I may be time-stamping myself here, but some of you may remember Brother Dominic:

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Brother Dominic finishes a painstakingly-illuminated manuscript and brings it to his Abbot, who likes it very much and wants 500 more copies. Being a modern monk who no doubt reads both Popular Mechanics and Analog in his spare time, Brother Dominic finds a technological solution to his problem. The Abbot is amazed. “It’s a miracle!”

Now, we could take Brother Dominic to task for not coming clean and correcting the Abbot’s misconception, but more on that later.

"I've read five miraculous things just this morning!"

As readers and writers of speculative fiction, we’re marinated in the miraculous. It’s easy to take for granted. All sorts of things happen that transcend the comprehension and capabilities of mortal men. Particularly in science fiction, there’s a rational explanation for most events, and it’s often tied to the technical sophistication of the society in question. Arthur C. Clarke coined a maxim about this, popularly known as Clarke’s Third Law: “Any sufficiently-advanced technology will be indistinguishable from magic.” I’m not equating magic and miracles here, but from what I know of Mr. Clarke, I doubt he’d have had any problem substituting “miracles” for “magic” in his maxim. You see a similar confusion between Divine intervention and paranormal manipulation in the Bible from the Egyptian Pharoah (Exodus 8:17-19) and Simon Magus (Acts 8:18-24).

The point is, technology can look supernatural. Imagine bringing a 1st Century man into our time and showing him any number of things we use every day: cell phones, television, electric lights–he’d have trouble interpreting them any other way than as magical talismans. And let’s face it–most of us don’t understand how this technology works, either. A common reply when asked to explain some complex device? “I don’t know–it’s magic.”

For Christians, there’s certainly a danger of depending on modern technology to solve our problems, and even provide miracles, at the expense of our faith in God to supply our needs. However, there’s a more insidious danger in going the other direction and slipping into a kind of spiritual Luddism that says technology is at best a distraction and at worst an imminent peril to our souls. With regard to miracles, “If science can explain it, it’s not a miracle.”

The problem I have with this point of view is that it assumes God’s intervention in the affairs of mankind is exceptional–rare, dramatic, and incomprehensible. It’s like saying God is only active in our lives when He’s parting the Red Sea or raising the dead.

The Bible tells us every good gift comes from God (James 1:16-18), “the Father of the heavenly lights.” I think it’s reasonable to conclude that everything that has emerged over the course of history that has made our lives less nasty, brutish, and short has sprung from God’s intervention and inspiration. Miracles. Millions of little ideas, insights, and happenings all building on one another. A glittering shower of illumination sprinkling down upon our benighted world from the Father of lights.

Makes me dizzy just thinking about it.

Getting back to our lovable friar–a chain of innovations and improvements stretching from Gutenberg’s printing press all the way to several thousand engineers working in cubicles at Xerox led up to the little miracle of producing 500 perfect copies of Brother Dominic’s beautiful manuscript in just a few minutes. We could say, “No, this isn’t a miracle. God didn’t make this happen, Xerox did.” Or, we might acknowledge that God had an interest and a direct role in making the printed word (and in this case, His printed Word) rapidly available to as many people as possible.

Yes, I think Brother Dominic should ‘fess up, but I think the Abbot’s got it right, too.

Romance for the "13-year-old soul"

I was put off by that very excess of romanticism; real love does not occur instantaneously; other people and pursuits do matter; no love is unconditional, and shouldn’t be. Edward now seems to me not romantic but creepy: breaking into Bella’s house to watch her sleep, obsessing over her every move, all but stalking her. She seems to me immature in her disdain for everyone but Edward: the “friends” she makes at school, the father who gives her a home and tries to please her, the entire Olympic Peninsula. The vampirism, in fact, seemed to me more believable than the relationship

Her remarks encapsulated what I’ve heard from others, but they also made me wonder: In a similar way, do we Christian writers romanticize Christ?

It’s hard to do, He being perfect and all. How do you make perfect look better than it is?

Perhaps His very perfection makes it daunting for authors to put Him in their stories at all, even in their fantasies. After all, characters need to be three dimensional, the writing experts tell us. We need to show strengths and weaknesses if a character is to be realistic. Putting a perfect Christ-figure into a story, then, would break all the writing rules (even the ones that don’t actually exist 😉 ).

Maybe this is why Aslan and Narnia are so popular. Lewis showed Christ, depicting Him as strong yet loving, still without fault and clearly believable — hence, no hint of romanticism.

I suspect, however, that the problem for most Christian fiction isn’t in romanticizing Christ — because, quite frankly, He isn’t in most Christian fiction, not even in a lot of speculative fiction. Rather we might be romanticizing our relationship with Him.

Christ, like His unseen Father, might be talked about and even talked to. Occasionally characters might hear His voice, though not audibly. And yet this relationship seems perfect. It changes people inside out and heals hurts, provides answers, lifts burdens.

Are there no rocky times? Do characters ever say no to the voice of God? Do they, like Jonah, ever head in the opposite direction, knowing that they are the cause of the disaster that befalls them? Do we only show David defeating Goliah, never him deserting to the Philistines?

And after characters say yes to God, do they ever split from their ministry partner like Paul did from Barnabas? Do they ever act the hypocrite as Peter did with the Gentile Christians when the Jewish ones showed up?

Yes, those last things might happen in our stories, but do we show them as part of imperfect human relationships or part of an imperfect relationship with Jesus?

And in the end, do we resolve the struggle in a way that suggests it is forever resolved?

Fairytale love stories ended, And they lived happily ever after. Is the same ending the implied promise of Christian fiction?

And how, since we know that there actually is an ultimate happily-ever-after ending which comes from our relationship with Christ, do we depict the not so happy here and now that a character must face even after meeting Him? If we leave that part out of the story, are we not creating a romanticized version of our relationship with Christ, one that ends up actually looking immature if not a little creepy to someone on the outside?

With Marc Schooley

What advantage does man have in all his work which he does under the sun?

-Eccl. 1:3

This year, as with every year past, I find myself busier than ever. Vanity of vanities, right?

Hebel (vanity, transitory, a mere breath) was also the name of Adam’s second child in the Genesis account. Abel. Transitory upon transitory, the Preacher says.

Behold, Thou hast made my days as handbreadths,
And my lifetime as nothing in Thy sight;
Surely every man at his best is a mere breath.

-Ps. 39:5

I think it’s a factor of the economy, but over the last year I’ve seen a few cases of discouragement among established writers. Not that they’ve jumped off a cliff, just that there’s a lot of discussion over the workload and the possibility that McDonald’s may have more job security and better pay. From time to time, I see a sense of discouragement over achievements that have proven to be more transitory than hoped.

So why am I working so hard at this stuff? Why do any of us believe in what we do?

Ecclesiastes happens to be a shared favorite book of the Bible between us. Perhaps it’s because it’s the one that’s written to the atheist worldview, albeit with a surface veneer of Jewish cultural practice overlaid. It addresses the materialist, existential worldview that exalts the doings of this life as the only immortality there can be.

There’s actually a lot of truth to that worldview, from the perspective of this earth. As far as anyone in this world is concerned, all that’s left of us after death is the idea we create of ourselves for others to encounter. So did we leave a legacy of waste and self-amusement? Were we achievers for the Lord? Does our example do the talking for us? Did we leave a good story behind for others?

Have we bought the earthly outlook—that the persisting idea of ourselves is the thing which matters most after death? That life is about the story we write for our posterity?

It’s interesting what Solomon says about legacy.

So I hated life, for the work which had been done under the sun was grievous to me; because everything is futility and striving after wind. Thus I hated all the fruit of my labor for which I had labored under the sun, for I must leave it to the man who will come after me.

And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? Yet he will have control over all the fruit of my labor for which I have labored by acting wisely. This too is vanity. –Eccl. 2:17-19

This life, whether for good or for evil, for work or fun, is wearying. We grow old, and we wear out and pass away, and the winds turn onward, always circling. And the world turns onward, striving after them. All is transitory, striving in circles for something that can’t be caught in our hands.

The Preacher sought to find delightful words and to write words of truth correctly. The words of wise men are like goads, and masters of these collections are like well-driven nails; they are given by one Shepherd. But beyond this, my son, be warned: the writing of many books is endless, and excessive devotion to books is wearying to the body. –Eccl. 12:10-12

And that’s a truth that demands the question: Over what do we wrangle in our time here? Is it a godly sacrifice we offer in our devotion to the things we place foremost?

Vanity of vanities. Hebel. Transitory, a mere passing breath, without weight or final import. There’s no arguing that we are transitory, that God’s Word is what stands forever.

But there’s no dichotomy between the two.

God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong, and the base things of the world and the despised, God has chosen, the things that are not, that He might nullify the things that are, that no man should boast before God. -1 Cor. 1:27-29

Oh, the goodness we try to create for our legacy. We fight to create the best possible idea of ourselves for those who will encounter it later. But when we see morality, or Scripture, or our own personal guidelines for living, as nothing but an abstract ideal, we forget something: We are living beings. Made for life. And there is a greater existence which goes beyond the transitory vanities of this moment.

If the Christian life is nothing but an abstraction, if our existences can be summed by the idea we create of ourselves, then how will we worship when faith becomes sight? If we believe in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ for our sins, then it’s not an idea, but that other existence on a farther shore, which we now live during our time in the body. We live to God.

What am I working for? Well, some ministry stuff and some paid stuff. Writing three books at once. Getting my act together to go to a writing conference in 2012. Building a business that perhaps my children may want someday.

All of that and none of it. What I’m doing, deep down where it can’t be seen, is having a conversation with God.

Lord, this seems important. Guide my words today.

Father, this is a fascinating thing to learn to do. Can I?

Hey…this thing my writing partner said, it really made me think about who I’m really supposed to be. Did You really mean for it to be this way? I’m free to be like that?

And the answers come. There’s a place where I know God in a way that’s unique to me. And where God knows me as only He does, permanently. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it. Rev 2:17

What we do today is a vehicle for interaction with an impending eternity.

In reality, I have no idea of myself beyond death. I just know what I won’t be: some goofy cherub sitting on a cloud and strumming a harp while a nondescript, unanchored background drifts endlessly past.

I am who I am. I can say this because God is who He is. It hasn’t yet appeared what I will be. There is a world to come of which, for all our speculations and all our faith, we have no idea.

By faith Abel offered to God a better sacrifice than Cain, through which he obtained the testimony that he was righteous, God testifying about his gifts, and through faith, though he is dead, he still speaks. –Heb. 11:4

Thank God that the New Testament is the infallible interpreter of the Old Testament (the only such interpreter we have, mind you), for here the writer of Hebrews demonstrates that in God even the transitory is transitory. For Abel certainly obtained permanence through and by the power of the One who is permanence Himself. The One in whom no shadow of turning exists. The One who is the same today, tomorrow, and forevermore.

What advantage does man have in all his work which he does under the sun? Well, that all depends on what he does, now, doesn’t it?

Now all has been heard;
here is the conclusion of the matter:
Fear God and keep his commandments,
for this is the duty of all mankind.

-Eccl. 12:13

——

C.L. Dyck and Marc Schooley have variously worked together as editor and client, critique partners, co-bloggers and mutual support team in navigating the literary business.

Does appreciating God’s truth echoed elsewhere mean I dishonor His written Word?

If I enjoy the beauty of a sunset, am I questioning the sufficiency of Scripture?

When listening to what I believe is the world’s most amazing music, The Lord of the Rings film score, am I acting as if God hasn’t given me enough in the Bible for faith and practice?

And (this is a direct followup from last week’s column) if I look back on something in my life, perhaps what I believe could have been a subconscious push from Him to try this, go here, pray for that person, and think, Was that God personally guiding me? — am I then rejecting my Creator’s final, inerrant and ultimate revelation in favor of some new revelation?

I will give away the ending by answering no to all four questions. I don’t believe these beliefs automatically mean we reject God’s Word or act like we desire newer and shinier truths.

Instead we can love all these, not in place of God’s Word, but because they reflect its light.

God’s personal guidance: best seen in retrospect?

Last week I wrote about some Christians who either think too highly of their own writing as if it’s God-inspired, or else feel constrained to do nothing unless they receive some sign from God that they’re meant to make some decision.

That brought much discussion, mostly with my friend and co-blogger Becky, about whether Christians can trust God to guide them nowadays in ways like promptings or even miracles.

My guess: though I did mention Christians who expect some kind of guidance before making decisions about extra-Biblical matters — who specifically to marry, what job to choose and such — I didn’t make it clear that yes, I believe we can look back at our lives and see where God was working, and even how His Spirit has sovereignly guided us.

Yet that personal guidance is best seen after the fact — when time has passed, or perhaps that very strong impulse has actually come true and we can see the God-glorifying results.

One also can’t rule out the Biblical gift of prophecy. That’s a subject of much debate, which I don’t mind taking up another time, but in short: it’s very difficult to prove Biblically that certain gifts of the Spirit in the New Testament — not just mentioned, but endorsed — have suddenly expired now that the Bible is finished. “[W]hen the perfect comes, the partial will pass away” (1 Cor. 13:10) isn’t talking about the Bible coming and certain gifts drying up — and anyone who does want to honor Scripture would want to read that in better context!

Spiritual gifts include prophecy, which Paul says in 1 Cor. 14:5 is even better than “speaking in tongues” (which I’m not touching here). But what is this kind of prophecy? It’s not using an inner spiritual-warfare Geiger counter or forecasting the future. Instead it is speaking “to people for their upbuilding and encouragement and consolation” (1 Cor. 14:3). So this kind of prophecy is done in a church, with testing  (1 Cor. 14: 29-33), for the body’s building-up.

Is that contrary to the truth that Scripture is sufficient? Not if we take the word of Scripture itself — and not when any “prophecy” given in church points back to Scripture anyway.

This is similar to other ways God “speaks” to us. And though I think we must be careful with our language if we say “God told me” to do such-and-such, so as not to confuse it with how God revealed His Word, we must not overreact if someone believes God pointed back to His Word’s light with a reflection. Even if that’s an amazing story.

An over-reflexive reaction?

Frequent attacks on Scripture’s sufficiency come from all directions: be it faith-revisionist popular authors, or true Christians who claim they value the Bible, but actually put more trust in other things: personal promptings, showmanship, or God’s good gifts. With all those attacks, many Christians are eager to defend Scripture as the only Word “breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work” (2 Tim. 3: 16-17).

But some Christians overdo their reaction. We need not act as if everyone who enjoys a truth reflection in a work of art, natural wonder, song or even apparent “prophecy” in church is thus rejecting the only sure Source of truth in the way He’s chosen to reveal it: His Word.

Recently a certain book has brought many critics replying with “Scripture is sufficient!” The book is about a little boy who was undergoing surgery, and later said he’d been temporarily transported to Heaven (the present-day “intermediate” Heaven; alas, the book does not talk as much about the more-incredible future New Heavens and New Earth — Rev. 21). Some criticism of accounts like this could be justified, especially if the tale includes anti-Biblical details about Heaven, and if some readers value the word of a person above God’s Word that already assures us that Heaven is for real (and New Earth will be even better). But I do see some overreactions: Scripture is sufficient! So we have no use for any stuff like this!

In response to this kind of criticism of any quasi-miraculous account, an online friend noted:

[I]n the deserts of our life, we find strength by clinging to God and God’s Word alone, but that doesn’t mean that’s how He “normally” plans for us to live… He gives us many other things to enjoy and to strengthen our faith.

That’s exactly why reflexive, inadequately-thought-out defenses of “Scripture is sufficient!” don’t apply in these cases.

Yes, Scripture is our final and ultimate standard, the way God has chosen to reveal His surest Word. Christians should love that, and we can’t say that enough.

But it’s not Biblical to discount any means we see God using other ways to reflect the light of His Word, such as in natural wonders, works of art, retrospectively seeing His sovereignty in our lives, or enjoying awesome stories honoring His truth.

Moreover, few who overdo those arguments that Scripture-is-sufficient (in narrowly, wrongly defined ways) will object to things like local-church membership, preaching, right theology applied to life, or even new worship songs, or many other things Scripture itself prescribes! Similarly, we could conclude we don’t need book reviews even of actual bad books because “Scripture is sufficient”!

Echoing the Word

I once heard a guy on the radio slamming a catalog he had received that advertised costumes and other equipment for worship dance in church. The host didn’t claim it was unnecessary and silly to have a “Christian items” catalog (which could be a more substantive charge). Instead off he went into a true but misapplied rebuttal based on Scripture is sufficient!

He then went on to rant about how Christians simply don’t need performances, dancing, smoke machines, motorcycles, radio — “Oh wait!” he said with a laugh (paraphrasing). “That was a slip of the tongue. I meant ‘rodeo.’ We don’t need rodeo. But radio is okay.”

Yes, apparently one can purchase Christian-rodeo-themed caps.

This host was, after all, on the radio himself. But notwithstanding the question of whether rodeo is okay in church, why is radio okay and rodeo wrong? To be consistent, shouldn’t we dismiss both because “Scripture is sufficient”? But no one really applies this narrow and wrong view consistently. Nor can one really apply it that way.

And no one should. God’s Word is indeed amazing and sufficient — nothing, not even a good gift from God, should be seen as a greater revelation for us about Who He is, what He has done for His people and what He will do. Yet God is also good enough to permit His Word’s light to reflect in other ways — natural wonders, beauties even in a fallen world, and in the creations of man either meant to glorify Him specifically or simply showcase true beauty. He is also good enough to allow us to look back on our lives and see how He was guiding us, whether we wondered at the time if He was, or never saw His subtle sovereignty coming.

And as someone who wants to love any good gift for the sake of Himself, I rejoice in that!

What about you? What reflections of His Word’s light do you love seeing?

Rambling Introduction

Yes, that’s exactly the reference it appears to be. 0=)

Just for reference, this is a bit of a throw-back to Inherently Religious (Some things are sacred by default, no matter our efforts to ‘secularize’ them) and Speculating Faith (The Speculative genre should be the safest place in the fiction world to ask ‘what if,’ and that includes discourse on what God is not).

I feel like I’ve been thrown into several conversations lately on God: who and what he is, what he’s like, what he’s not like–the very nature and character of God himself.  I recently did a three-part segment on my personal blog titled Painting God in which I tried to demonstrate how little we know of him, and how  to paint over what he’s painted for us is to attempt to change his nature–all only to discover several other people were posting on the same thing.

The world aligns a particular way once you’ve started to feel you’ve some grasp on who your God is. I have no delusions I’ll ever exhaust the great adventure that is getting to explore the depths of my Creator and Sustainer, but I feel comfortable enough saying I’ve a pretty general idea of the core of his  nature.  He spent a significant amount of time trying to explain and describe himself, so I don’t think it impertinent to number myself among those who’ve tried to pay attention.

I surmised at one point that speculative fiction is a legitimate place (or should be) for rooting out characteristics that make up the Person who created the cosmos. For better or worse, I still maintain the veracity of the claim.

The Allusions

I’ll be honest: I’m one of those weird people who really doesn’t go looking for theology in a story.  If I see something, it’ll capture my attention for weeks. If I don’t, well,   it was just a book/movie anyway. It’s not watching with my brain off: it’s not like I won’t notice a particular slant. It’s that unless I’m having something crammed down my throat or something has become grotesque in nature, I’m in it for the long haul.  But that said, I’ve found shards of light in the strangest places. I’ve mentioned Elf, despite its flaws.  Star Wars and the Matrix are both used ad nauseum (even though I’d take significant issue with Neo being any form of ‘Christ figure.) A few other s, at least for me, included:

-The Lakehouse (due to the time/space nature of it, the woman must wait for her love to provide the means for them to be together; all attempts by her to force or accelerate the matter only make them further apart; her lover alone–and they know each other only through letters–can make it work)

-Sweet Home Alabama  (she leaves him; and he waits years for her to come back)

-Doctor Who (details below)

-The Dresden Files (Harry was trained by evil wizards; he’s easily tempted by evil, but he’s also repulsed by it; and the one person whom  even Harry would call righteous is a Christian guy who tolerates but never condones Harry’s magic; and, oddly,  Michael is someone Harry wishes he were like; yes, I know some of the content in the DF is pretty solidly on the edge of my tolerance, but I’ll still make the point with Harry suspended between good and evil.)

-Criminal Minds (often includes lengthy conversation on good, evil, and the human condition)

-Human Target (former assassin seeking repentance by protecting people, includes a team of misfits and, well, some shady guys)

-Leverage (The pilot sold me with Nate’s lines about halfway through:  “Each of you knows what you can do. But I know what all of you can do.” Broken and falling off a cliff himself, Nate, in essence offers them a new way of life to embrace or reject at will.)

Now, I know those connections likely weren’t intentional (although, with Jim Butcher, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t intend Michael that way), but it doesn’t mean I didn’t see them.  Why aren’t there more book titles? Um, honestly, I’m still a newbie to the “secular” book world and I needed examples from guys who aren’t, to my knowledge, professing Christians.

The horse is dead, so I’ll let the point be: All storyworlds tell us something about the way the way the world is, and invite some form of solution. There’s a reason  something in our gut lights afire when we see injustice and oppression, and there’s a reason we get such immense satisfaction out of seeing justice done and mercy extended.

What God is Not

So on to the title.  As I said, it’s not like I don’t see the flaws in the shadows, the faint illustrations. Nate’s a drunk and a liar. Harry’s a player.  And so on. But in the same way we can generate discussion on who God is, we can generate it on who God isn’t.

Honestly, I’m convinced the new Doctor Who show does that wonderfully.  (Minor aside: I’m a late-comer to Doctor Who. I started with the Season 1 relaunch a couple months ago, and I’ve finished through season two and begun season three. The pilot episode didn’t endear me to the show, and since then there’s been one other episode (season two, the Satan Pit, if you care) that I didn’t care for).  It’s arguably a very humanistic show, and by and large gets away with it because the Doctor is fascinated with humans and their  capabilities, emotions, vulnerabilities, and so on. What makes humans strong also makes them weak, so to speak.

Now there’s a few things on the Satan Pit episode:

1. A 900 year old man should have some idea of what he believes.  (I will ignore what I maintain is a character breach in that episode for now.)
2. Despite the rather silly claim he doesn’t know what he believes, the Doctor actually does have a pretty black and white view of right and wrong. How he executes that sense of justice/revenge is another question, but for the most part he comes down pretty solid on the dignity of all people and their inherent right to live as free people.

So, on that front, while he does make the silly comment  (sorry, Whovians, it was quite absurd) that he doesn’t know what he believes or who he believes in, deity-wise, he’s quite clear on what is not divine. Ruling by fear, conquest, chain, and whip is the dominion of Hell, not Heaven. Destroying people’s lives and livelihoods for your own gain is evil. Setting yourself up as a false god is evil, and the false god must be destroyed.

The other interesting point is that while others describe the Time Lords as somewhat godlike, the Doctor himself makes it known he is not, nor does he set out to be, a god. “I’d make a very bad one,” he says. And with that dark streak in him, he really would.

Anyway, I didn’t set out looking for any of this. But after writing those earlier posts and thinking on it awhile, then running across Doctor Who upon the prompting of a friend, I found that it very neatly seems to illustrate my point (for now, at least).  I definitely wouldn’t take it much further than that, as  it really isn’t the show’s intent and they fudged what could have been a very profound moment in the particular episode. (They backed off the question. As a writer, I think they were better off not bringing it up if they feared losing some  of their audience, or letting the Doctor answer more solidly than he does.)  But the themes of human nature and divine nature have continued to appear in the thematic sense, and I find the exploration intriguing.

So I guess this is the end of it: Even the Time Lord knows he’s bound to something bigger and older than himself. Even the Time Lord submits to the Lord who made the time and space he plays in and protects.

Day begins in a little house at the edge of a quiet town.

“Good morning, darling. Ready for breakfast?”

“Yes, thanks. It smells wonderful. I may want a second helping.”

“There’s plenty. Something interesting on the news? You’ve been glued to that computer screen for over an hour. You didn’t even notice me walk by. Here’s your tea–careful, it’s hot.”

“Mmm. Delicious. Come look at this. You’re aware of the planetary survey that’s been going on the past several years, looking for worlds similar to ours in deep space?”

“Of course, though I haven’t paid much attention. All they ever find are gas giants, or planets too far or too near their star to be inhabitable.”

“Well, yesterday they found one almost identical to ours.”

“It took long enough. Are they certain?”

“As certain as they can be. See the chart there? The orbit’s squarely in the temperate zone, and the spectroscopic analysis seems definitive. Oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and enough water vapor to confirm the presence of large oceans.”

“Amazing. I wonder if there’s anything living there.”

“There is. That’s the finding that’s really burning up the networks. There’s undeniable evidence of intelligent life, and its technology is fairly advanced.”

“How can the scientists be sure?”

“First, they noticed an abundance of hydrocarbons in the atmosphere, the sort that accompany industrial development. Then, somebody pointed a radio telescope at it and detected non-random emissions—information, not noise. They’re still trying to decode the entire language, but what’s been deciphered so far is intriguing. Unfortunately, the discovery is already causing a lot of unrest.”

“I don’t understand. I’d expect everyone to be excited that we’ve finally found evidence of life on other worlds.”

“The scientists are elated, but some people are afraid our culture will be disrupted by strange, alien ideas if we continue monitoring these signals. There’s also a faction that believes we should keep our presence hidden so we don’t disrupt the natural social development of the beings on the other planet, or possibly make ourselves a target for invasion. Even religious communities are rioting.”

“Why?”

“Many think it’s a hoax, a government ploy to convince people to abandon their faith.  Others say the idea that our planet isn’t the center of creation is blasphemous, or they believe it’s impossible for more than one sort of being to be made in God’s image, so whatever is there must be soulless and evil.”

“Hmm. Why couldn’t God have made people like us on more than one world? I’ve always thought it’s a very large universe for there to be intelligent life only on our tiny planet. And if He made them, surely He’d reveal Himself to them, don’t you think? It’s sad…it’s like having new neighbors, and all we can do is assume the worst of them.”

“I suppose it’s all moot. This new world is so far away we won’t reach it in our lifetime, even with our most advanced spaceships, and the evidence from the translations so far indicates the inhabitants are only beginning to think about exploring the space near their planet.”

“What do they say?”

“It’s fragmentary, but a political leader called ‘Ralphkramden’ seems to be advocating a project to launch a lunar probe. The message is repeated over and over again: “To the moon, Alice! One of these days…Pow! Straight to the moon!”

A substitute title for this article might be How My Christianity Informs My Entertainment Decisions.

I appreciate the feedback from last week’s article, especially those who shared their thoughts about their justification for their choices in entertainment.

I posed the question, Must God like whatever entertainment I want to enjoy? That’s a more complex question than it might seem at first. If we say, yes the only entertainment we can enjoy is free of sin, then we’re out of luck, because the chances of finding sin-free entertainment are just as high as finding sin-free churches. We happen to live in a fallen world, and we can expect to find sin all around, even in Christian fiction.

But should we ignore God’s holy standard?

Interestingly, many of the stories Jesus told had sinful characters, some doing sinful things. There was the prodigal son, for example, and his equally sinful brother. Or think about the unrighteous judge who the widow kept pestering to give her justice. There was also the rich man who ended up in hell and the unrighteous servant who didn’t invest the money his master entrusted to him.

Clearly, Jesus did not take a hear no evil, see no evil approach to sin in His stories. Well, someone may rebut, Jesus was teaching; He wasn’t trying to entertain.

No? I suspect He chose to tell stories, not because He couldn’t figure out how to state truth in a didactic way, but because He knew the power of story and He wanted people to remember what He said.

So here are my first two principles in choosing entertainment. 1) Entertainment can depict sinful activity. 2) Entertainment can be instructive.

Instructive entertainment can present a negative example (Edmund or Eustace) or a positive (Frodo or Samwise Gamgee). It can show someone’s choice that fails (Macbeth or Scarlet O’Hara) or one that requires sacrifice (Jody in The Yearling or Travis in Old Yeller). It can have a happy, bow-tied ending or finish in a snarled mess. The how isn’t the important thing. One way or another, entertainment that instructs shows Biblical principles.

Entertainment can also instruct in other areas. As a coach, I would often go to basketball games to learn more about the game and the latest trends. As a writer, I read books and learn more about writing techniques from the stories I’m enjoying.

Another type of instruction shines light on the false thinking of our culture. Call it cultural awareness entertainment. I’d put The Lion King in that category or The Golden Compass. This too, is valid, perhaps even necessary, as long as it doesn’t lead into sin. That’s a big qualifier. I as a believer have to make my decisions based on my knowledge of my own weaknesses.

Notice, I’m still talking about entertainment. These are things we can enjoy, but they also serve another purpose — to show me truth, to teach me a skill, or to help me recognize and understand error.

I rarely (if ever) categorize my entertainment before hand. I didn’t go to see Avatar with the idea that I would learn more about our culture. I went to be entertained. I went to enjoy a fantasy. And I did. But I also had my eyes opened to our culture.

So, can entertainment ever be just entertainment? That’s like asking, Can food ever be for enjoyment and not also for nutrition? Or can sex ever be for pleasure and not also for procreation?

And yet, in our eating, in our sex, are we not still to be Christians? In other words, can we gorge ourselves without thought of consequence? Can we be selfish? Can we be greedy? Can we be sinful?

Clearly not. There is a Christ-like way to enjoy what God has given us to enjoy. Consequently I think I need to employ Christ-like enjoyment of whatever entertainment I give myself to.

Since I’m a sports fan, let me use that particular form of entertainment to illustrate what I mean. I love the Lakers, as I admitted in the comments section last week. But I need to love what God loves, more. Consequently, if I am to have a Christ-like enjoyment of basketball, I must not put watching the Lakers over going to church. I must not put them over my friends or family or work.

In short, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are times when it’s just fine to be involved in entertainment, even to the point of giving my mind a rest — just so long as I’m not giving my Christianity a rest at the same time.

Whispers, murmurs, and a few pauses from wiser ones waiting for the surprise ending, had spread amongst dozens of class attendees.,

To wit, these were Ladies of the Church™, a very powerful special interest lobby.

I was there also, enjoying my second attendance of an American Christian Fiction Writers’ conference (2007). And John Olson, co-author of Oxygen, had just said something heretical.

Yes, he said, “God can’t spell and has bad grammar.”

Not everyone gets a burning bush experience. But should Christians act like they need one?

Then of course he went on to explain the context. As best I recall (it was a crazy weekend) he said that as a writer (also of Oxygen’s sequel The Fifth Man and thriller novels Shade and Powers), he’s met many people who show him their manuscripts. They’re in varying genres, though with conferences dominated by the LotC™ you can guess which genres predominate.

“Will you look at this?” they ask him.

Many will also exult: “God laid this on my heart. It’s such an amazing story. God told me to write this!”

Well in that case, Olson confessed to thinking: God can’t spell and has bad grammar.

And yet many writers seeking publication and wider writing Ministry seem unwilling to consider that their very spiritual-seeming sense of divine guidance could use some “earthly” grounding. That could include honing one’s craft, being humble and patient, and seeking to glorify Jesus Christ—not merely touching him, when they are tagged with criticism, as if he’s “base.”

Is it God’s secret will for someone write and even be published?

The answer to that, I’ll suggest, is by definition secret. Theologians often point to the fact that throughout Scripture God shows He has “two wills”: a secret or hidden will, and a revealed will or will of command. Here’s how one theologian shows the difference:

Surely, a distinction between aspects of God’s will is evident in many passages of Scripture. According to Moses, “The secret things belong to the Lord our God; but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children for ever, that we may do all the words of this law” (Deut. 29:29). Those things that God has revealed are given to us for the purpose of obeying God’s will: “that we may do all the words of this law.” There were many other aspects of his plan, however, that he had not revealed to them: many details about future events, specific details of hardship or of blessing in their lives, and so forth. With regard to these matters, they were simply to trust him.

—from Bible Doctrine, Wayne Grudem (edited by Jeff Purswell), Zondervan, 1999, page 96

Christians who aren’t certain about a difference, or who think His will simply works in one way, may fall all over themselves trying to figure out God’s secret will before doing anything.

God was kind enough to give Gideon advance assurance of His will via the fleece (Judges 6: 36-40). But did He say others should repeat such tests?

Perhaps more dangerous, we could ignore God’s revealed will while trying to find His secret will for assurance. As Jared Moore cautions, that’s tantamount to practicing divination. Thus, even Christians who are concerned (maybe understandably!) about the occult, real and perceived, may be doing more witchcraft-like secret-knowledge seeking than they know. After all, does God ever promise in Scripture that His Spirit will give a sense of peace, or some kind of a sign of miracle or even coincidence, before we make a big decision — such as a career field, marriage pursuit, or reading or writing a particular book?

Despite some secondary disputes over spiritual gifts and miracles, most Christians agree that the canon of Scripture in two testaments, inspired by the Holy Spirit, is closed. God could tell someone something new, but is that thinking consistent with His already revealed Word?

And if we don’t hear Him directly or have “a peace,” should that prevent us taking a risk?

Recent posts — among them Sally Apokedak’s Divine Calling, Mike Duran’s Where Do Writers Fit in the Church? and Fred Warren’s Call Writing right here on Speculative Faith — discuss from varying angles the question of whether Christians are indeed called to write novels. Is that within God’s will? If so, how can we know — or can we know at all?

My encouragement is this:

1. If any deed comes from faith in Christ (whatever doesn’t is sin — Romans 14:23);
2. And if this task or calling does not violate God’s revealed will in Scripture;
3. Then there’s no way to know if a thing lies within God’s secret will until we’ve already done it. We may fail, and still God is working; or succeed — also by God working!

And if while writing, preaching, or doing anything else I violate God’s revealed will — well, that was according to God’s secret will, because it happened; however, what I did was still outside His will of command, which if I love Him I should want to follow (John 14: 15, 21). Ignoring my own pride, arrogance and greed, while refusing attempts to help me grow — those are sins, no matter how much I claim It’s Ministry or God Told Me.

Hey, that sounds familiar:

If you think you’ve been called to write, but, like Mr. Bear up there, you see writing as the fast track to fame and fortune, don’t care about learning how to write well, and are impervious to the feedback and advice of people trying to help you, I think it’s safe to say you might not be in the center of God’s will.

— from Call Writing, Fred Warren on SpeculativeFaith.com, March 29

So how have you thought about God’s will(s) before? How might exploring some theology on the topic not just help us feel happy because we know more stuff, but help in our lives?

For readers and writers: how might learning to trust God to keep His secret will to Himself, even as we obey His revealed will and even take some risks, help us in our life callings? Have you ever assumed that if you didn’t get some sign or inner peace like you’ve heard about, you’re not within God’s will?

I joined the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog Tour, run by our own fabulous Becky Miller, all the way back in January 2009.

I missed my chance to read the first book, and the second book–Jeffrey Overstreet’s Cyndere’s Midnight–had already been sent out to reviewers. But I was intrigued enough by the story and excited enough about the tour that I went out and bought both Cyndere’s Midnight and its prequel, Auralia’s Colors, launching into a love affair with the modern-day series that has done more than anything else to renew my interest in speculative fiction.

The Auralia Thread, which also includes Raven’s Ladder, finished this month with the release of The Ale Boy’s Feast. As I reread Raven’s Ladder in preparation to finish the series, it’s struck me that the richness of these stories stems in part from the author’s refusal to tie everything down to one allegory or one story or even one character. The world of the series is appropriately called The Expanse; the story is sprawling.

Last time I wrote in any depth about The Auralia Thread, it was to comment on the incredible picture of depravity and redemption in two of the characters–a beastman becoming a man and a man becoming a beastman. But as I’m reading again I’m struck this time by other themes. The way we treat the elderly and the weak. The way stories grow and reflect truth–or lies. The relationships between charismatic, visionary people and their best friends. (As someone who grew up in a house of charismatic, visionary people, this one really stands out to me.) Whether it’s okay to swear in our fiction (yes, this actually does come into the story). The terrible risks of self-absorption and the heavy, beautiful weight of caring.

And the dangers of thinking that just because we’ve glimpsed a mystery, we understand it.

Some readers have expressed frustration with this series because of its lack of a clear message, a clear allegorical representation of God, a clear representation of Christianity. Yet there’s irony in that, because the story itself explores what happens when we sit back and look at life from a new perspective and let it speak to us without trying to force a message into place. It does so through glimpses of people, of their struggles, of their beliefs, and of their transformations. And it does so through the skillful, beautiful poetry of language.

If anything, this is a series that has inspired me to think bigger about writing–and about life. It challenges me to look at even the smallest parts of human existence as worthy of exploring, as worthy of poking at to see what meaning might come out. It reminds me that life is a vast expanse, and writing will be most enthralling when it goes to the farthest edges, highest heights, and tiniest hiding places to see what’s there.

I know that a book has been well worth reading when I come away from it and start seeing my own life differently. This series has had that effect for me.

If this post reads like an introduction, that’s because it is. I’m hoping to interview Jeffrey Overstreet in this space before long (you can read a past interview here and here), and also to give away at least one copy of The Ale Boy’s Feast. If you haven’t encountered these books yet, I encourage you to check them out.

But more than that, I encourage you to look around at your life’s vast expanse and see what stories are hiding at the edges.