the Speculative Cause

From my memory, most recently at the 2010 ACFW conference in Indianapolis, here is how this idolatry sneaks in. I arrive at the hotel, get settled, and soon head down escalators and hotel halls to investigate this world and find the right sessions. Soon I realize anew: nothing has changed. This place is still full of women, mostly older women, and probably Southern Baptists, whose night stands are surely stacked with paperbacks whose covers consist of pastel colors, farmland backdrops, and forlorn-looking young Amish women with wispy blond tresses and  — bizarrely — makeup. These are likely not the sorts of folks who could discern between Star Trek and Star Wars, or more vitally, believe the truth that Christian speculative stories are not sinful, or merely adjunct to Scripture, but rooted in the Story.

Thus at the conference, in moments I have mutated again from a lover of great stories, to an aspiring novelist, to a complaining self-identified Member of An Oppressed Minority.

That subconscious attitude may result in silent rallying slogans like this:

All these women have got to go! Or rather, keep them for the sake of “evangelism” targets. And that “gospel” is this: “Christian fiction is far too cloistered.” We have put up with this legalism for much too long. Not enough realism, and not enough fantasy (all at once). What does that look like to the world? This must change. Sing together:

“Onward spec-u-la-tive sol-diers, marching as before
With the books of Tolkien, going on before!”

I doubt I’m the only one who struggles with this. That evil “Christianity And” religion that C.S. Lewis’s Screwtape loved isn’t only attached to causes such as 1940s-British spelling reform. And given the current political conventions in the U.S., “Christianity And” isn’t only a prefix to “… Our Nation’s Founding Values” or “… Looking to Government As Your Savior.” It can also be a prefix to “… Experience” or “… Fighting For The Cause.” That is idolatry.

It also defeats the whole purpose behind the cause. In theory we don’t like Amish, romance, and all that dominating Christian novel publishing because that kind of emphasis simply is not good for readers, art, and ultimately the glory of God. It’s wrongfully pragmatic, likely endorsing an idealized sinful-earthly past rather than a glorious New-Earthly future. What then if we get distracted by trying to defeat these supposed “enemies” as an end to itself? If we do, we have ourselves lost sight of the real mission: to glorify God better in stories.

Cure: Anticipating actual victory

My suggested solution to killing this idol could be much the same as the last one (“eyes on eternity”). This does, however, emphasize some sort of cause victory also in this life.

To help slay the beast of idolatrous cause-promotion for its own sake, I ask: what would happen if we Christian fantasy/sci-fi/whatever advocates won? Imagine that all those publishers are tomorrow turned over to the leadership of doctrinally solid, non-legalistic, culturally savvy pioneering Christian editors and marketers. And because this can’t happen until readers change (a point we often miss in our laments about publishers), let’s imagine almost all professing-Christian readers have switched from bonnets and buggies to knights’ helmets and starships. How would we review novels? Write blogs? Discuss great stories?

Answer: however speculative readers should act then is how we ought to act now.

Christian speculative readers’ chief end is not “to fight the cause of defeating cloistered and legalistic Christian cultures.” Our chief end is the same as all humankind’s chief end: “to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” That counts for all that we do — including reading.

In this 2006 photo at ACFW in Dallas, future Speculative Faith co-editors Rebecca LuElla Miller and E. Stephen Burnett. (Can you find them?)

So before I return to any Christian novelists’ conference, here’s what I might do:

1. Wish heartily that we had readers’ conferences, to prevent getting overly occupied with The Industry, even The Craft. First things first: we read as worship of God.
2. Pray for all those women, not as enemies or “targets,” but dear sisters in Christ.
3. Consider a table at a writers’ convention to promote Christian speculative stories to others, instead of merely spending time with like-minded others. After all, if we do that, who’s really behaving like a sequestered subculture?

If you also struggle to fight cause-idolatry, what would your application be?

The seventh series of Doctor Who, seventh at least since the British fantasy/sci-fi classic programme’s 2005 revival, began last Saturday. (Yes, here there will be only a few slight spoilers.) I have a few observations after I viewed the first episode in glorious HD, thanks to Amazon video-on-demand. You likely have even more thoughts and/or praises.

1. Amy’s and Rory’s relationship is central to series 7’s opener “Asylum of the Daleks.” Who knew helping their marriage could be as vital as saving the universe? What does that say about stories’ big, huge, epic battles versus personal ones?
2. After the end of series 6, the Doctor does seem less famous throughout the universe. Somehow despite being outside of time, many believe he’s in the “past,” having died in the year 2012. But as this episode proves, there’s one notable exception. How do you feel about the Doctor being more “underground,” like Batman, rather than flying about all shiny and colorful in broad daylight, such as Superman?
3. Did you catch the surprise guest? He/she is certainly earlier than expected, and announced. “Rule number one: the [showrunner, i.e., Steven Moffat] lies.” Did you find that storyline similar to River Song’s in “Forests of the Dead”? How does that lead you to expect this character’s inevitable (p)re-appearance later?
4. Note the not-so-subtle fan-service. For years cosplayers have dressed as Daleks, with various interpretations. Now humans-as-Daleks are “canon.” Check out those Dalek-ish costumes. What did you think? Ever do any Doctor Who cosplay?
5. This series is actually half a series, this year. Last year’s midseason break was a few months; this time it’s a whole year. Negative: much longer to wait until more new episodes. Positive: they seem to be using up a whole year’s effects budget on half a year’s stories, each one of which intentionally resembles a blockbuster film. What do you think of this approach, and the more-independent and less arc-based stories?

Finally, one crucial truth about Doctor Who seems to refer to all stories’ reflections of love.

I noticed this upon recently reviewing series 1’s two-part story “The Empty Child” and “The Doctor Dances.” That’s the one with the creepy little boy in the gas mask, and secondly with the introduction of “omnisexual” character Captain Jack Harkness. Ha ha! That Captain Jack. He’ll shag anything carbon-based. Regardless of gender. Ha, ha ha. Funny Captain Jack!

But ask yourself: on what kinds of love is the actual and fantastic story based?

Spoiler: there’s an asylum. And Daleks.

Meanwhile, “Asylum of the Daleks” is about not only Daleks, but Amy’s and Rory’s love for one another. By contrast, another infamous Doctor Who throwaway-suggestive line hints that one new character has experimented with “bisexuality” or lesbianism. But that’s all. One throwaway line, for a cheap, agenda-laden laugh. Compare that to the whole story being about “traditional,” that is God-created, marriage and love, being worth preserving.

“Different” sexuality: good for cheap agenda-smacking laughs. Real love powers the story.

Captain Jack is comic relief. But his crushing on Rose, while comedic, adds emotional pull to his divided loyalties. And a mother’s love for her child is what reduced audiences to tears.

Viewers may chuckle at hints of “bisexuality.” But they will only cheer for Rory and Amy.

So gayness/whatever can apparently function only as comic relief. You can’t build the story around such an imposter “love.” Not a great story. Not a story people will love. Shouldn’t this say something about how we see love in reality? If it’s not a beautiful thing worth celebrating in imagined worlds, why do we try to trick ourselves in the real world?

Seoul’s a very friendly city.

I’m back home after a week and a half work trip in Seoul, Korea, which was a little more eventful than I would have preferred, riding out a typhoon, flying home just ahead of another, and cracking a rib along the way. At least we didn’t have an earthquake this time. My internet access was limited, and I used what little I had to stay in touch with my family, so that’s why I was missing in action last week.

On the plus side, the work went well, and I even managed to squeeze in a little touristing and take a bunch of pictures, which you can find here.

Not light reading…and not for kids.

And, with 12 hours or so crossing the pond each way, I was able to polish off Gregory Maguire’s Wicked, which turned out to be more theological than I expected, if less uplifting, and I’ll talk more about that next week. Combined with L. Frank Baum’s original The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (which you can read for free at Project Gutenberg in an hour or two), the MGM movie, and the Broadway play, we end up with sort of a “four gospels of Oz,” each of which tell the story of the land and characters “somewhere over the rainbow” in a distinctly different way. Perhaps I can make something enlightening of this idea. I’m still working on it.

Anyhow, it’s good to be home. There’s no place like it.

Monsters, according to one definition, are fictional creatures that are “often hideous and may produce fear or physical harm.” Speculative genres—fantasy, science fiction, horror, supernatural—all employ monsters of one type or another. Some, perhaps most, have roots in European literature, but there are a handful of other sources.

Those from Europe include Classic Greco-Roman mythology, Norse and Icelandic sagas, and Celtic mythology and folklore. The monsters associated with these stories include Cyclops, gorgon such as Medusa, the furies, dragons, trolls, werewolves, goblins, banshee, witches, the hydra, and vampires.

Then there are the creatures that aren’t inherently evil but who are different, powerful, or magical and thus, frightening: the centaur, nymphs, harpies, dwarves, fairies, elves. Some of these have both good and evil renderings while some are primarily “neutral,” though playful and mischievous, so they may create chaos for humans.

European literature does not have a corner on monsters. Perhaps the most famous and influential are those from ancient Sumer, told in the “Epic of Gilgamesh.” Ancient India, East Asian legends, and tales from the Islamic Middle East are also sources for well-known monsters: jinn and genie, ogres, ninja, ghouls, half-human half-animal hybrids, spirits, and demons.

Of course the Bible is also a source of monsters which find their way into speculative literature. From the Nephilim to leviathan, behemoth, angels, the dragon, demons, and the beast of Revelation, creatures appear, figuratively or literally, in the pages of Scripture, becoming the basis of fictitious monsters.

Interestingly, some of the most well-known and frightening monsters have come as new inventions from the minds of the authors who imagined them. In all likelihood, the authors borrowed aspects of other creatures in monster lore to create their own, but the creatures they concocted were not reproductions of what went before. Some of these include J.R.R. Tolkien’s Balrog, Shelob, and Nasgûl, Lloyd Alexander’s Cauldron Born,  J.K. Rowling’s dementors, Mary Shelley’s monster created by Dr. Frankenstein, and H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu.

Science fiction perhaps more than other speculative fiction relies on the invention of monsters, whether H. G. Wells’s Martians, the Borg in Star Trek The Next Generation and Voyager, or Jabba the Hutt in Star Wars. These inventions often consist of what contemporary society finds ugly or offensive or disgusting or evil.

Some writers take monsters and re-envision them. Thus, vampires become love interests instead of deadly beings from which to flee (the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyers). Dragons are good instead of evil, protected from dragon hunters by an act of God (Dragons In Our Midst series by Bryan Davis). Elves are noble and wise rather than mischievous or selfish (Tolkien’s The Lord Of The Rings).

Monsters, then, can be redefined. What looks dangerous or deformed may, in fact, be a tortured being in need of a friend (Merian C. Cooper’s King Kong and Shelley’s monster).

What do monsters “achieve” in fiction? They may represent what mankind does not understand and therefore what frightens us. I remember as a child meeting a boy with a facial deformity. He frightened me because I didn’t know what had happened to him. I couldn’t help wondering if I might “catch” what he had. In the 1800s greedy charlatans at times took advantage of people with physical deformities, purposely playing them to be monsters and displaying them for others to gawk at and recoil. In fiction, perhaps looking at what we don’t understand moves us closer to acceptance, to charitable treatment, to a spirit of caring.

Monsters may also stand in for a part of ourselves that the Christian knows to be the sin nature [see Christopher Miller’s recent post “Writers Slay Dragons (and you should too)”]. In his apologetic of horror, guest blogger Brian Godawa said, ” Monsters become metaphors for wickedness suppressed in unrighteousness and its outcome.”

Thirdly, they may show the very real forces of evil against which Scripture says we war. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Eph. 6:12). Monsters, then, represent the reality of invisible spiritual forces and the actuality of a struggle between good and evil.

Monsters can also show a particular trait—greed, over-indulgence, hunger for power—that clarifies an aspect of human nature. For example, Jabba the Hutt, with his repulsive slug-like appearance, taking what he wanted, acted as a mirror for those who use people and hoard goods. As Godawa put it, “We are revealed to be no different than zombies, bloodsuckers, and other monsters in our social injustice and cultural degeneracy.”

One final question. Can monsters be redeemed? C.S. Lewis had perhaps the best monster-redemption scene in literature when Eustace Scrubb as a dragon met Aslan in Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Though Eustace hadn’t been a “bad dragon,” and perhaps a better dragon than he had been a boy, he was nonetheless a monster. Once he encountered Aslan, however, he ceased to be one.

In short, perhaps monsters that are only perceived as monsters can be accepted, but monsters that are truly monstrous can be redeemed if they are changed. Will they inevitably be changed if redeemed? Andrew Peterson seems to challenge that notion in Monster in the Hollows.

What are your thoughts about monsters in literature? Do you prefer those that are familiar or new ones an author has invented? What are the ones you find most frightening? Do you agree or disagree that monsters can’t stay monsters and be redeemed?

This summer is over. Children are back in home schools, Christian or private schools, or public schools. But their battle goes on to discern and enjoy stories Biblically. This is one of the most important lessons that you, your child’s first educator, must teach your children.

In this series we’ve overviewed why this matters. In part 1: Christians practice un-Biblical ways of story or media discernment: arbitrary legalistic boundaries, or no boundaries at all. In part 2: When and how to “shelter” children must take into account the truth that they are not innocent beings corrupted by the world, but little sinners! Finally, in part 3: Before we teach our children how to enjoy and discern man’s stories, we must begin with God’s Story.

All this sounds wonderful. Most of you would agree. But if you’re a parent, you may wonder how that works. How do parents know when and how to teach children ways to discern — from the 12-year-old who seems unfazed by written violence, and perhaps should be more worried about it, to the six-year-old who would have nightmares about simple cartoons?

We can’t claim this process will be alike for every family, and every growing and maturing child. We certainly can’t promise your children will be perfect or Christlike by following our advice! But we can say this this is a more-Biblical way of understanding human nature and how to fix it, and can suggest general guiding principles of teaching story transitions.

One possible answer is found in the trivium of the classical education system. The trivium is a three-part process used to train the mind:

1. In early years, students are taught learning tools (such as facts and grammar).
2. In middle years, students are taught how to think through arguments.
3. In high school, students are taught how to express truths.

(More about the classic education model can be found in this essay by Susan Wise Bauer.)

Of course, these are not distinct stages — no more than if you were giving your children the keys to your car on his sixteenth birthday without first having taught them how to drive! Instead of a total separation between these three sets of principles, the trivium method includes a gradual blending from one principle to the next.

The trivium seeks to educate children based on their “natural” — that is, God-designed — development. Similarly, although every child is different, the trivium can be used by parents who seek to raise discerning Christ-like children. In each of the final three parts of this series, we’ll survey the three stages in the trivium, applied to stories and media.

First comes the earliest stage. In the trivium, this includes teaching memorization of facts — grammar and spelling rules, mathematical operations, and more. For stories, this means:

Stage 1: Early tools for truth. Protect children while teaching how to enjoy and discern stories.

In part 3 we delved into this crucial need before teaching story discernment: that to discern other stories, we must first discern, learn from, and apply the Story of Scripture.

To teach the Story of Scripture, you might consider catechism, teaching correct belief to children. When applied rightly, consistently, and intentionally, catechism is an essential part of instilling the tools of Christianity — the tools of discernment in your children.

My (Jared’s) family currently uses the Truth and Grace Memory Books from Founders Press. Each one matches a level of the trivium method: Book 1, Ages 2 – 4th Grade; Book 2, 5th Grade – 8th Grade; and Book 3, 9th Grade – 12th Grade. They include suggested songs, Scriptures, and Baptist Catechism questions. Their author, Tom Ascol, suggests:

The person who completes these three books will read (among other things) the New Testament twice, the 4 Gospels 3 times, Proverbs five times and the book of Psalms twice. He will memorize (among other texts) the Ten Commandments, the Beatitudes, the Lord’s Prayer, 1 Corinthians 13, various psalms (including 119!), plus all the books of the Bible (iii Book 1).

For young children, building on that foundational knowledge of Scripture as the greatest Story will give them the tools of discernment. Teach these, not only about the truths of Christianity versus the contrasting falseness of other worldviews, but about how we seek to discern and enjoy the material found in man’s storytelling.

So, before about sixth grade and teaching about applications of discernment to stories:

1. Challenge your children to begin thinking through how to discern stories.

In other words, don’t wait until sixth grade to encourage children to apply such story-discernment. Instead, as your child approaches sixth grade, he or she should naturally think more about how one would discern stories in the future, with parental help.

2. Teach and engage in stories with your child, and beg for their questions.

Parents should never allow their children to watch, read, or listen to anything they haven’t participated in themselves (or that wasn’t recommended by someone with a consistent biblical worldview)! And contrary to perception, story-rating systems of unbelievers and even some Christians are often unhelpful. Scripture alone must be our “rating” standard.

That’s why you as a parent must help your children apply the truths they’re learning in catechism to the various stories they see and/or read, including Christian storybooks, Disney films, literary fiction, Looney Tunes, VeggieTales videos, anything. Then, as they near sixth grade and their story and media choices grow — and the media’s echoes of evil may grow as well — you may help them consistently apply Scripture to their story choices.

Children love to ask questions! The younger children are, the more they inquire of their surrounding world. So capitalize on this curiosity instead of silencing it. This will take some patience! You want your children to ask questions about everything — and you want them to ask you instead of other children. Get over being annoyed by the same questions, and answer your children for the purpose of training them to be discerning adults.

For example, when you watch a Disney movie with your young child, help him to see the clear good and the clear evil. Ask him or her: what is the source of evil in the story? What is the answer? The Disney movie will not say, “Sin is the problem, and Christ is the answer.” Thus you must add this truth, for He is the only Answer to the problem of sin.

What is sin? Remind your children of the two greatest commandments: First, love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind (Matt. 22:37). Second, love your neighbor as yourself (Matt. 22:39). If we’ve violated those, we have sinned. (And we know we have!)

Who is Christ? We’re back to the Story of Scripture again — the greatest Story ever told.

As children approach the sixth grade, ask them more about stories you see or read together, showing their pictures of sin, and pointing to our only Answer, Jesus Christ.

(Part 5: stage 2 of the trivium. How do we challenge children to discern stories on their own?)

Relevance. Ah…it’s such a buzzword these days in publishing. Seems like everywhere you go somebody is altering themselves, their lifestyle and their message to try and be more “relevant” to the people they want to reach. Musicians do it. Comedians do it. Teachers do it. Authors do it. Heck, even churches are in the “relevance” game now.

And why not? After all, honing your delivery to be relevant simply means that you are “in-touch” with your audience, right?

WRONG.

Here’s the funny thing about pursuing relevance–if you’re trying to be it, you probably aren’t. Coolness can’t be faked any more than singing with Auto-Tune makes you a vocalist (sorry T-Pain), or growing a handlebar mustache makes you a man (though I envy any man who can pull it off).

The reason it doesn’t work is because people are smart. We can spot a fraud a mile away. Newsflash: the world isn’t impressed with your wimpy mustache and your auto-tuned voice. As a matter of fact, there is little in this world that annoys people more than a fake. It’s insulting to them, to you and to the God who made you to be so much more than a mere knock off of someone else’s “cool.”

Besides, relevance is fickle. What’s [insert latest word for “cool”] today may be totally [insert latest word for “lame”] tomorrow. A word of warning: If you’re reaching for relevance you’re likely to end up with a fist full of lame. Why? Because you’re going about it all wrong.

Here’s an idea for you: instead of forcing yourself to try and fit the illusive mold, why not try being authentic? (Wow, what a refreshingly timeless word.) Seriously, the word relevant sounds like a marketing push gone wrong, but authenticity? That’s a word that demands my respect.

Being authentic is something worth pursuing. My favorite people in the world are those who don’t pretend to be something they aren’t. I feel at ease around them, even if they are different from me. They live honestly, unafraid to let their “real selves” show. As a result, I never have to wonder if what they are saying is really what they mean.

One of the best examples in the Bible comes from the story of David and Goliath. Our little guy David had volunteered to slay the giant and somehow King Saul took him seriously enough to meet with the lad. After he realized this kid meant business, Saul did what every good commander would–he gave David his armor so that he would look like the champion he wanted to be. Trouble was, Saul’s armor wouldn’t fit our scrawny hero. It wasn’t his…and it wasn’t necessary. Pretending to be something he wasn’t wouldn’t have done him any good on the battlefield. And it doesn’t do us any good either.

As a writer of YA & children’s fiction I must admit I struggle with the whole wanting-to-be-relevant issue from time to time. I want kids to like my books, so I’ve been guilty of mixing it up a bit and trying out different voices that I’ve perceived are popular or successful. For example: Lemony Snicket had a very unique voice in his writing that captured the imaginations of an audience who loved his dry wit and melancholy humor. But if I tried to write in that tone in order to be popular too, it would drive me and my audience nuts. It’s his shtick, not mine. Like David, I’ll choose the weapons of words that fit my voice and let my stories resound with those who appreciate me for who I am.

That’s not to say I don’t take chances and stretch myself in my craft. The last book I co-wrote was about mice with guns, for goodness sake (which you can read for FREE).

I like this series because, like the Codebearers books, they’re the kind of books the twelve-year-old kid inside me would like to read. I write for him, because he’s easy to write for. I know him.

So the next time you’re facing a decision to change up your style to be relevant, pause for a moment and ask yourself it it’s being true to who God called you to be or if it’s playing to the crowd. Be authentic. It’s the most relevant thing you can do.

Idols may not be able to move, but they’re hard to pin down. Just as soon as you shut down one series of machinery rolling the little statues off the conveyor belt, the heart increases production on an emergency backup assembly line.

You know what else is easy? Criticizing competing idol outlet malls. That’s my temptation as I start this series: first define worship, then go after others’ wrong worship modes.

1. Celebrities. Worshiping rock-star authors rather than the Author. One problem: the Christian-speculative market is still very small, and our most-popular authors (Lewis, Tolkien, etc.) are no longer living. I could point to other genres — “secular” speculative stories, Christian-romance paperbacks, etc. — but that’s a tangent.
2. Niche appeal. “I love spec stories because they’re weird!” Been there, critiqued that.
3. Author pyramid schemes. This is closely related to “celebrity.” Even honoring great actors, singers, or novelists would be “purer” if we were sincerely lauding their work. Instead we also want to take their place. “Hannah Montana” (recall that?) would never have been what it was without this projection complex. (She’s so pretty and popular! [Exclamatory textspeak acronym!] I wish I were her myself!) Yet I’ve also already addressed that, as it pertains to potential author pyramid schemes.

Maybe I’ll (re-)explore those in later series episodes. Yet I was leaning first in the direction that commentator Teddi Deppner reinforced yesterday: that for most readers, including myself, the worst potential idol in enjoying speculative stories may be experience.

Idol identified: experience

Without Teddi’s clarity, I might have called this story-worship. However, I doubt that would be accurate. If I’m truly enjoying the story, I cannot worship it. I’m instead desiring the deeper Beauty and Truth the story reflects, and therefore also the Author of that Beauty and Truth. C. S. Lewis would call this looking along the light-beam into the Source.

By contrast, I may be tempted to “[serve] the creature rather than the Creator” (Romans 1:25). But with stories, I’m really serving/worshiping personal experience.

This not only displeases God, but is silly and self-defeating, if you think about it.

It took me a while to learn this: Worrying overmuch about hand “placement” defeats the whole point of praise.

Consider singing-worship in a church service. When I was younger, I would ponder how this magic was done. How did worship “work”? Was it a quiet and somber, “reverential” attitude — a state of Highly Spiritual Quiet Meditation? Was it self-abandon to the point of going insane, like those (supposedly) nutter-bar charismatics? Should I cry? Not cry? Arrange theology in my head? Get lost in some other experiential emotion?

All of that misses the means for the end. For me, it took sermons and good books to define Biblical worship. It is not about experience, or rather not about striving for experience, they said. Instead experience naturally arrives when we’re lost in the wonder, beauty, love, and holiness of God, which can only result from knowing Him better, thanks to His own Word.

Or consider breathing. Try to breathe. Go on, do it. If you don’t keep breathing, you’ll die. (This experiment is more effective during a sleepless night.) Breathe in, breathe out. Keep up that breathing. What happens? Breathing becomes a chore, an almost painful labor.

Living for experience alone will frustrate. You keep craving more and more experience — and thus miss seeing the eternal reality the experience of a truly fantastic story reflects.

Cure: eyes on eternity

Let’s say I receive a new book by an author I know is great. I burn through the book in two days, including a late-night reading binge until 2 a.m. Whew, what a rush. That story-world was amazing and so beautifully described. The plot kept me guessing. The characters — I wish they were real! Such a hero’s courage is just who we could use now, and the leading lady was so strong yet beautiful. Villains were defeated, and peace and glory was restored to the world. Then comes an inevitable sigh and cry: why can’t reality be more like this?

The Epic Story answers: Reality will be. Read Scripture about resurrection — of Christ, souls/spirits, human bodies, and “the creation itself” (Romans 8). Great stories echo eternity. All great story experiences should point us to the Creator.

And in His presence, nearer thanks to Christ taking away our separating sin, we worship.

I’m still convinced “optimal” worship may not always be conscious (after all, creation does this). Yet we may even offer a prayer after a story’s experience. Not to sound devotional-cheesy here, but something like: Author of reality, thank You for this experience. Thank You that it reflects hope that You will defeat evil and restore peace and glory to the world. Thank You for these emotions. Even when I’m not thinking of You and Your Name, let me honor You.

How do you avoid possible experience-worship in your enjoyment of speculative stories?