When The Rubber Hits The Road

Once again, due to the hectic-ness of life in the “real world,” I was unable to put a video together. Sorry. This is the last post I’ll be doing on amillennial eschatological theology. If you haven’t figured it out by […]
on Aug 29, 2012 · No comments

Once again, due to the hectic-ness of life in the “real world,” I was unable to put a video together. Sorry.

This is the last post I’ll be doing on amillennial eschatological theology. If you haven’t figured it out by now, yeah, I’m pretty unapologetic about my belief system. Often, when I discuss this with people who are not Lutheran (like me) and they learn that I am an amillennialist, they’ll make the same joke: “I’m pan-millennialist. I think it’ll all just pan out in the end.” And then we both chuckle and I have to admit that there’s some truth to that. I very well could be wrong in my beliefs. I don’t think I am, but if God has a pre-tribulation rapture in the works, I’m not going to complain.

And yet, at the same time, as funny as that pan-millennialist joke is, we have to remain aware that there can be devastating real world consequences when our theological rubber hits the road, so to speak.

A good, recent example of this is Harold Camping. I know it’s been a little over a year since that so-called “prophecy expert” shot himself in the proverbial foot by wrongly predicting the end of the world not once, not twice, but three times. Now most of us rightly chalked him up as a kook, but the sad reality is, far too many people fell for his schtick. Many of them donated most, if not all, of what they had to help “get the word out” about the impending judgment day. While I can’t find the links now, I know I read a few interviews with true believers who had sold all that they had in order to travel around the country and make sure that the country knew what Mr. Camping had cobbled together using his “holy mathematics.” Now that it’s a year later, I can’t help but wonder where those folks are now. I suspect that a few of them probably did not land on their feet after blowing the life savings on (let’s call him what he is) a false prophet.

Now I’m not saying that an amillennialist would be completely immune to this sort of thing. We can get snookered just as easily as the next guy. But given the fact that our theology doesn’t really support “let’s figure this whole thing out” type thinking (i.e. date setting or flowcharts or anything like that), I don’t think it’s as easy for us to get caught up in the fervor.

That’s just one small example. A much more problematic example is the status of the modern state of Israel.

In dispensational premillennialist thinking, the modern state of Israel’s creation is a big deal. It’s a sign that it’s all about to kick off at any moment. Because of this, dispensational premillennialists have put a lot of pressure on the United States government to side with Israel no matter what they do or how they behave.

Now I’m not saying that we shouldn’t support Israel. Not at all. They are our historic allies and they’re the only stable democracy in the region. But for an amillennialist like me, that’s all they are. They’re not a fulfillment of prophecy. That particular country and plot of land is no longer theologically significant (I’m getting on my asbestos undies now. I have a feeling I’m going to catch some brimstone in the comments for that one). Because of that, I don’t think the Israelis have a whole lot of moral high ground to stand on when it comes to their treatment of the Palestinians. And by saying that, I’m not condoning any form of radical terrorism by the Palestinians. What they do is reprehensible and vile.

But let’s just pretend, for a moment, that the Palestinians got their acts together and, instead of engaging in terrorist attacks, carried out a series of non-violent protests? How many of you would be okay with them getting some land of their own to live on?

And that right there is one of the problems I have with dispensational premillennialism. When it’s rubber hits the road, it results in the oppression of people, many of whom are our brothers and sisters in the faith (since not all Palestinians are Muslim).

That, I think, is why I wrote this whole series on eschatology. I want to shake up the status quo and get people thinking about what they believe and why. It’s not just theory. We have to be careful how our theology plays out when the rubber hits the road.

Stories Of Sacrifice

I think there’s something to the idea that self-sacrifice is appealing. C. S. Lewis was particularly good at weaving self-sacrifice into his stories. It, of course, is crucial in the (traditional) opening book of Narnia–The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
on Aug 27, 2012 · 16 comments

Recently I read an old blog post at MBT Ponderers noting that the two most recent YA blockbuster series, Twilight and Hunger Games, featured self-sacrificial heroes. Add in Harry Potter, a series the author hadn’t read, and I think there’s something to the idea that self-sacrifice is appealing.

C. S. Lewis was particularly good at weaving self-sacrifice into his stories. It, of course, is crucial in the (traditional) opening book of Narnia–The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader Reepicheep proves to be the person willing to sacrifice himself for others–in this case, to awaken the lost lords. Then Polly and Digory perform sacrificial acts in The Magician’s Nephew.

Interestingly, in this sixth installment of the Narnia books, the antagonist, Jadis, is guilty of annihilating the people on her world to prevent her own defeat–the precise opposite of self-sacrifice.

This quality of giving oneself over to danger or death for the sake of others is key in The Lord of the Rings, too. Gandalf is most obvious–standing against the Balrog so the rest of the Fellowship can escape the mines of Moria.

Of course there is discussion whether or not Gandalf actually died in the battle, but that same discussion took place regarding Harry Potter when he faced Voldemort. Perhaps the actual dying isn’t as important as the willingness to do so.

Which brings up Frodo. He was sacrificial in that he willingly faced unspeakable danger and insurmountable temptation, with no idea that he would survive. Yet he moved inexorably forward. Until the end. His failure and his escape, however, don’t diminish his sacrifice. They make it all the more poignant, perhaps.

The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander also utilize the theme of sacrifice. In The Book of Three, for example, Gurgi who is injured, offers to stay behind so those he is traveling with can escape capture. Taran, the protagonist of the story, sacrifices a home in the valley of Medwyn in order to warn others of the impending attack by the Horned King. Ultimately, three of his traveling companions stand to fight the overwhelming force so that Taran can achieve his goal.

What is it about sacrifice that is so compelling? The easy answer is that it mirrors Christ’s sacrifice, and each of these stories is an echo of the Great Story. But that doesn’t explain why sacrifice resonates with us as readers. Why do readers care that a vampire boy is willing to deny himself for the girl he loves? Or that she is willing to walk into danger to be with him?

Christ Himself said, “Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Do stories of sacrifice resonate with readers, then for the simple reason that we recognize that great love? Or could it be that we actually desire that great love for ourselves? Isn’t one cry of the human heart to be loved, to be valued at that level?

My instinctual idea is to say that memorable stories include sacrifice and great stories take it one step further–showing sacrifice by the most noble for those less so, thus mirroring Christ’s death for us “while we were yet sinners.” Aslan dying for the traitor Edmund is the prime example.

What are your thoughts? Does a sacrificial character make a story more memorable? Do sacrificial acts connect you more deeply to the story?

What are some more recent stories that utilize self-sacrifice, or is that lacking in current Christian fiction?

I’ll start, though I won’t give details because that would spoil a story that hasn’t been out long yet. In Shannon Dittemore’s Angel Eyes there is a notable example of self-sacrifice. Now I have to wonder if that’s one of the reasons I love that book so much.

Your turn. 😉

Writers Slay Dragons (and You Should Too)

The truth is, the dragon is real and living among us. But what is this dragon really up to? What’s his goal? Is he merely trying to slow us down in our life journey? Is he simply keeping us from taking chances, fulfilling our dreams or doing great things for God in this world?
on Aug 24, 2012 · No comments


It started innocently enough, as most ideas do. I seem to recall working on a website at the office (alongside my brother, as usual) when a passing thought captured my attention. It went something like this:

You know that story idea you’ve been kicking around all these years?

I began to consider.

The one you’ve got tucked away in that drawer in the basement about a boy . . . and an ancient book . . . and the Shadow? Yeah . . . that one. You should write that book . . . as a novel.

Come again? I asked myself, glancing warily at a hefty bestseller that was currently stacked atop my desktop. For some reason, the book I had so easily read just days earlier looked suddenly large and daunting. Why, there must have been a hundred thousand words in that book. How on earth could I ever hope to accomplish that? As I contemplated the possibility of writing such a tome, a lump formed in my throat.

“Yes. Write, my son. Do it for my joy. Trust Me.”

I was stunned. You see, until this point in my career as a writer, I hadn’t considered myself much more than a children’s book author. Sure, Allan and I had managed to fool our current publisher into thinking we could write and illustrate gift cards and picture books. But this novel idea was so much more than coming up with clever rhymes and pretty pictures. It was an entirely new set of writing rules – uncharted territory to be sure. Things get downright dangerous when you wander down unfamiliar paths.

That’s when another voice, an all too familiar adversary, the dragon, stepped in!

He sounded a bit like this:

“Who are you kidding? You’re not good enough. You’ll never finish that book, but even if you did NOBODY would publish it. And if perhaps someone did publish it by mistake, NOBODY would read it. And if by some fluke some kid accidentally picked it up out of the trash heap and read it, they would all HATE it. So, don’t even try. You’ll just waste your life.”

Ever heard a voice like that before? Yup, he’s pretty sneaky like that, and phew, what bad breath he has. Makes you want to shout out, “Hey, can somebody get me an Altoid for the lizard on my shoulder here? No wait . . . make that ten.”

The truth is, the dragon is real and living among us. But what is this dragon really up to? What’s his goal? Is he merely trying to slow us down in our life journey? Is he simply keeping us from taking chances, fulfilling our dreams or doing great things for God in this world?

In part, yes, but that’s only the side effects. The dragon’s true intentions are much more sinister and go far deeper than that alone. You see, in that moment, sitting in my chair in my office, a battle began. It was a battle to test my heart’s allegiance. Would I trust the Author and let him be my guide, or would I bow to the fears of the dragon?

Who do I fear? That’s what ultimately was at stake.

Fear God, the Author of your life, and you make a bold stand for those around you that you don’t live for yourself. Succeed or fail, you are living for the only One who is worth living for. God doesn’t expect you to know how to get there (wherever “there” is); he just wants to know you trust him with the next step of your journey. Keep doing that and, much like the characters in a book, you’ll soon find yourself treading into new adventures everyday.

“Seek first the kingdom of God…” the Bible says. That’s what it’s all about. Don’t worry about anything else. Don’t put your focus on the things of this world (what people will think of you). Don’t decide to write that book for your own glory (or lack thereof). Don’t do it for the fans or the crowds (or lack thereof). Do it . . . for God and his kingdom alone. Only then, will you be where God wants you.

Let God be the hero of your life. Follow Him wherever he takes you and all of these things (the basic necessities and abundant life) will be added unto you.

However, if you choose to fear the dragon, you are bowing to the adversary himself –- one who wants to write the story of your life in his own way. By choosing to listen to this voice of fear and doubt, we prove to ourselves whom we truly serve.  And therein lies the twist to this story. Like any good tale, this villain’s true identity may surprise you. It’s not Satan (as many may think) who speaks these lies to us (though his words are echoed perfectly in them). No, you have to look deeper into the eyes of the dragon to recognize him. Do you see it now? Frightening, right?  It’s you.

That old man, the sinful nature you gave up when you surrendered your heart to Christ. He’s still in there . . . still trying to take back the throne Christ has taken from him. That bitter old self is still fighting to win his place.

We are the dragons. The residue of the original Dragon infects our skin, and it doesn’t rub off easily. Damned though he may be, the voice of the dragon is the voice of our own fallen selves still clamoring for a foothold in our lives.

So, do yourself a favor the next time you hear that dragon voice in your life. Trust the Author with your life. Don’t try and take the pen back. Don’t let anything but the Kingdom of God be what wakes you up and lays you down.

Oh, and bring some Altoids along for the journey because you’re going to need it from time to time. Trust me, I couldn’t have finished writing that first novel without them.
– – – – –

As the balder half of the Miller Brothers writing duo, Christopher is convinced that his receding hairline is actually a solar panel for great ideas. While the science behind this phenomenon is sketchy (at best) one thing is undeniable – his mind is a veritable greenhouse of imaginative story ideas. Oh, he’s also the co-author of three award-winning youth fiction novels (The Miller Brothers) and newly released novel based on a video game and a pair of children’s books. He’s listed as one of the top 100 twitter users in Washington State so you can likely find him there if you want to chat @millerbrother1.

Reading Is Worship 1: Foreword

Whatever story we’re reading, seeing, or hearing, we’re not simply critiquing or being entertained. We’re worshiping. So what is Biblical worship? When you read epic stories, what or who do you worship, by intention or accident?
on Aug 23, 2012 · No comments
· Series:

Whatever story we’re reading, seeing, or hearing, we’re not simply critiquing, being entertained, or even enjoying or discerning truths and beauties. We’re worshiping.

That’s what this new series is about: what and how speculative stories help us worship.

First, though it sounds silly, we may wrongfully, narrowly define “worship” as “singing, likely in one place at a particular time, such as Sunday morning.” I suspect more people would debunk that than affirm it, but I also suspect I’m being overly optimistic. So let’s clarify what I mean by “worship.”

1. Worship is more than singing.

Naturally this comes first. Has any Scripture, Church father, or noted Christian thinker ever claimed otherwise? I doubt even the most annoying and false-doctrine-riddled books have ever made such a claim. The suspicion otherwise is instead a folk-theology “meme,” floating about and un-attributed. Subconsciously we think: “singing = worship, not singing = non-worship.” But it takes only a light logical touch to persuade us otherwise.

In any activity, we worship something. For the Christian, we should be worshiping God:

So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do [certainly including reading fiction], do all to the glory of God.

1 Corinthians 10:31

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.

Colossians 3: 23-24

2. Worship is service.

In whatever our work, “You are serving the Lord Christ,” Paul says in Col. 3:24. Lest anyone balk at that, there is no such thing as the false dichotomy of “serving Christ” versus “serving nothing and being independent.” Without service to Christ, we are slaves to sin and death:

For when you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. But what fruit were you getting at that time from the things of which you are now ashamed? For the end of those things is death. But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life.

Romans 6: 20-22

3. Worship is service we enjoy.

I love Paul’s pragmatism to the Romans. See what you get by being a slave of righteousness! he announces. Similarly, Jesus never argues, “Join my Kingdom because it’s your duty and it’s The Right Thing.” No, He taught about rewards — first, spiritual resurrection and more of Himself right now, and then spiritual, even physical rewards in the future, for His glory.

That doesn’t minimize our suffering. It deepens it. After all, He Himself, “for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2). “He died out of love” is true. But so is “He died for joy.”

4. Worship isn’t always conscious.

From experience I can claim this: I end up worshiping wrong things without even knowing it. When my computer locks up (as it recently did for real, due to the horribly complex task of saving this very document) and I get irked, I betray a subconscious worship of myself. My assumption is this: “I run this universe, I’m god, and the universe ought not sin against me.”

More positively, I’m not convinced worship of God needs to be fully “conscious” either. That is, I wonder: can someone worship God without specifically praying to, singing to, or even thinking about God? It would seem that is at least closer to “optimal” worship.

For example, consider Christians’ fight for humility. I’ve found that while intentional rejection of pride is very helpful, that can also backfire; as Screwtape pointed out, we can think to ourselves, “By Jove! I’m being humble,” then become proud of that. Rather, true humility seems to happen when we’re lost to ourselves, focusing on either others’ good, or Godly enjoyment. Naturally we ought to thank God for such good gifts. But it seems closer to humility — and worship — to not even think of how we can “use” that gift for other ends.

5. Worship of God is what Christ saves people to do.

Skip the ever-popular yet -controversial P-word here (predestination). The Apostle Paul starts the book of Ephesians like this:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved.

Ephesians 1: 3-6

“God saved me out of His love.” True. “He saved me so I could praise His grace.” Also true.

6. Worship is a battle, at least in this age.

Whatever your views on holiness, we can all agree: Scripture encourages us to fight for it. One of the best texts on this is Phil. 2: 12-13, which perfectly presents God’s work in us to make us holy, and our effort to do the same. Without holiness, we can’t get close to God; without getting close to God, we can’t worship Him. Thanks to Jesus’s life and death, those who repent and believe Him are not only counted guiltless, but counted righteous because of His righteousness. Yet until our resurrection, after His, we groan (Romans 8) and fight.

But of course, during that fight, we’re often eating, drinking, working, and reading, for other “glories.” It’s never “just a story”; it’s never “just entertainment.” All reading is worship — of God, or something else, or for the sin-fighting Christian, a mixture of each.

When you read epic stories, what or who do you worship, by intention or accident?

Coming next week and after: more on those wrong sorts of worship while we read.

Lewis and Literature In The Library

Work continues to collect all published, Christian speculative stories in one place — the Speculative Faith Library. This effort also helps reveal a few things about the Christian-spec story field and classic authors that you may not know.
on Aug 22, 2012 · No comments

Work continues to collect all published, Christian speculative stories in one place — the Speculative Faith Library.

That project has taken some time. We’ve been keeping it updated with newer novels, such as Eye of the Sword by Karyn Henely and Rift Jump by Greg Mitchell, while also adding older and classic titles. For instance, only recently is the Library listing what is, I believe, every single work of fiction by C. S. Lewis, including The Cosmic Trilogy and The Chronicles of Narnia series, The Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce, and Till We Have Faces. Before that come J. R. R. Tolkien’s works; in fact, if you sort all books with the oldest ones first, the only authors you will find are:

  1. The Hobbit, published September 21, 1937.

    J. R. R. Tolkien. (Currently The Hobbitis listed as the very first work of “modern” Christian speculative fiction.)

  2. C. S. Lewis. (Also currently, Out of the Silent Planet is listed as the second work of “modern” Christian speculative fiction.)
  3. Madeleine L’Engle.
  4. Stephen Lawhead.

A few bits of trivia come up thanks to the Library’s unique organization:

  1. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings was published contemporaneously with The Chronicles of Narnia. Somehow I, anyway, had always assumed one preceded the other.
  2. According to the Top Authors “cloud” box to the right of all library pages, Stephen Lawhead has written the most novels of all.
  3. Left Behind series primary author Jerry B. Jenkins seems to be a close second.
  4. Of library books entered so far, fantasy easily wins over science fiction.

Which have you read? What works are your favorites? Which stories do you hope to read?

Strangely enough, we discuss C.S. Lewis on Speculative Faith a lot.

Meanwhile, a few new features are at the library. You may have noticed that books whose authors have written guest columns here will have their bio and links included on the listing page. They also have their columns automatically displayed. Well, now more feature boxes will also recognize any blog discussions tagged with the name of an author or his/her book. Eventually, each Library novel listing may serve as a kind of “IMDB” for Christian speculative novels, giving you anything you’d want to know about a book’s themes, genres, author, creative process, trivia, audiences, and publishers.

As always, we want to feature your novel reviews, even if they have been previously published at your own website or on another site such as Amazon or Goodreads. Write a comment after a book you’ve read, or even better, submit your novel review. And if you haven’t yet seen your favorite published, Christian speculative novel in the Library, tell us about it — submit a novel.

 

Crossing The Pond

I’m enroute to Korea on a work trip today
on Aug 21, 2012 · No comments

I’m enroute to Korea on a work trip today, which either means I’ll have more interesting things to write about next week, or I’ll be struggling with spicy food and signs that look like this:

In the meantime, take a look at this blog post by spec-fic writer Aliette de Bodard, a French-Vietnamese author whose stories often deal with multicultural issues, something I don’t think we’ve talked much about here. She’s also got a lot of mouth-watering pictures of Vietnamese cuisine. Enjoy.

The Fairy Tale Phenomenon

Is our perception of fairy tales changing? As Dean said in his post Friday, some guys feel as if their “man card” is at risk if they admit to reading fairy tales. Tolkien has wars and a civilization-saving quest, outsmarting a dragon and evading goblins, but fairy tales are about saving a damsel in distress. The damsels, of course, very much want those stories told. But do guys want to read them?
on Aug 20, 2012 · No comments

Recently I received notice about a Publisher’s Weekly Book News article entitled “Fairy Tales Gone Bad: An Excerpt from ‘Lies, Knives, and Girls in Red Dresses.’ ” Apparently in this book by Ron Koertge and Andrea Dezso, the central figures in many popular fairy tales do unspeakable and surprising things. Coupled with the remarks about fairy tales our Friday guest, Dean Hardy, made, this article has me thinking about the progression of fairy tales.

Perhaps the most famous fairy tales, intended for an audience of adults and children alike, come from a collection by Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm, with Hans Christian Andersen’s, a close second. Both the German writers and their Dane counterpart published in the early 19th century. By the middle of the 20th century in America, fairy tale translations were commonly aimed at children, with some endings softened to remove images that might disturb young minds.

And there was plenty of material in those stories to disturb–child abuse, brutal deaths, prejudice, and the presence of evil in the world. The softened versions, perhaps epitomized by the Disney films and accompanying comic books, seemed to anchor fairy tales in the camp of stories for children.

I first realized that fairy tales were making a comeback for an older audience when I learned about Shannon Hale’s reinvention of a fairy tale in her debut novel The Goose Girl. Since then, I’ve found that writers like Robin McKinley (Rose Daughter, Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty and the Beast) and Donna Jo Napoli (Spinners, The Magic Circle, Zel, Crazy Jack) preceded her with fairy tale novelizations.

As so often happens, books, film, and TV mirror each other. When a genre becomes popular in one venue, it’s just a matter of time before it becomes popular in another. Fairy tales have had moderate success in movies since Princess Bride and Ever After. Now TV has discovered them as well, most notably in Grimm (NBC) and Once Upon A Time (ABC). Unlike the softened, for-children stories of thirty years ago, these shows have a decided, 21st century dark edge. Some might even say they lean toward horror.

Happily, Christians have joined the fairy tale retelling and/or invention. Melanie Dickerson (The Healer’s Apprentice, The Merchant’s Daughter) Anne Elisabeth Stengl (Tales of Goldstone Wood series), Suzanne Lakin (The Gates of Heaven series) are some of the authors writing novels either inspired by fairy tales or re-configuring them.

So I wonder. Is our perception of fairy tales changing? As Dean said in his post Friday, some guys feel as if their “man card” is at risk if they admit to reading fairy tales. Tolkien has wars and a civilization-saving quest, outsmarting a dragon and evading goblins, but fairy tales are about saving a damsel in distress. The damsels, of course, very much want those stories told. But do guys want to read them?

Have the “gender wars” made fairy tales unpalatable to men? The retelling, I notice, often makes the damsel the hero of her own story–though less so in those by Christians.

So many thoughts and questions. What effect do “no-rescue” stories–those in which the main character finds his or her own way out–have on our culture?

I’d love to hear your thoughts on fairy tales. Feel free to weigh in on any of these questions or pose your own. Have you read any of the more recent fairy tale retellings or any of the stories fashioned in the style of fairy tales? Is this a genre you want to see more of?

I’m looking forward to your thoughts.

Why Aren’t Adults More Inclined To Read Fantasy?

George MacDonald, a contemporary and friend of Lewis Carroll and Mark Twain, wrote fairy tales not only for children, but also for adults, and surprisingly, from our 21st century context, his work sold in the thousands of copies throughout Europe and also here in the U.S.
on Aug 17, 2012 · No comments

Rebecca recently blogged concerning “The Appeal Of Fantasy For Young Adults.” My intention in this article is to simply offer the contrary in question form. Why aren’t adults more attracted to fantasy, and even more specifically, why don’t more men read these books?

I have a confession to make. I am a 37 year-old man who enjoys many things most would consider “manly,” like the NFL, camping, fishing, and even NASCAR, but even with that said, many men would take my “man card” if they knew that I liked to read fairy tales.

Of course, like any other literary snob, I’m peculiar about what literature I digest, and I have found the fantasy and fairy tales of George MacDonald to be some of the most introspective and spiritually profound. It would not surprise my wife, on any given night, if she found me sitting by the fire and reading one of his many works.

Many of you may have read MacDonald’s Princess and the Goblin, which is what some say inspired J.R.R Tolkien’s goblins in the Misty Mountains in the Hobbit.  Others of you as children may have read MacDonald’s shorter fairy tales like The Light Princess or The Golden Key. But most don’t realize, and what made MacDonald unique, was that he wrote some of his fantasies and fairy tales directly for adults.

One of his most popular works, entitled Phantastes, was originally subtitled, “a Faerie Romance for Men and Women.”  This was the work for which C.S. Lewis wrote, “That night my imagination was, in a certain sense, baptized; the rest of me, not unnaturally, took longer. I had not the faintest notion what I had let myself in for by buying Phantastes.”

So, this contemporary and friend of Lewis Carroll and Mark Twain wrote fairy tales not only for children, but also for adults, and surprisingly, from our 21st century context, MacDonald’s work sold in the thousands of copies throughout Europe and also here in the U.S.

One of the most oft asked questions I field when a newfound acquaintance realizes that I am a fantasy author is, “What age is your book written for?” or something of that sort. One time I need to answer, “Oh, sure, it’s for adults” just to see what sort of reaction I’d get. Those of you who know I am a huge fan of awkward moments in casual conversation may ask, “So, why don’t you do this?” Well, it’d be no fun, because I already know the reaction I’d likely receive: pooh-pooh. (For those of you who don’t have “pooh-pooh” in your vocabulary, it is a legitimate term that means ‘to express contempt or to make light of.’)  How do I know? Because of how I answer their question in reality, “Oh, well, Magnus Kir is written for a middle-grade audience, but older students and adults can get something out of it.” Something usually happens to the person’s face at the end of that sentence. It’s not obvious—usually a squint or raise of the eyebrow, or a slight turn of the head, or even an audible “huh.” No matter, I know what they are thinking: “why would I read a fantasy book?”

This is why I’ve posed the question. In the Victorian mindset, for a man to work on his farm, or play some croquet, cricket, golf or even join some friends for some foxhunting, then retire to his room to read a fairy tale was no inconsistency; but this would not work in today’s culture. Why is this the case? Have we not cultivated the minds of the young to enjoy such stories? Or are we simply not churning out works of MacDonald’s caliber? I’m interested to see what you think.

– – – – –

Dean Hardy is the Bible Department Chair at Charlotte Christian School in North Carolina. His resume includes working with Palm Beach County Youth for Christ and a Masters degree under the tutelage of Norman Geisler at Southern Evangelical Seminary. In his spare time he enjoys watching Nascar races and the NFL as well as dabbling in philosophy and reading the works of C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, and George MacDonald. Dean lives with his beautiful wife and two young sons in Matthews, NC. To learn more about Dean and his writing visit his Website, follow him on Twitter, or on Facebook.

Shallow Reasons To Support ‘Narnia’ 2

Why do some force shallow, over-“spiritual” allegories on the “Narnia” stories — to the extent of claiming Aslan’s tent equals the Tabernacle, the Professor’s house equals the church, or the wardrobe equals the Bible?
on Aug 16, 2012 · No comments

Since part 1, I’ve tried to come up with reasons why good Christians, such as this one, over-“spiritualize” The Chronicles of Narnia. That is, instead of humbly being “under” the story according to the story’s “rules,” they find shallow comparisons to figures like King David or the Apostle Peter, and insist that only these “allegories” make the stories “Christian.” Why?

  1. They expect or want all stories to be like Pilgrim’s Progress, the classic work by John Bunyan (who himself faced confusion in his day!).
  2. They take a wrongful pragmatic approach. Instead of Biblical pragmatism — “enjoy whatever glorifies God according to His Word” — they say, “do what works to reach souls.” So Narnia, being popular even among non-Christians, is “what works.”
  3. They haven’t trained their imaginations in varying ways. To them, merely dressing up a Biblical account with different names is highly creative.
  4. They truly take joy in Narnia, but somehow believe only “allegories” justify that love.

My intent is not to pick on these folks. They are my brothers and sisters in Christ. If Peter Hammond, writer of this article, were with me now, I would buy him a coffee and later say:

“Hey brother, I think you mean well, but your approach to ‘Narnia’ lessens worship of God. If you go after all those symbols first, in this way, you not only miss the truly deep symbols of the story, but you put yourself in a position over it. You would be salvaging the story for useful parts for your own ends — or more likely, the ends of others, for the Moral Education of Children — and not for personal worship of God.”

Silly symbol-casting

In parsing this next portion, I do not imply doubt that the LWW story, or even the film, are rich in symbols. Even a thing as simple as a tent for shelter may incidentally reflect God’s tabernacle. After all, God as Creator has arranged for a real world in which clothing, tents, dwellings and so on, may transcendently echo truths about shelter or His tabernacling.

But conceding this and being open to such incidental reflections is far different from saying, as this writer says, “this equals that,” with such certainty. Hammond does this in saying:

The first time that Aslan is seen is as he comes out of the pavilion (tent.)  This symbolizes the Tabernacle of God’s presence.

How does he know for certain what this symbolizes, especially because the tent from which Aslan emerges is only in the film? (In the book, readers first “see” Aslan outside a tent.) But primarily, this shallow story approach skips past worshipful, childlike delight under a story in favor of supervisory, “grown-up” interpretation over it. That shows little respect for this story’s author, nor does it focus on worshiping to the ultimate Author.

“The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe” is rich in symbolism. […] The manor of Prof. Kirke is symbolic of the church. The neglected wardrobe in the attic symbolizes the Bible through which we discover God’s Will.

The professor’s house is first “symbolic” of — guess what — the professor’s house. In the story-world, it is a literal object. May it have symbolic meaning? Perhaps. Should we say “this is what it is”? No. It ignores the story’s prime intent in favor of a hypothetical symbol.

The eldest boy, Peter (later the High King) has a role similar to that of the apostle Peter.  Susan and Lucy are much like Mary and Martha, the last at the cross, and the first at the tomb.  Additionally, Lucy parallels John, the disciple “whom Jesus loved” one of the most dedicated of Christ’s followers. Edmund is analogist to Saul, the persecutor of the first Christians, who became the great missionary Paul. […] Susan obtains a horn to summon help, and a bow and arrows.  These symbolise her ministry of prayer, including imprecatory prayer – summoning help and being used of the Lord to defend the righteous against the wicked. Lucy receives a vial with healing ointment to minister to the wounded.

This is what happens with attempts to force shallow allegories on this story:

  1. They ignore the author’s intent. (I do not recall Lewis ever claiming he meant such overt parallels. So at best, comparison-makers must use the word “might.”)
  2. They ignore this genre “rule”: In the story-world, these are primarily real people, not merely allegorical stand-ins for specific historical figures recorded in the Bible.
  3. Lastly — and I cannot say this enough — this approach flagrantly ignores the first goal of this story: to imagine yourself seeing this world through a character’s eyes from inside the world, not foremost as an Adult Analyst.

It should be noted that the characters of the children in the book don’t bicker and whine and hesitate to do their duty as the film version depicts them, in ways more appropriate for the 21stCentury brats than the 1940’s children of C.S. Lewis novel.

Arguably, the film did try to represent the children as more “realistic” in its writers’ views.

(In the words of the script itself, Susan makes a suggestion, which Peter rebuffs, after which Susan says, “I’m just trying to be realistic.” Peter rejoins, “No, you’re just trying to be smart! As usual!” Here, Susan symbolizes the film’s writers, and Peter symbolizes Narnia fans. 🙂 )

However, it is simply undiscerning to say the children never argue or hesitate. In the book, Peter and Edmund fight, Susan tries to stop them, and lastly, even innocent Lucy must be chided by Aslan for her selfishness. Implying that stories must show only well-behaved people isn’t helpful. Scripture implicitly rebuts this. And as Russell Moore notes:

“When we merely present [in our stories for children] ‘good role models’—happy youngsters in safe places making wise choices—our children will soon wonder whether we are telling the truth, or they will come to see themselves as freakishly fearful.” — from Christianity Today

It may be accidental reverse “chronological snobbery” (to borrow Lewis’s term) to suggest that “1940s children” were always better-behaved or less sinful than modern children.

In the “Chronicles,” creatures with an animal body and human head (like the Centaurs) symbolise reason over passion.  These creatures serve Aslan.

Nothing in the story contradicts this. However, Aslan is also served by Talking Beasts, such as beavers, leopards, other lions, and dogs. Among the great Lion’s followers are also magic creatures such as fauns, satyrs, and tree- and well-spirits. Exploring why Lewis wanted to include “pagan” creatures, under the rule of their creator Aslan, reveals more of the story’s purpose. This also leads us to worship the God Who redeems we as pagan creatures.

After witnessing Aslan’s suffering and death, Susan and Lucy maintain a vigil over his body.  As the night darkens, they note that all the stars get fainter “all except one very big one low down on the eastern horizon.”  This refers to Christ as “the bright and morning star” Revelation 22:16.

It might. But it may also reference Venus. In mythology Venus is associated with the giving of life. We should say “this might refer …” instead of “this refers.”

Only ‘for children’?

The most revealing, foundational belief of shallow story approaches may be here:

Dr. Ted Baehr describes “The Lion” as “The Passion of the Christ” for children.

Why only “for children”? What else can this be except plain “grown-up” arrogance?

Fairy tales and fantasy are timeless. They often reflect truths better than nonfiction and even other fiction. Jesus told stories not “for children” but for all who “had ears to hear.” Lewis also was not only writing for children. And if grown-ups have decided that LWW is only “for children,” and so grown-ups may ignore it, they should consider this:

When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things [1 Cor. 13:11], including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.

— from “On Three Ways of Writing for Children”

How to apply this Biblically inspired truth? You may know and may say so below. Here is how I would apply it, and what I would say to well-meaning but shallow Narnia defenders:

  • Don’t miss childlike wonder and coming “under” a story like Narnia, or any other story, in your attempts to be “very grown-up” and only Instruct the Children.
  • Don’t make absolute claims that “this equals that,” ignoring the story’s “rules” and the need to be humble about what its literal objects might mean on a deeper level.
  • Don’t approach a story with a spirit of “what can I use for my goals,” any more than you would do this for the Bible. Instead, approach a story with a spirit of worship for the ultimate Author. Practice delight and discernment in a human author’s skills.
  • Don’t only look out for clear Christian references. Focus on creative beauties that urge delight in the ultimate Beauty, God Himself, in personal, emotional worship.

Temples, Old and New

No video this week, but I am talking about butterflies and time travel. Yes, they are related.
on Aug 15, 2012 · No comments

Sorry, folks, no video this time around. The writing life has hit me a little hard and the time I needed to put a video together just wasn’t available this time around. That doesn’t mean I won’t ever put a video together again. It just means that I have to do it the “old fashioned” way this time around.

A few years ago, I was learning how to teach a Bible study curriculum called Crossways (which is awesome, BTW). Dr. Harry Wendt, the study’s author, brought out a souvenir he had purchased in Jerusalem a number of years ago. It was a picture of the Jerusalem skyline with a small alteration. Someone had photoshopped out the Dome of the Rock and replaced with a new Temple. It was one of the scariest things I had ever seen (but more on that in two weeks. Who says cliffhangers always have to come at the end of something?).

While it may have frightened me, it’s also the hope of many Jews and also many Christians, especially if they’re dispensational premillennialists. For those who hold to that particular eschatological tilt, it’s something they expect to see happen at some point. A Third Temple will be built on the site of the previous two.

But is that really what needs to happen? Do we need a Third Temple? Or has God fulfilled the concept of the Temple with something far greater? Now obviously, I’m speaking from an amillennialist viewpoint, but I would say that the answer to those three questions are, “No, no, and yes.” Let me explain.

Let’s start by talking about butterflies. For the past several years, I’ve been toying around with something I like to call “Butterfly Theology.” I’ve noticed that several concepts in the Bible go through a transformation of sorts, and they all follow the pattern of a butterfly’s life cycle (which, for those of you who have forgotten their life sciences, is egg, caterpillar, cocoon/chrysalis, butterfly). One such instance occurs with the concept of Temple:

THE EGG: This concept starts out as the Tabernacle that God commands Moses to make after the Exodus. It was a tent that will house God’s Presence, one set up in the middle of Israel (Exodus 25-31, 35-40). When Israel camped somewhere, the Tabernacle was at the heart of the camp, reminding God’s people that God dwelt in their midst.

THE CATERPILLAR: Eventually, King Solomon built a Temple in Jerusalem. When the Temple was dedicated, God’s Presence filled it with His glory (2 Chronicles 7:1-3). But because of Israel’s sin, the glory was eventually driven out (Ezekiel 10:4-5, 18-22) and the Temple itself was destroyed and God’s people were taken into exile (2 Kings 25:1-21). When they returned from exile, they rebuilt the Temple (Ezra 3). Interestingly, when they finished, the glory didn’t show up again (Ezra 6:16-18). The same thing is true when King Herod the Great renovates the exile’s Temple and makes it much larger and grander (that’s based on the writings of Flavius Josephus, who notes a number of apparent supernatural happenings before Herod’s Temple is destroyed but makes no mention of anything happening when it’s dedicated).

So it’s time for the cocoon, the time when the caterpillar is transformed in a radical way and is still the same organism somehow. When it comes to butterfly theology, the cocoon is always the same thing: Christ.

THE COCOON: In many ways, Jesus fulfills, transcends, and transforms the concept of the Temple. Think John 1:14, which uses Temple terminology to talk about how Christ dwelt in our midst (the same way the Tabernacle did). Think John 1:51, where He implies that He has replaced the Foundation Stone with Himself. Think John 2:13-22, where He refers to Himself as the Temple (a charge that would later be repeated at His trial before the Sanhedrin). In Jesus, the Glory of God (the same glory that never returned to the Jerusalem Temple) dwelt among us. He became a new and better Temple.

THE BUTTERFLY: And stemming out from Jesus, a new Temple has been built upon the foundation of the prophets and apostles, one built out of living stones with Christ as the cornerstone. The Church is the new Temple. That’s usually what St. Paul is talking about when he uses the term. That’s how St. Peter uses the term when he talks about Christians being built together as living stones. In its present form, the Temple is so much greater than a stone building in one city. It’s a way for God’s presence to be among His people all over the world, hearkening to what Jesus told the Samaritan woman in John 4:21-24.

The question I have is this: why rip the wings off a butterfly to make it a caterpillar again?

That seems to be a question that the author of Hebrews asks as well. The entire book of Hebrews, apparently written to Jewish Christians thinking of dropping the latter part. The author points out that the New Covenant supersedes the Old in every way. He makes the argument that the trappings of the Old Covenant were mere shadows of a greater reality to come. The question he asks is why would we want to go back to the shadows when we’ve seen the greater reality?

It’s a valid question, and one we have to ask about building a Third Temple. Do we really need one? The Temple was the place where sacrifices were made so sins could be forgiven. If Christ’s death is all sufficient, why do we need a place for more sacrifices? The Temple was the place where God dwelt among His people. He does that now through the Church. Why go backwards?

“But John,” some of you may be saying, “what about Ezekiel’s vision of a new temple in Ezekiel 40-43? The exile’s Temple and Herod’s Temple don’t match the dimensions Ezekiel describes. Doesn’t that mean there’s a Third Temple that needs to be built?”

It’s true, Ezekiel does seem to see a vision of a future Temple. But there’s something that’s always struck me as odd about that vision is this: where are the height measurements? While Ezekiel records the length and width of the rooms in this supposed Third Temple, he doesn’t give us many measurements of how tall the rooms are supposed to be. There are a few, but not nearly enough. If this Temple were really going to be built, wouldn’t we need full measurements in every direction to make it happen?

So what is this Temple vision? I believe it’s God’s way of trying to communicate a concept to Ezekiel in terms he can understand.

The best example I can think of is this: suppose I were to go back in time to . . . say, Martin Luther’s time. Naturally, I’d be cautious about revealing too much information about the future. But then, let’s say that something happens to my time machine and I wind up stranded in 16th century Germany. Marty takes me out drinking and I wind up spilling my guts. Er . . . bad choice of metaphor. I wind up telling him that I’m from the future. So Marty asks what the future is like, and I respond with, “Oh, it’s awesome. There are cars and planes and computers . . .”

Would he have any idea what I’m talking about? Of course not. So he asks what cars and planes and computers are. If I want him to understand, I’d have to use terminology he knows. So I explain that in the future, we’ll have horseless carriages and giant metal birds that fly around with people inside them and boxes that sit on desks and . . . well, I’m not sure how to explain computers in a 16th century way.

Those examples would help communicate the concept, but not the specifics. For example, when thinking of an airplane, Marty may think of this:

Not exactly what I had in mind, right?

I think something similar is happening here. God wanted to communicate a very specific idea to Ezekiel: a time was coming when His presence would once again be in the midst of His people (notice in Ezekiel 48, the Temple is in the center of the city, which is partitioned for the tribes). But because Ezekiel couldn’t quite grasp the exact nature of this return, God used ideas that he could grasp.

So what was that specific idea? Well, can you think of a time when water flowed out of a Temple (Ezekiel 47)? Here’s a hint: John 19:34.

My theory is that God was trying to tell Ezekiel about Jesus. The problem is that now, people are assuming He was talking about a giant metal chicken.

Wait, I’m mixing my metaphors there, aren’t I?

The point remains: from where I’m sitting, the earthly Temple has been transformed, through Christ, into something far greater than it ever could have been as a stone building. To go back to that single edifice would be like ripping the wings off a butterfly.

Now that doesn’t mean that I don’t think a Temple might never be rebuilt in Jerusalem. There’s a big difference between will and should be. Will it? I have no idea. Should it be? This amillennialist says, “No.” We haven’t needed it for two thousand years and we won’t need it in the future.

This may seem like a lot of dithering over a minor point, but in two weeks, I’ll talk about why this is actually fairly important. When theological rubber hits the road, all sorts of things can happen and sometimes, they’re not that good. So I’ll see you in two weeks. Maybe in video form.