I began this series because I wanted to explore the dark themes of Christian fiction. I don’t want to just discuss it; I want to touch it. I want light so bright that anything dark distracts, and darkness so black the tiniest speck of light blinds us. I want to see dead men come to life and living men exposed as dead. Show me the monsters, the demons, the cruelty of men; let me see the bleak underbelly of sin and smell the decaying corpses inside open, beautified graves.

Let me see the dark fury of a good man and the horrible sacrifice of the righteous.

Take me to hallowed ground and show me where the blood was spilled.

Take me to a borrowed tomb and let’s see that its intended guest was buried elsewhere. Now there’s a mystery.

Hallow’s Eve: Where Heaven and Hell meet and the saints spring from their graves; where the Long Dark begins, and the Supernatural kisses the earth. Hallow’s Eve, such fertile ground for spinning tales of ghosts and good and evil, where angels and demons are on the hunt and we mortals delve into what we don’t understand.

I have a friend who has, among several, a goal in life to make me appreciate the truths to behold in genres I wouldn’t normally read. He pulls redemptive themes from stories that stretch my toleration, then challenges me to a better perspective. He convinced me to give Harry Potter a shot, taught me the value of vampire stories and Harry Dresden novels, and is still working hard at pulling me into the zombie and werewolf lore (he’s had a far easier time with the werewolves than vampires or zombies).

It helps me to understand the truths expressed in Mr. Godawa’s posts on the horror genre and glean depth from chick-flicks and Disney cartoons. Buffy and X-Men. Children’s books about lost seals and wonderful retelling of the Rumpelstiltskin story.

The Supernatural exists.

I’m not sure we understand: The Supernatural exists.

I befriended this Catholic writer who likes to write stories about angels. She said her fascination developed as she studied books on angels and realized that there was no need to create fantasy worlds when an entire realm of reality exists that we just don’t know much about. Angels and demons exist; why not write them?

The Psalms says Adam’s race was made “a little lower than the angels,” and Lewis called us half-breeds. Before the creation of the cosmos, the Spirit of God hovered over the deep; and the earth was void and formless. There was no light yet. There were no stars, sun, moon, planets, angels, or demons. Then God created everything, and put little mud people — both spirit and flesh — in command. Then we broke the universe.

From Scripture we glean easily that two armies are at war: Terrifying people whose presence shines like the sun and makes men fall to their knees, riding chariots and wielding bows, swords, and spears. They ride on horses or fly through the heavens and some are so fierce they’ve been chained up and locked away until the last battle. They gang up on demons together (Daniel) and fight over human bodies (Jude).

I think we possibly misunderstand why sorcery and magic are condemned in Scriptures. Jesus had the perfect opportunity to say “there are no ghosts” out at Galilee, but instead he only says “I’m not a ghost.” Saul’s medium didn’t just conjure a demon; she summoned Samuel’s ghost. Now try that one on for size: The man died and went to heaven, and a medium summoned his soul. So, rather clearly, God isn’t saying “Don’t communicate with the dead because they’re really demons.” He means “don’t communicate with the dead.” It’s not that it can’t be done; it’s that it shouldn’t be done.

Similarly, you have magicians in Egypt who could mimic the “water to blood” trick on the small scale and the “staff to snake” trick; you had Balaam son of Peor (remember the Balaam’s donkey scenario?) who, though pagan, conversed rather freely with the One True God; and you had astrologers from the East visit Jesus’ house. Again, it’s not that these tricks can’t be done, but that they shouldn’t be.

But you have other odd things, too: Prophets teleporting (Obadiah was concerned the Spirit would whisk Elijah off and get Obadiah killed); people disappearing into the heavens (Elijah, Enoch); judges and soldiers with sudden superhuman strength; smoke, fire, and a voice billowing down from a mountain; large bodies of water parting, then crashing down on enemies; the earth splitting open under the feet of rebels; donkeys talking; bears devouring teenage gangsters; huge fish swallowing men alive; tax money turning up inside fishes’ mouths; smoking pots hovering over the ground; and demon-possessed men, women, children, and animals.

The Supernatural exists.

I think my Catholic correspondent was right: There’s an entire reality right at our fingertips, and we’re smack in the middle of something we can’t see most of the time but very much feel.

Halloween. I’ll be honest, on the surface, the 31st of October holds absolutely no value in my mind. I said in a comment last week that I associate the 31st more with Reformation Day (the day Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses on the door of the church) than trick or treating, fall festivals, Samhain, witches, demons, or anything else.

But, as with all good spook stories, the best story-fodder lies beneath the innocent trick or treaters on their annual candy drive with their friends and neighbors. And Halloween has so many varying, conflicting stories behind it that the truth lies buried somewhere near the middle of the pile just waiting to be unleashed.

Of course, we all know what happens once ancient things get unburied.

Given the collective angst from the Christian community every year over Halloween, it seems odd to me how little attention is given to November 1, celebrated in Western Christian tradition as “All Saints Day,” a time to honor and remember exemplars of the faith, people historically recognized by the Church as having “run well” the race all believers are called to contest. I’d think it would be something we’d embrace wholeheartedly and celebrate.

Maybe it’s just too Catholic. The Reformation and its fallout gradually soured many of us in the Protestant stream on the idea that anybody not showcased in the Bible, with the possible exception of our grandmothers, could be worthy of emulation. We’re all sinners, all equal in God’s sight, and our righteousness is as filthy rags before Him. Why should we look to any mortal man or woman as an example of how to live the Christian life? It seems so…idolatrous, so arrogant to assign the title “Saint” to anyone, beyond the generic meaning shared by all believers. We’re all saints, sanctified to God, called to follow in Christ’s footsteps.

True enough. And yet…

And yet, there’s something deep within us that cries out for heroes worthy of our admiration and emulation. Certainly Jesus is our hero, the ultimate hero, but this is a little different. We see it in our literature. Every story, speculative or otherwise, worthy of calling itself a story, has a hero or heroine. They don’t have to be perfect—from a storytelling point of view, it’s better that they aren’t.  What they must do is fight, struggle, and persevere in the face of opposition and their own flaws. As we read, we put ourselves in their shoes and ask ourselves the same questions: Can I endure? Can I survive? Can I win out? And the hero’s answer is, Yes. It is possible. Have courage.

One of my favorite movies, The Incredibles, is about heroes, and it not only wrestles with the question of what a hero should be, it shows how drab a world without heroes can be. Removing heroes from our life leaves a vacuum, and we might not like what comes along to fill it.

The Bible itself continually points us to human examples of heroic faith, and not all of them are marquee names or even identified as individuals. In Hebrews 11, we find what is colloquially known as “Faith’s Hall of Fame,” which lists not only Abraham and Moses and David, but “…others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were put to death by stoning; they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, living in caves and in holes in the ground.”

Following in their footsteps are centuries of believers who’ve kept the faith despite unimaginable persecution and deprivation. We could probably all stand to dust off a little Church history and acquaint ourselves with the exploits of our spiritual grandcestors. I know I could.

We could also spend years debating why some of us succeed in our walk with God and why some of us fail. We can argue about free will versus predestination, irresistible versus resistible grace, or the nature of faith and our participation in it. At some point, though, I think we have to acknowledge that the Bible says, not just of Christ but also of ordinary human beings who have, with God’s help, done extraordinary things, Look at him. Look at her. Do likewise. They’re a benchmark. To ignore them, or those who have followed after them in turn, all pressing “toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God,” is to deny our own heritage, to deny any need to be different from the unbelieving world, any need to live differently.

Not a big fan of heroes.

Some people are threatened by heroes, because they not only serve as examples, they put our own shortcomings in sharp relief. Without heroes, It can be easier to absolve ourselves of any responsibility for our own actions. “They’re not really any better than me. Maybe they’re special, but so am I. So is everybody. We’re all special in our own way, and my way of being special is just as valid as anyone’s.”

And to paraphrase one of my favorite villains, “When everybody’s special, nobody will be.”

Every year around this time Christians begin a discussion about celebrating Halloween, but perhaps speculative writers, more so. The conversation is justifiable, especially in light of the fact that Halloween has become a highly commercial, and therefore, visible, holiday in the US. As a result, television programs, movies, and certainly commercials have some tie in to the weird, the supernatural.

For Christians, there seems to be a great divide when it comes to celebrating Halloween. Are we taking up the cause of the enemy if we carve a pumpkin and hand out candy to Trick-or-Treaters? Should we offer alternatives — a harvest festival instead of a haunted mansion — for our church activities? Should we seize the moment and build good will in our community by joining in wholeheartedly, or should we refuse to recognized the holiday, turn off the porch lights, and decline to answer the door when masquerading children arrive?

Satan.

As I see it, there are two critical issues that dictate our response to Halloween. The first is our attitude toward Satan and demons. Is he (and are they) real? How big a threat is he? How are we to respond/react to him?

Scripture gives clear answers to these questions. Satan is a real being, one referred to as the father of lies (see John 8:44) and as a being masquerading as an angel of light (see 2 Cor. 11:14).

In response to something Spec Faith co-contributor Stephen Burnett said in his article “Shooting at Halloween pumpkins”, I laid out an account of Old Testament references to Satan and his forces. For those who missed it, here, in part, is that comment:

Satan was abundantly active, starting in a certain garden where he brought his devilish behavior before Man and his wife. Another vivid depiction of Satan’s activity is detailed in the book of Job.

In Egypt, Moses faced Pharaoh’s conjurers. Certainly their source of power was not God, yet they duplicated a number of Moses’s miracles.

On the way to the Promised land, God instructed the people “They shall no longer sacrifice their sacrifices to the goat demons with which they play the harlot” (Lev. 17:7 a). Forty years later in Moses’s farewell speech, he described how the parents of the current generation had behaved:

They sacrificed to demons who were not God,
To gods whom they have not known,
New gods who came lately,
Whom your fathers did not dread. (Deut. 32:17)

I think it’s clear that the gods Israel continued to worship — and the ones worshiped by the neighboring people — were demons. Hence the admonishing to excise sorcery from their midst.

Unfortunately they didn’t obey but continued to involve themselves in demon worship:

But they mingled with the nations
And learned their practices,
And served their idols,
Which became a snare to them.
They even sacrificed their sons and their daughters to the demons (Ps. 106:35-37)

Then there was this verse in I Chronicles: “Then Satan stood up against Israel and moved David to number Israel.”

I could give you verses from Daniel too, showing that Satan was active in standing against his prayers, and that he was in fact “the prince” of, or had cohorts who were, known locations. Isaiah, too, and Zechariah had prophecies involving Satan.

The point is, Satan was very active in the Old Testament.

Scripture is also clear that Satan is a threat. He is described as an adversary and as a lion seeking to devour (see 1 Peter 5:8). He’s the accuser of the brethren (Rev. 12:10), the tempter (Mark 1:13), the one who snatches away the Word of God (Mark 4:15), the one who can bind (Luke 13:16) and destroy (1 Cor. 5:5) and torment the flesh (2 Cor. 12:7), who comes against us with schemes 2 Cor. 2:11), who demands to sift some (Luke 22:31) and possess others (John 13:27), who hinders believers in their ministry (1 Thess. 2:18).

Satan is real and he is a threat, but he is not greater than God. In fact his doom is sure. Scripture instructs us to be on the alert against him, to stand against him, to resist him, but Satan is a defeated foe (Col 2:15 and Rom. 16:20). We are never told to fear him.

The Imaginary.

The second critical issue when it comes to deciding how we are to deal with Halloween is our understanding of the imaginary. Dragons, vampires, cyclops, werewolves, zombies, goblins, orcs, trolls, and such are imaginary creatures from the pages of literature. Witches and wizards that wave magic wands and/or fly around on brooms are imaginary. Ghosts that float about like bedsheets and are friendly or who pop in and out of sight at will or move things about with a word are imaginary.

Are Christians ever instructed in Scripture to stand against the imaginary?

On the other hand, most of us recognize that these various creatures are or have been representative of evil. The question then becomes, are we handling evil correctly by giving attention to the things that have been used to represent it?

Along that line of thinking, I believe it’s fair to ask if we should avoid representations of snakes, because Satan entered one, lions because Scripture said he is one, and angels because he appears as one.

The greater question, it seems to me is whether or not dressing up in costumes of creatures that have an association with evil might trivialized evil, much the way the “red devil with horns and a pitch fork” image of Satan trivialized him so that fewer and fewer people believe he is a real being — not a good thing at all if we are to stand against him.

Halloween.

These two issues — what we believe about Satan and what we believe about the imaginary — collide in this one holiday. But there’s another element that must enter into the discussion because ultimately, what we do on Halloween is done in front of the watching world. We need to ask, what does our culture believe about Halloween?

As other comments to Stephen’s post reveal, some studying the holiday see its historical underpinnings — either pagan Celtic practices or early Church traditions. But what do ordinary people today see? Are our neighbors celebrating evil? Or are they having fun dressing up as something spooky? Are they going to haunted houses because they want to invoke the dead or because they want a shot of roller-coaster-ride-like adrenaline?

While we can’t deny that a fringe element — perhaps even a growing fringe element — see Halloween as a celebration of evil, I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that the majority of people in the US view it as nothing more than a reason to party. The activities are consistent with the day but have little or no meaning, much the way most people celebrate Christmas.

How we as Christians celebrate Halloween, then, hinges on these three factors — our view of Satan, our understanding of the imaginary, and what we want to say to our culture.

Is there one right way of doing Halloween? I don’t believe so. I do believe we should avoid pointing the finger at other Christians and saying that they’re doing it wrong. Paul speaks to this issue in Colossians 2: “Therefore no one is to act as your judge in regard to food or drink or in respect to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath Day” (v. 16). Those who choose to celebrate are just as clearly not to point the finger at those who choose not to celebrate.

The only way we can insure that Satan has his day is by our disunity, our unloving attitude, our angry arguments over whether or not we celebrate Halloween.

Note: The DarkTrench Saga‘s final volume, Freeheads, was published Oct. 1 by Marcher Lord Press, completing the three-book series by author Kerry Nietz.

Now that I’m done with it, I’ll talk about it.

The genesis of A Star Curiously Singing and its sequels is multifaceted. The one side, the non-controversial portion, stems from my technical background. Most people get that. They see how a former programmer could create a hero that is a future programmer. This implanted, hairless, tech-slave named Sandfly. Not a big stretch for a former Microsoftie, right? In fact, one might guess that there were times in my life that I felt like an implanted tech slave myself. (And you’d be correct! Read FoxTales!)

It is the other side that people wonder about, though. The controversial side. The religious side. So let’s talk about that.

In some respects, ASCS would’ve never been written without 9/11. The actions of those terrorists absolutely set the stage, but only in a generalized way. That event is the prism through which our current world is seen. Fact: There are followers of Islam who want very strongly to kill or enslave those not of their faith. (Except to a few members of The View panel, that fact is indisputable.)

But 9/11 wasn’t the reason for my books. They aren’t my way of striking back for those atrocities. What the context of 9/11 did was make me curious about what other faiths believe and teach. Made me search for correlations between beliefs and actions. And made me explore the uniqueness of Christianity.

In some ways, you can blame the DarkTrench series on my father. He’s an avid reader, and his last read is always available to me. In fact, if the book is something he feels strongly about, it is not just available, but often thrust upon.

One such acquisition was a book by Mark Steyn called America Alone.  The conclusions of that book are hard to dispute. Based solely on current birthrates, it projects the end of much of the western civilization, aside from America.

Why? Because most westernized nations are without a sustainable birth rate. In essence, the penchant for small families and abortion has subjugated those countries’ future.

To whom? To whomever is having children! And who would that be? (Hint: Osama bin Laden has 20 children. He was one of 53.)

Along with Steyn’s book, three others made their way into my hands. Two were similar in flavor, in that both were written by women who escaped Islamic cultures for America. (Because They Hate by Brigitte Gabriel, and Now They Call me Infidel by Nonie Darwish.) They put faces on the subject matter. Here are two people who lived in these cultures with higher birthrates. What were their lives like? What are their fears? What have they learned?

The fourth book brought the issue home. Stealth Jihad by Robert Spencer is all about the covert ways that sharia (Islamic) law is infiltrating American culture. It was a wake-up call. An eye-opener. Sharia wasn’t just an “over there” issue, it was a “right here” issue.

Taken together those four books allow for ample speculation as to a future world.

Fact: There are people, whether we like it or not, who want to see the entire world under sharia law. (Sorry again, View ladies. Just the facts here.)

So the principle speculative goal of A Star Curiously Singing and its sequels was to give those sharia-seekers what they are after. To create a world where sharia is the law of the land. What would that look like? What are the dangers? How would people behave and adapt? What do I fear for my children?

But how does a future tech-slave fit into that world of sharia law? Isn’t sharia by definition low tech living? Dressing and acting like the founders of Islam?

Well, yes and no.

I saw a documentary once on the Sultan of Brunei. In one segment there was a glimpse of this room where people were busy recording the Sultan’s favorite television shows. All day, every day. That’s right–at least three people spent their lives monitoring banks of screens and constantly swapping video tape. Making sure the Sultan got to view what he wanted, when he wanted.

To me, that made the idea of a tech slave entirely plausible amid a world of sharia. Of course there would still be people (undoubtedly rich people) with technology. And if it were five hundred years from now, it would probably be incredibly complex technology. Of course they would need someone to maintain it all. A person chosen (constructed?) for that purpose.

What if they had robots…humanoid robots? And what if one of those broke down as part of a top secret space mission?

Sounds like the beginnings of a speculative fiction novel, doesn’t it?

I should mention here that I never intended for anyone else to read my work. I knew it was going to be controversial and very non-PC. But I was writing it for me. It was an experiment on a number of levels. I was challenging myself. Seeing if I could write this very unique story, in an equally unique way.

I can still do that, right? Write whatever I want? In the comfort of my own home?

It wasn’t until after the first book was finished that I realized I had to share it. I didn’t want to, but I had this feeling, this writer’s nudge. The notion that what I had just written was unique enough that someone else ought to see it. I won’t say it was God’s prompting necessarily, but it was certainly a strong enough urge to overcome my reservations.

Plus, there had been many amazing coincidences as I wrote (and later edited) the book. Things that I wrote in ignorance, that later turned out to be true, or close enough to the truth to make me wonder: maybe this world isn’t just for me. Maybe I need to share it.

So I put out a fleece. I sent it to an editor I knew of. Paid his normal rate for examining my book and giving me his input. It was the least I could do, right? I was open to changing a lot of things about the book if he felt it was publishable. Not the message, necessarily. But otherwise a lot was open to negotiation.

Months went by. Then this editor, Jeff Gerke, responded. He said the book needed work, but in none of the areas I feared. Mostly expanding. Mostly more good stuff. He also said if his suggested work was completed, he would publish A Star Curiously Singing himself. Possibly have me write a trilogy in Sandfly’s world.

Now that was a surprise. I expected to be chastised, actually. Or warned away. Not complimented and encouraged. Offered a contract. And, though daunting, making his improvements made the story better. Some of its most touching and insightful moments came from those additions.

The next test, of course, was how the book would be perceived publicly. Following release day, I waited, sometimes fearful, to see what would happen next. How bad were the reviews going to be? How soon would the attacks come?

But again, I was surprised. ASCS got some of the nicest reviews. Many of them astounded me with their prescience.  Their ability to see things and meanings that even eluded me. Truth reveled outside my intent.

Honestly, I’ve been so blessed by the things people have said, and the friends I’ve made. That alone has made the journey worthwhile. Salved my early trepidations.

It hasn’t all been good, though. The DarkTrench trilogy has had some interesting criticisms, but not from the places I expected. The strongest reproaches have come from the Christian community. (With atheists being a strong second.)

Next I’d like to highlight (and respond) to some of those criticisms. This first is from a friend, and is part of an otherwise positive review. Still, it raises an important question…

The story could have been told without the Muslim content. Kerry could have just made up some fictional pagan society and the story wouldn’t have suffered. Why take a chance on alienating so many potential readers?

Fair point. I could have made up another society, or even gone with a completely godless society.

The latter alternative has been done to death, though. George Orwell (1984) did it, Aldous Huxley (Brave New World) did it, William F. Nolan (Logan’s Run) did it, and in some respects, so did Suzanne Collins in Hunger Games. My goal as a writer is to always be as unique as possible.

As to the pagan society alternative, the risk there is a loss of relevance. One objective of my books is to illustrate the differences between Christianity and other religions. In the second book, The Superlative Stream, there are actually three alternative belief systems represented.

One atheist reader picked up on my aim there, because he said this in a review: “This saga is ultimately about the superiority of God over Allah, Christianity over Islam. Absurd as it may seem these gods are viewed as separate entities in this world.”

Um, yes, that’s true. But that’s absolutely what Christians believe. We believe Jesus is God. Every other belief system thinks he was a good person, a prophet, a teacher, or worse.

So, yes, guilty as charged. No absurdity about it.

See, relevance is a good thing. When we attempt to teach, we need to be both relevant and specific. All other paths lead to confusion.

Speaking of which…

I do not appreciate this same message when any religion is portrayed as better than any other and think the implications behind this message are extremely dangerous. To me, any religious faith should promote tolerance – of all people and of all religions.

The saddest thing for me about this one is that it came from a judge in a Christian fiction contest. Someone who claims to be a follower of Jesus Christ—the Word made flesh, who died and rose again, and whose teachings and influence still shape our world—also feels that no religion is better than any other.

Sad.

Yet, it illustrates the very thing I wrote the books to combat. Spiritual relativism. The idea that every belief system is the same. The idea that all roads lead to the same place. Only someone who has never studied other faiths would believe that. Yet so many preach it with vigor.

Christianity is unique for very specific reasons. Christians should know that, and share it with others.

Speaking of which…

It dragged up every negative stereotype…within the first 50 pages of the book…and it only got worse from there. That’s not what I’m looking for when I buy Christian fiction.

Perhaps this person wasn’t aware that this was a speculative title. Speculative fiction by definition deals in generalities. I’m sure George Orwell wasn’t saying that all communist leaders were pigs when he wrote Animal Farm. He was dealing in generalities to illustrate a greater point.

To reiterate one of my earlier facts: There are large groups of people who want sharia everywhere.

My goal was to project that future. You can disagree with my prediction. Perhaps a world of sharia would be completely different from what we see in countries where it is practiced today.

But don’t forget, I’m not writing about your next-door neighbor. I’m writing about someone from the future, in a culture of the future. I can paint that picture any way I want.

I hope I’ve done so in an entertaining, unique, and thought-provoking way. Because I’m convinced it was a story meant to be told.

Done, done, and done.

Kerry Nietz is a refugee of the software industry. He spent more than a decade of his life flipping bits—first as one of the principal developers of the database product FoxPro for the now mythical Fox Software, and then as one of Bill Gates’s minions at Microsoft. He is a husband,  a father, a technophile, and a movie buff. Kerry is the author of The DarkTrench Saga trilogy and a memoir entitled FoxTales: Behind the Scenes at Fox Software.

Phew, phew, phew … (re-load, click-click, aim, fire) … phew-phew, phew-phew-phew.

Ah, the savory sight of that big orange vegetable bursting into gooey pulp, splattering all over walls or porch floors or front yards — all, of course, in my seven-year-old mind.

Yes, hello. My name is Stephen. (“Hiiii, Stephen.”) I’m not only a speculative reader and writer, out of that closet, but I’m a former child homeschool dweeb. (Now I am an adult homeschool dweeb.) Mind you, my issues were not limited to homeschooling practice, though I do believe homeschooled folks may statistically be more prone to this: taking a legitimate Christian dislike of Halloween, and stretching it into fearful, silly, or even magical and superstitious extremes.

Is this the part where I blast my parents for not letting me go get sugary handouts at the front doors of strangers? Nah. The fact is that today I care little for Halloween. And a lot of it is plain evil. Yes, redemptive horror is an optional genre for Christians to explore, especially because it’s in the Bible. But the horror-and-evil-for-its-own-sake stuff is not Biblical. And rampant sexualization of almost everything Halloween-ish makes it worse.

But those are others’ sins. Here I’ll describe my own sins, and, without lapsing into equally silly self-hated, or legalism against legalism, mock them openly.

And this is yet another issue that neatly bridges our real-life and fiction enjoyments.

Imaginary fiends

Image from ChristArt.com (free with credit).

From my memory, my parents wished simply to avoid and ignore Halloween. That was all. Just turn off the porch lights after dusk on Oct. 31st and act like it’s any other night.

But could I let it go that easily? Oh no. Visions of invisible devils drifting about the area, cackling with Satanic glee and getting mystic spiritual steroids from middle-school kids dressed up as ghosts or the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, were my own brain candy.

In the living room, I would press between curtains and window glass, staring into the front yard, like a white kid in a jungle hoping to catch a glimpse of these natives and their pagan practices. Will they come to the door anyway? Yeah, let them come anyway! Then a parent could answer, or I myself. I am Sorry. We Do Not Celebrate Halloween. Then the worldly kids would leave, dejected. I would cackle. Ha ha haaa! Foiled again, Satan! Your Army of Darkness™ isn’t welcome here. Score one more for righteousness.

Or this game. Does anyone else remember this game?

But this fun was not delayed until All Hallow’s Eve itself. While on errands, sitting in the backseat of the car, especially after dark when I couldn’t do what all homeschool kids do in the backseats of cars — read — I had the pumpkins. And plastic skeletons. Also the black-cat and witch and ghost props. Bonus points if they were lit up. Awww, yeahhh. I would load my imaginary six-shooter. Aim. Fire. Fire again. Rapid-fire. Phew phew phew!

Yes, before first-person shooter video games were even invented — and even if they had been, I wouldn’t have heard of them — I was playing my own version of Doom.

The secret enemy

Don’t be absurd. You were just a little kid. Indeed, and a little sinner, who’s still tempted to do the same kinds of sins — just as many Christians are. Even now I’m tempted to do my own little first-person shooter game at Christians who treat Halloween that way! In response to those who base their lives on Fighting Against X, it’s tempting to base one’s life on fighting them, and again miss the point of any true conflict: the happy end.

Could I reboot my own childhood in my own brain, self-righteously lecturing my own parents or pastors or Christian leaders about how they Should Have Done It? Sure. But it’s still an imaginary universe. Moreover, I still don’t recall hearing much teaching in support of rejecting Halloween or its evils. Even if I my parents did say more, would I really have listened? Heck no. This was too much fun. I could treat other people like bad guys. I can outsource blame from my own sinful heart and pin it on them! Or rather, on demons. Demons, after all, are the worst bad guys. They’re secretly behind, maybe not every bush (I tire of that cliché, just a bit), but every wickedly grinning pumpkin.

But come to think of it, Scripture seems to emphasize a very different villain than we may have been trained to demonize, or would prefer demonizing.

In the Old Testament, we hardly hear about the Devil. Instead, God gives His Law so that sinful people will grasp the seriousness of their own sin, not just the Devil’s power. Only in the New Testament is Satan more active. Jesus casts out demons, creatures whom we had before only read about more vaguely, which tormented King Saul or destroyed evil armies, and somehow on God’s behalf. Christ also tells his disciples to cast out demons, which they do, and which Christians, presumably, might still do.

In Acts, though, we read only brief mentions of Christians casting out demons; the Apostle Paul’s case is the most specific (Acts 16: 16-18). But what’s very strange there is that he seems not to have followed some Christian “deliverance ministry”-style routines on the subject. Paul put up with the demon-influenced girl’s ranting “for many days,” until finally commanding the demon, in Jesus’ Name, to get the Hell out of there.

Did he plead the blood? Take dominion? No. He was “greatly annoyed” (v. 18). And you can just imagine: Here the apostles were trying to go to pray (v. 16), and also preach the Gospel, and some demonized gadfly is tagging along. That Devil. He can be so irritating.

An honorable Adversary?

At the risk of minimizing the threat of the roaring lion (1 Peter 5:8), this is how the rest of the New Testament treats Satan: He’s a nuisance. “Resist him,” but know his attacks are not unique to you (1 Peter 5:9). “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you,” James tosses into his advice (James 4:7). Your primary target is your own sin-shrapnel.

How does that fit with many Christians’ views of demonic villains? Not very well. Even those who profess to believe Scripture’s sufficiency are tempted to fill in the apparent “gaps” of the Bible’s instruction about territorial spirits, exorcism methods, pleading the blood to drive out demons, and whatnot. We seem to have a spiritual military-industrial complex mainly against Satan. Scripture never encourages that. It’s instead distracted by odd obsessions with declaring war and fighting against personal sins.

I’m perplexed by what seems a mistrust of God to give us, in His Word, all that we need to know about what Satan and his real-life Army of Darkness are up to.

I’m also perplexed that Christians evidently believe the Devil is so stupid as to make his worst works so obviously revealed by wicked-looking decorations or covens routinely sacrificing goats in the woods. At some point, it seems, Satan gave up the whole “angel of light” routine (2 Cor. 11:14)? Instead demons are honest foes, standing proud in their redcoats (with optional pitchfork and forked-tail accessories), firing at Christians?

Perhaps most perplexing is when Christians, with the best of intentions, not only add to Scripture, but ignore or reject what is already there. Most recently I saw this yet again, in response to this solid column about Halloween. I don’t favor much of that site’s stuff, but when one commentator says this, I’m automatically on the article author’s side:

Are you kidding me? “Abstain from all appearance of evil” 1 Thes. 5:22, “neither be partaker of other men’s sins” 1 Tim. 5:22, etc.etc.

So get off the internet; all computers have the “appearance of evil” to me! Yes, I could say that, using this “principle,” but this verse nearly ties Matthew 7:1 (“Judge not …”) for the most-abused verse of Scripture. “Appearance of evil,” in the KJV, means actual evil has appeared. Other translations clarify this by saying “every form/kind of evil.” To ignore that and try to shut down someone’s appearance-only “sin” is to twist this verse and ignore other Scriptures, such the “meat sacrificed to idols” passage (1 Cor. 8-10).

But hey, why let that get in the way of historic superstitions and fear-based “warfare”?

All I can say now is that if I were the Devil — and unlike Christianized humanism would suggest, humans are closely related to him! — my central strategy would not be a full-frontal assault with Wiccanism and pagan practices. Rather, I’d send out that squadron as a bluff (with the added bonus of firming up the more-overt pagan political base). But the real gains would come from Christians’ response to the bluff: fear, mistrust of the Bible, neglect that Christ has already and openly mocked dark forces, and failure to fight the subtler sins of our own hearts while instead chasing after external-only enemies.

‘The Gospel trick’ — and treat

So that’s what not to do. A bunch of anti-anti-antis, all over again, to which I’m prone. (By the way, after his seasonal diversion, I’ll be returning to that series next week.)

What, then, do Christians who know of their sin-struggles and the Devil, do about him?

I could double this essay with suggestions. But Desiring God, specifically writer David Mathis, has already done this with Biblical brilliance. This more than deserves a quote here, followed by links, web-hits, and printouts and copies made, to deploy in real spiritual warfare — the kind that knows Jesus Christ has already beat the Devil and saved us from his fake kingdom on Earth, and that we’re just cleaning up the debris.

What if we didn’t think of ourselves as “in the world, but not of it,” but rather, as Jesus says in John 17, “not of the world, but sent into it”?

And what if that led us to move beyond our squabbles about whether or not we’re free to celebrate All Hallows’ Eve, and the main issue became whether our enjoyment of Jesus and his victory over Satan and the powers of darkness might incline us to think less about our private enjoyments and more about how we might love others? What if we took Halloween captive—along with “every thought” (2 Corinthians 10:5)—as an opportunity for gospel advance and bringing true joy to the unbelieving?

[…]

What if we didn’t merely go with the societal flow and unwittingly float with the cultural tide into and out of yet another Halloween? What if we didn’t observe the day with the same naïveté as our unbelieving neighbors and coworkers?

And what if we didn’t overreact to such nonchalance by simply withdrawing? What if Halloween wasn’t a night when Christians retreated in disapproval, but an occasion for storming the gates of hell?

The Gospel Trick

What if we ran Halloween through the grid of the gospel and pondered whether there might be a third path beyond naïveté and retreat? What if we took the perspective that all of life, Halloween included, is an opportunity for gospel advance? What if we saw Halloween not as a retreat but as a kind of gospel trick—an occasion to extend Christ’s cause on precisely the night when Satan may feel his strongest?

What if we took to the offensive on Halloween? Isn’t this how our God loves to show himself mighty? [Boldface emphasis added.] Just when the devil has a good head of steam, God, like a skilled ninja, uses the adversary’s body weight against him. It’s Satan’s own inertia that drives the stake into his heart. Just like the cross. It’s a kind of divine “trick”: Precisely when the demonic community thinks for sure they have Jesus cornered, he delivers the deathblow. Wasn’t it a Halloween-like gathering of darkness and demonic festival at Golgotha, the place of the Skull, when the God-man “disarmed the powers and authorities [and] made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them” at the cross (Colossians 2:15)?

There are two questions in life that make me cringe. The first is one I’ve heard for most of my life: “How tall are you?” An occupational hazard of being 6′ 6″, I suppose, but still. It gets old after a while, as do the follow up questions about weather at my altitude and what sports I currently play or have in the past.

The second has only popped up recently. When I tell people that my debut novel, Failstate, is going to be published by Marcher Lord Press in April, people will invariably ask me, “So how long have you been writing?” And when I hear that, I inevitably cringe, not because I’m annoyed, but because, well, it’s complicated.

The tl;dr version is this: “All my life.” For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing. The goofy thing is, I’ve always written with the dream of getting whatever literary masterpiece I was producing published.

For example: when I was in the fifth grade, a friend of mine and I became very concerned about the crisis facing many American farmers and we decided to do something about it. That “something” involved writing a book entitled Old McDonald Had a Farm. My friend would handle the middle of the story, I would write the beginning and the end. So she wrote about how Old McDonald drove to town to punch the banker in his rather immense nose. I wrote about how clam-headed aliens that could shoot lasers out of their eyes arrived to help Old McDonald save his farm.

Yeah, I’ve always written speculative fiction.

In spite of the rather inconsistent plot, my friend and I were convinced that once our book was published, we would rake in the money. We would magnanimously donate all of the profits to the suffering farmers.

After that project fell apart, I moved on to creating poorly drawn comic books about stick figure aliens. A year later, I wrote my first novel about an alien invasion of Earth. That led to a quasi-autobiographical novel about a teenage boy that had an alien computer implanted in his brain (long story, don’t ask). In high school, I wrote bad teenage mysteries, what basically amounted to Star Trek: The Next Generation fanfic, and some really bad Christian speculative fiction. In college, I wrote theatrical plays. In the seminary, I wrote movies. My writing career, such as it was, was all over the place.

The thing is, no matter how atrocious all of these projects were (and they were awful, no doubt about it), I always intended for them to be published. I just never knew the hows or the ins or outs.

It wasn’t until 2006, when I joined American Christian Fiction Writers that my writing career seemed to gel. I started to “take my writing seriously” and really study the craft. I started attending conferences, I networked with agents and editors, I started blogging, I set up a Facebook author page (no pressure), and so on and so forth. The end result? My life-long dream of getting published has come true.

There is a point to this, I promise, and it’s this: writing takes persistence. There were some days where I was sure that I would never get in print. There were days when I was ready to pack it all in. I’m glad that I didn’t. Granted, it took me 27-some-odd years to see that dream become a reality, but here I am.

My name is John W. Otte, and if my crazy dream to be published can come true, so can yours.

Glad to be here. Hope to have great conversations with you all in the coming weeks.

“I aim to misbehave.”

Some of you will probably remember this line from the motion picture, Serenity, capstone of the too-soon-departed western-in-space series, Firefly. Captain Malcolm Reynolds and his crew of misfits and fugitives discover evidence of a horrifying mass-murder perpetrated and covered-up by the Alliance government. There’s an even more horrifying consequence of this atrocity that I won’t mention for the sake of those who haven’t seen the movie.

Anyhow, Mal decides he can’t just walk away and return to his life as a smuggler living on the margins of society. It would be easy—he picked the losing side in a war for independence a long time ago, and on the face of it, going up against the Alliance with his one tiny ship looks even more like suicide. But he knows he won’t be able to live with himself if he lets this stand. He won’t submit to an unjust authority this time. He has to confront the evil and bring it into the light. Mal rallies his crew with an impassioned speech that ends with his homespun version of “Give me liberty, or give me death.” If you’ve seen the movie, you know the rest.

This scene came to mind when I read an article by Sally Apokedak at Novel Rocket that Becky Miller highlighted this weekend. Sally asks if writers should aim to avoid offending publishers. It’s a good question, worthy of discussion.

From a purely pragmatic point of view, the answer is yes. If you offend the publisher, you won’t get published. Case closed.

Being a community of Christian writers and readers, we can’t help but spiritualize this a bit. We might quote scriptures like Acts 5:29: “We ought to obey God rather than men,” and make the case that Christianity is inherently offensive to a sinful world, so if we dial back the Gospel and write stories that go down easier for secular audiences, we’re not being, well, Christian. After all, Jesus was always going up against the authorities of his day, overturning tables and calling out hypocrisy and talking about whitewashed tombs full of dead men’s bones. His was a call to revolutionary action!

On the other hand, we might take the position that we’re called to communicate the Gospel’s truth through word and example. Jesus taught through parable and storytelling, using plenty of metaphor in a way that was simultaneously accessible to the public and subversive to the conventional wisdom of his day. While he was angry with religious leaders who distorted God’s Word, he showed respect to civil authorities, including the hated Roman rulers of Palestine, and directed his followers to render “to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”

Of course, it’s not only secular publishers we have to worry about. Christian publishers have created their own standards of acceptability for Christian fiction, and some observers have argued, here and elsewhere, that the result is a homogenized product that looks Christian on the outside, but doesn’t grapple with the practical realities of living a Christian life in a fallen world. It may contain an unambiguous declaration of Christian faith without engaging the difficult questions of that faith that don’t end at the altar. It often sacrifices quality of craft and content for marketability, perpetuating a culture of feel-good books that don’t offend–or challenge–anybody.

And some might reply, “What’s wrong with feel-good books?” They can provide an oasis of calm in a frantic world, and a picture of life as it should be, lived in submission to a sovereign God. Lots of Christian readers want to read stories like that, and it would be selfish and unloving not to provide them. Christians should give offense to no one. People will be convinced of the Gospel’s truth by our love, how we live in harmony as a community of believers. We’re called to a life of peace and obedience. Why mirror the world’s tactics? We’re supposed to be different, living the principle of turning the other cheek to offense.

So, where does that leave me? I have a passel of contradictory guidance here, and the easiest solution would be to get out of Dodge…er…writing altogether because I just can’t win. No matter what I do, I can’t satisfy everybody, and they’re all making pretty good points.

I couldn’t live with myself if I did that, though, so I think I’ll aim to misbehave. It’s not the same as aiming to offend because the enemy in my sights isn’t a person, it’s a mindset. I don’t want to defy authority, I want to defy expectations. I want to surprise. I want to tell the Old, Old Story in new ways. I want to take approaches that work not just despite conventional wisdom but because conventional wisdom says they shouldn’t. I want to take the formula for “success” and not merely turn it on its head but scramble it up and give it a good shake. I want to tell the truth in a manner that resonates both inside and outside the Christian community.

It’s idealistic, and, most likely, impossible. I’ve probably got less chance of succeeding than Mal and company had going up against the Alliance armada. I don’t have a spaceship–I don’t even have a cool brown coat. As I shoot for the unconventional, I may fall into standard patterns from force of habit. I may confuse. I may even offend.  But I won’t stop trying, however imperfectly, and I think that’s the best I have to offer.

Who’s with me?

A couple years ago, I wrote a post about escapism, taking as the jumping off point, J. R. R. Tolkien’s line: “[critics] are confusing, not always by sincere error, the Escape of the Prisoner with the Flight of the Deserter.”

A little further on in the “On Fairy-Stories” essay, he said, “Not only do they confound the escape of the prisoner with the flight of the deserter; but they would seem to prefer the acquiescence of the ‘quisling’ to the resistance of the patriot.”

Are those our only two choices — giving in to our culture as traitors or fighting against it as a lover of what is right and true?

Is there no intersection in which we who know the truth can show it to our society rather than running from the assault or turning to fight? In other words, can’t we win the enemy rather than destroy him? Or perhaps, can’t we make the case that we’re in this together, that there are no “sides”?

The more I think about “escape,” the more I rebel at the idea.

If we were physically starving, I suspect we wouldn’t have such a great need to wile away time on light, fun entertainment that takes us away from our troubles. The only way to stave off hunger is to go about acquiring food.

Perhaps we think spiritual food is different, but I don’t think so. Our souls which are eternal need to be fed as much as do our bodies.

Perhaps we Christians believe ourselves to be well-fed spiritually. But what about all those starving children in China? Seriously. Don’t we have a responsibility to do something for those who are starving spiritually?

Some may think those who are starving don’t actually want what we have to offer. Ask atheists if they want what we who write Christian speculative fiction have to offer, and they will probably respond with a blank stare. Or worse.

They don’t know they’re starving. They don’t realize that they’ve been eating dirt to fill their stomachs so they won’t ache so much, but there is nothing of lasting value in what they’ve been ingesting that can keep them alive.

Don’t misunderstand. I’m not suggesting that the critics Tolkien was addressing were right in their assessment of “fairy stories.” Rather, I think what speculative fiction does is far greater than escape.

One comment to the post I mentioned earlier sheds light on this idea:

Calling fantasy the “flight of the deserter” does miss fantasy’s close connection with reality. But I think that calling fantasy the “escape of the prisoner” misses that connection just as much. The dichotomy seems to assume that the realm of fantasy has to be divorced from reality — whereas I think that the goal of Christian fantasy should be to unite them. Tolkien’s short stories, particularly Leaf by Niggle and Smith of Wootton Major, exhibit an idea that fantasy that is not escape, but a plunge into a deeper reality. Smith (of Wootton Major) makes many visits to Faerie, but those visits serve to enhance the enchantment of the real world when he returns. The existence of Faerie in Tolkien’s writings (including LotR) does not devalue reality but glorifies it. That glorification, I think, is the mark of good Christian fantasy: the writer sees the wonder and goodness (the “enchantment”) already existent in reality; but he also sees that there is more enchantment, more reality, to be had. (comment by Tim, In Search of the Perilous Realm – emphasis mine)

I like the idea that the writer sees the wonder and goodness existent in reality, not just the raw, gritty misery. Isn’t it part of our job to show the rest of the world what we see? That there is a better way than wallowing in the gutter, than eating dirt?

I also like the idea that the writer of good Christian fantasy sees there’s more reality to be had, which allows him to point forward to that which brings ultimate soul fulfillment.

Honestly, I’m having a harder and harder time trying to grasp why it is Christians want to escape. What do we have to escape from? We have Christ. We have His Holy Spirit. We have God’s Word. We have the hope of heaven.

I can see being tired and wanting to rest. However, I’m not successfully getting my thoughts around the idea of escape. Seems to me we should be the firefighters running toward the inferno, not away. We should be about pulling others to safety, about adding to the number who are heading to high ground.

In short, I think Christian speculative writers are best positioned to engage the culture. Engage it, not confront it.

What do you think? How is Christian speculative fiction engaging the culture? Must Christian writers leave Christian publishers and Christian bookstores in order to meet our culture where it’s at?

“My name is Jim and I’m a speculative writer …”

“Hiiiiii, Jim!”

I admit it now. Speculative fiction has been my passion since I was a kid, and I had wild dreams back then about writing it someday.

But I didn’t want the label when I was trying to break into the world of publishing. I knew it was the smooch of death in CBA, especially for a first time novelist. Not an easy sell.

So when people asked what I wrote, I responded, “Contemporary fiction with a flavoring of the supernatural.” Just a pinch—give it a little texture you know? No, of course it wouldn’t contain anything that would keep a pub house from offering me a contract.

Most people nodded, said something like, “Ohhh,” and moved on. But editor Andy Meisenheimer had to press the issue. As I sat with him at an ACFW conference dinner a few years back, he asked what I wrote, and I gave my standard answer.

“Interesting.” (Andy loves the spec genre.) “Tell me about your novel.”

“It’s about a young Seattle software tycoon who inherits a home on the Oregon coast that turns out to be a physical manifestation of his soul.”

“What!” Andy spewed Diet Coke onto the table. “A flavoring? The house is the guy’s soul, and that’s a flavoring of the supernatural? That’s about as spec as you can get and, uh, good luck with that.”

But I couldn’t give up on the story.

The writing was good enough to snag an agent, and my hopes soared. He shopped it to the major publishing houses in the fall of ’06. They all said, do not pass go, you won’t be collecting any money from us. Their typical rejection was, “Well, the guy can write, but I have no idea where we’d put this and he’s unknown. I don’t even know what genre it is. It doesn’t fit anywhere.”

Which was true.

But I was so passionate about the book I refused to believe it wouldn’t be published.

A year later I sat with David Webb, the executive director of fiction at B&H (who had rejected my book twelve months earlier) and introduced myself. He stared at me and said, “You’re the one? I’ve read 200 manuscripts since I read yours, but yours is the one I can’t get out of my head. Let’s take another run at it.”

I put together a new proposal. David liked it but said he needed the support of his Director of Marketing to get my manuscript through his publishing committee. He gave it to Julie Gwinn who loved it, and in the summer of ’08 (yes, for those of you who don’t already know this, traditional publishing is glacial) I got an offer. They didn’t have high hopes for the novel (as David said there wouldn’t be any bonnets on the cover), but he and Julie were willing to take a risk.

Those of you familiar with my books know I’ve just told the story of how my first novel ROOMS came to be published in April of 2010.

ROOMS became a bestseller, won the RT Book Reviews Inspirational Novel of the Year, was nominated for an INSPY award, and was a finalist for two ACFW Carol awards.

My second novel, BOOK OF DAYS came out in January, and THE CHAIR just released in September. (Christian Retailing Magazine made it their Top Pick for September.) And this past spring I signed a contract to write five more speculative novels.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is, don’t give up believing in Christian speculative fiction whether you read it or write it. (I mean, hey, the bestselling book of all time is racked and stacked with speculative stories. Yes, I’m talking about the Bible.)

I tell people I’d still be writing this weird type of fiction even if I was never going to be published. I know some writers have forsaken the love of spec fiction for another genre in hopes of getting published. I couldn’t do that.
I know, easy for me to say on this side of the coin, but it’s true. Time on this earth is limited, and I agree with Maximus that what we do in life echoes in eternity.

At the end of the age I don’t think Jesus will say, “Did you sell a bunch of books?” I think he’s more likely to say, “Did you follow the passion I put inside you with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, no matter the outcome?”

I’m trying to live my life so I can answer the latter question in the positive.

How are you living yours?

– – – – –
James L. Rubart is a husband, dad, author, and speaker—in that order. He’s the best-selling author of ROOMS, BOOK OF DAYS, and THE CHAIR. He graduated from the University of Washington with a degree in Broadcast Journalism. During the day he runs Barefoot Marketing which helps businesses and authors make more coin of the realm. In his free time he dirt bikes, backpacks, golfs, takes photos, and does the occasional sleight of hand. No, he doesn’t sleep much. He lives in the Pacific Northwest with his amazing wife and teenage sons and still thinks he’s young enough to water ski like a madman. Learn more at his web site.