In light of yesterday’s discussion I thought I’d take this opportunity to remind everyone that we’ve got three new Adult Christian Speculative Fiction titles releasing this Friday from Marcher Lord Press!  And I’m pretty sure none of them include fornicating elves or cursing dragons. 😉

First up is the novel by our guest blogger Matt Koceich, The Sending. This is a tale about a man named Mark Grant with the ability to see distant places through remote viewing. There are demonic forces who seek to harness his ability in order to find the lost Garden of Eden so they can escape their final fate in the lake of fire by using the Tree of Life and Mark as their host.

 Up next is the second Rick Macey Cyberthriller, The Tenth Crusader, by Kirk Outerbridge (who won the 2010 Carol for speculative fiction with his first novel, Eternity Falls). This story sees Rick Macey travelling to the Phillipines, ravaged by 20 years of Islamic civil war. Rick has to ferret out a terrorist group before they sabotage peace talks and frame the US for sabotaging the Philippines’ efforts to join the Islamic Alliance of Oceania.

Finally there is König’s Fire. This novel by Marc Schooley, author of The Dark Man, delves into the darkness of a Nazi torture center in a mine at the heart of a Romanian forest. At the heart of the mine is an immence furnace where the Nazis dispose of their prisoners. Only now, the primeval forest is rising against them, unleashing a preternatural army to besiege the great iron gate of the mine. The fearsome guards become terrified prisoners and the furnace itself burns with hungry anger against them.

So for those of you looking for more great Adult Christian Speculative Fiction, make sure you add these to your list.

A week ago today one of my favorite bloggers, Mike Duran, posted a thoughtful blog article about the need for more adult Christian science fiction and fantasy. Hear, hear! I thought, until I got to the first of Mike’s two suggested reasons for this situation. In part, he said

In this way, YA speculative fiction is much better suited for CBA / ECPA readers because it doesn’t need to have the “bite” that adult spec-fic does, and can more easily skirt taboos of sex, language, and questionable theology. Which is why much Christian YA spec-fic tends to involve lots of dragons, elves, and swordsmiths…

Excuse me? Dragons, elves, and sword-smiths somehow equate with YA fantasy?

Mind you, I still agree with Mike’s main point—where is the adult Christian speculative fiction; must it come only from small, independent presses?

But I take issue with the idea that dragons, elves, and sword-smiths must automatically be associated with fiction that isn’t adult.

How ironic to read the end of Mike’s post:

Discovering C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy and Till We Have Faces, Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, George MacDonald, Charles Williams, and G.K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday, were some of the most exciting times of my life as a Christian reader. Discovering that those books were 50+ years old and still have no contemporary equals, was depressing. Perhaps we just can’t write like that anymore. (Emphasis mine)

As I recall, elves are plentiful in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Swordplay isn’t unheard of either. The dragon, of course, appeared in the stand-alone, The Hobbit, that preceded the trilogy.

But if Tolkien is one of the masters, and he is, then why this look-down-the-nose attitude toward dragons, elves, and sword-smiths?

I don’t have a good answer. I can speculate that perhaps a number of YA books written by contemporary authors featuring dragons has somehow branded the creatures as “without bite.”

But why not take that to it’s logical conclusion? Since Twilight, another YA fantasy, albeit not Christian, featured vampires, then vampires are “without bite.” Hmmm. 🙄

Or how about this one. Since ghosts are prominent in the Harry Potter series, ghosts are “without bit.” (That one would have merit if we meant “bite” in the physical sense only).

My point is this. The creatures, even the characters, do not make “the bite.” It’s how the creatures and characters are portrayed and, most importantly, what they do.

Same with swordplay. Was the Helm’s Deep battle in Lord of the Rings somehow less tense because the combatants used axes, swords, and bows? Or how about the tragic battle for Osgiliath, Gondor’s capital? Are deaths only “biting” if they’re wrought using automatic weapons or vampire venom?

I can understand someone saying they prefer a contemporary setting because fantasy often has the feel of the historical. Or even that they prefer a futuristic setting because they like the cool technology or imagined logical extensions of today’s trends in science fiction or dystopian fantasy.

But to somehow assume that tropes of classic fantasy somehow have less bite, as if they can’t quite get the job done that adult speculative fiction needs doing—well, that seems rather biased.

Using that standard, one of the best Christian speculative books for adults out there Blaggard’s Moon by George Bryan Polivka should be dismissed without a second thought because it features sword-smithing.

How about Stephen Lawhead’s King Raven trilogy, for adults? Lots of swords wielded there too. Then there are the Song of Albion and the Pendragon Cycle. Are these books “without bite” because they involve more traditional tropes?

If it is the trope that produces—or fails to produce—the all important bite, then maybe we should do away with human characters, too. After all, they appear in these same stories, beside the elves and dragons.

Yes, I’m being factitious. The point is, I love sword play—always have. I’m a fan of Zorro and Robin Hood. I loved the Princess Bride and as a preschooler, my favorite cartoon was Mighty Mouse, a small version of Superman and Zorro rolled into one. Why, then, wouldn’t I also love a fantasy in which the characters face each other with swords in hand?

More importantly, can’t a story with classic tropes have just as much to say about life as one with contemporary or futuristic elements? I think so, and I think its time to end the discrimination against stories with dragons, elves, and sword-smiths.

Speculative: based on conjecture rather than knowledge.

Faith: trust in a person or thing.

Those two words sum up my writing journey—where I’ve been and, by God’s mercy, where I’m headed. My goal with this post is to glorify the One who makes everything possible. For He is the Person I trust. In Him, I speculate…about the unseen things of this world and the one to come.

As I sit down to write this, my wife shared with me a section of Scripture that deals with idols and how everything without God is really nothing at all. That said, my early days of writing were pure idolatry. I found my worth in the false hope of becoming published.

I speculated about worldly things. I idolized the “published” life.

I remember researching the Garden of Eden back in 1998. I wrote a rough draft of The Sending under a different title and the result was a secular novel with many speculative features but zero faith.

Then in 2004, I was on my own road to Damascus when I experienced Jesus in a life changing way. Long story short, I surrendered to Him. Not in a 90/10 sort of way like I had been doing. Maybe you can relate. My dialogue with the Creator of the universe went something like this: “Lord, here’s my life, but I’d like to try and control this writing gift. You know, I’ll write a novel and pray it gets published with all that I have instead of pursuing you.” In the deepest part of my soul, I felt the nudge to flesh out my manuscript and rewrite major sections to reflect my new love relationship with Christ.

At the time, I entered my manuscript in the Christian Writers Guild’s Operation First Novel. I didn’t win that year, but I still have the letter that said I placed as a semifinalist. For me, it was God’s gentle whisper to keep on writing.

Now I speculate about God things and my writing is for his glory not mine. I worship the “God” life. As writers, we are called to proclaim the good news. We need not worry about the outcome. Speculate on how much we are loved by our heavenly Father and have faith that the worlds and words you create are good in His sight.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the Tree of Life. The cherubim placed at Eden’s entrance were to prevent Adam, Eve and others from returning to the garden and eating the fruit from the Tree of Life. Lest they live forever.

I wanted to explore the Garden of Eden; God’s first home for his children. The Tree of Life is the Bible’s bookends appearing in both Genesis and Revelation. Together it was the setting I needed to write about.

The Sending is a journey to find real faith that has the supernatural power to carry a person through the painful ruins of a broken world. My lead, Mark Grant, has a unique ability called remote viewing which allows him to see distant places. He gets hired to locate the Garden of Eden. Antagonist Konrad Lynch uses Mark’s gift to locate the Tree of Life, the key to eternal life.

There is a greater plan at work as the armies of darkness have found a way to reclaim their place in heaven. To do so, they must escape their ultimate death in the lake of fire by using Mark as their human host. The fruit of the Tree of Life will solidify their insidious plan. So Mark is sent to find the way back into Eden—and his family is kidnapped to insure his compliance.

Racing time to find them and the Tree of Life, Mark must decide if he’s willing to lose his faith to save his soul.

That’s The Sending in a nutshell. I thank the Lord for Jeff Gerke and Marcher Lord Press for giving me the opportunity to share my story. One day we’ll all be in heaven and see the Tree of Life right there in the middle of Paradise. Just the way God intended it to be.

Thanks for reading. Have a great weekend!

The Sending, Matt Koceich, Marcher Lord Press (October 2010)

The writer had sat down at his computer, frowning slightly, and set about typing, when suddenly a thought occurred to him.

“Have you ever noticed,” he said, out loud, “that in someone’s early writing, there’s a tendency to expound facts or descriptions in dialogue? Here I am, in my chair and frowning slightly, and had just set about typing, when this thought occurred to me even here. I wonder why it is that some writers do that? Do such writers have editors? And do they ever listen to normal conversation?”

But have you ever read something with this kind of dialogue, and it actually got published?

Do not ever, ever, ever “TTM” information

As you know if you’ve read installments one and two in this little series, I’ve read at least one actual novel that flagrantly shoved exposition into dialogue. In fact, for a while I didn’t know what term to give exposition-in-dialogue, so I called it TTM, after the book. It’s a verb, like this:

TTM  (tē’tē-ĕm)

v. T·T·Med, T·T·M·ing, T·T·Ms

1. To give flagrant plot exposition or description in dialogue, real or fictitious. I already know where this is and what we’re doing; you don’t need to TTM it.

2. To cause one’s readers to slap dark red marks into their foreheads.

3. To make already-vellum-thin characters sound like dorks. “Look!” Larry brought the binoculars to his eyes. “Troop carriers are littered all over the thirty-mile safety zone. […] The vehicles are upside down and turned over.”

Other than this particular book, I have not read other stories that commit this, ahhh, unique writing method so directly. And without reading the TTMing in The Third Millennium, I wonder if I would have ever become aware of the problem. So again, that book became a blessing in disguise: I learned something that, as a writer, I might have otherwise fallen into even more.

However, this could make things a bit annoying to a reader. Being aware of the risks of TTMing information, a writer may overcorrect and make things less clear. It’s a tricky balance, and in the best books I’ve read, the writer conveys a description in narrative with enough details to draw the picture in a reader’s mind, without drawing any undue attention to the writing style — or worse, placing the description in unnecessary dialogue. (I’ve heard radio dramas that, without narrators, reworked a novel’s narrative descriptions and not once TTMed the information.)

Yet it’s also occurred to me that a fiction author can info-dump without dialogue. Maybe you’ve seen this in books — a point at which the writer spent far too many words describing a place, or a backstory, that made you need to go back and start over.

This seems a particular risk inherent to fantasy and science fiction: there’s so much that is unfamiliar, and which a writer may feel compelled to over-describe. An author may get quite wrapped up in his or her own created-world, believing that every part of it must be described, even if it doesn’t pertain to the plot. Or he may not want to let all the supporting material about creatures, culture, description or history go to waste. (Yes, J.R.R. Tolkien got away with showing things that didn’t further the plot of The Lord of the Rings. But that’s J.R.R. Tolkien, isn’t it?)

Care for your world: don’t recycle

Other books, even if they avoid unnecessary descriptions in narrative or dialogue, still fall into another trap: overusing the same words.

I’ve been picking on The Third Millennium a lot. So let me try something less controversial — picking on none other than Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

I’d read this novel a few years ago, but recently I was re-reading it aloud with my wife, Lacy, and we began to discover something: J.K. Rowling was using the word slightly, and using it a lot. And almost every time it seemed more than slightly unnecessary. As we took turns reading the book, we actually began dropping it from narrative descriptions and characters’ dialogue.

Yes, this probably isn’t nearly as annoying if you’re reading silently. But to this day, since we finished re-reading Order some months ago, I’m reluctant to use the word slightly.

Worse, perhaps, is the humbling — and sometimes humiliating — fact that all fiction writers, I’m sure (I hope!) find ourselves using the same words in their own writing. Just now I pulled up an old spreadsheet I put together in summer 2005 for a project, labeled Words to watch for. Seems I was proofreading over a few weeks and grew increasingly annoyed at the terms and phrases I kept seeing — including well and what as dialogue interjections, various conjugations of look, references to to the right of and to the left of, mentions of someone pausing, and (argh, it makes me cringe even now) characters constantly standing up or sitting down, for no reason.

This is when Microsoft Word’s find-and-replace function can be a Godsend.

But for readers of bad books, or even good books with bad parts, we have no choice but to put up with the author’s slips (and that is how I categorize Rowling, of course, knowing her skills). Yet it’s also encouraging to know things could be worse. To support this, again I reference TTM:

[T]o my deep consternation, there was one consternated word that just kept consternatingly popping up out of the pages of the consternated book, like a trap door spider—the consternatingly overused word “consternation”, consternatingly speaking. Every character apparently knows this word and it frequently appears in nearly everyone’s dialogue, along with other unnecessary “big” words that should appear in the narrative more than the characters’ dialogue. It actually consternatingly got to the consternated point that whenever the word “consternation”—or any of its consternatingly related forms—would appear, I would consternatingly cringe.

(Next week: Jumpin’ genres! Notable visionary-fiction fails, often unique to Christian writers, and how we might avoid them.)

This summer, I attended the funeral of one of the most remarkable people I have ever known.

Her name was Agnes Numer. She would have been 95 a month after she went to be with Jesus — and I don’t use that phrase euphemistically.  I have been to bigger funerals than hers, but never one where the nations were so fully represented. We were there from every populated continent. We called her “Sister Agnes,” “Mother Agnes,” “Grandma.” She reached thousands of people all over the world with faith, hope, and love.

Love especially. Agnes would tell us that as Christians, we are here so God can love people through us.

When I was a teen, Agnes and her ministry were a major force and presence in my life. I volunteered with them, out in the Mojave Desert, for most of my teenage years. I flew back to California from my present home in southern Ontario, Canada, to be at the funeral, and to get my vision renewed. I’m not sure what I expected to find at the funeral. I figured it would be remarkable.

It was. I got a reminder that we’re here to love people on God’s behalf, in whatever form that takes. Even, I realized, in writing.

When people talk about writing, they tend to talk a lot about the role of self. Writers are supposed to be in tune with themselves. They’re supposed to be true to their artistic vision, to their voice, to their dream. All that is good. But what about our readers? Can we be aware of them — can we deliberately write, not just for ourselves, and not just to glorify God in some theoretical way, but deliberately to love them — without sacrificing our calling as artists?

Of course we can.

Jill Williamson recently interviewed Bryan Davis, and one of her questions was, “God tells you that you’ll never publish another book. Do you still keep writing?” We all know the correct answer: “Of course I would! Being a writer is who I am. I have to be true to my artistic drive.” (I don’t think that’s a bad answer, for the record.) But that’s not what Bryan said. He said,

No. Although I love writing, if I couldn’t publish my books, I would be unable to see the point. Writing isn’t an activity I do for myself; it’s a ministry I carry on for others, a way to communicate the passions God has set afire in my heart. If God didn’t want my writing published for others to read, then He would have a good reason for it, and I would pursue other ways to minister to people.

In other words, Bryan loves his readers. Do I?

And if I do, what are the implications for what and how I write?

As I flew back from the funeral, I looked down at a desert under sunset. Storm clouds had gathered above the desert. Beneath them, the surface of the earth was dark except for city lights. The tops of the clouds were brilliant with the sunlight. Lightning arced over and through them.

It was spectacular. It was art. And it was love. When we read Genesis 1, it’s clear that in some sense, this creation is for us. Even before His personal dealings with men, before the Law and before Christ, God expresses His love for us in this masterpiece of a place, this masterpiece of a story.

He did it knowing that many would never thank Him for His love or choose to receive it. As Christian artists and storytellers, we’re in the same boat. Called to create masterpieces, or at least pieces that are as masterly as we can make them. Called to do it to glorify our God and say “thank You for everything” — and called to do it in love, and as love, for each other.

More about the implications of all this in future posts. In the meantime, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

So there I was. Eight years after Starfire had first been conceived, with a publisher who finally wanted my novel.  The six months from October to April was a crazy time. My wife was pregnant with our first child, due in late March and I was laboring (in a much lesser way) over the revisions to my manuscript from Jeff.

This was the first time I had really felt the hand of another person really pushing my writing style. Mostly because Jeff’s edits were stretching me to grow in my writing in ways I thought were my strongest. I wish I could say I handled the stretching gracefully. But there were quite a few days where I  thumped around the condo in frustration wondering if I was really a terrible writer.

Again my wife was my voice of reason, putting up with my mood swings and helping to coax me through the edits that needed to be done and see where some suggestions would just change my voice too much.

While the edits were ongoing, the cover creation process was rolling along as well. The incredible artist, Kirk Douponce was busy translating my novel into a cover that would capture its essence and draw people in. Again, it was an interesting process of seeing your work translated by another. I was very thankful that Kirk insisted on reading the books prior to creating the cover, but I had a lifetime of seeing my characters come to life in my head, and years of dreaming about the cover.

Some of the early cover drafts had me quite worried, as they just showed a dinosaur in a jungle. But with every revision Kirk’s skill and vision came through until we got to the cover that now graces the front of my book.

Even as we were going through this, Jeff was having his own chaotic life as he adopted an adorable little girl from China! In fact, it was just the week before the April 2009 books were scheduled to be released that he returned from China to put the finishing touches on all the books! That everything went as smoothly as it did that month was a testament to God’s providence, Jeff’s incredible dedication and hard work, and the flexibility of MLP’s publishing model.

So April 1^st, 2009, Starfire became available for purchase, and my wife went into labor. After an eventful breakdown in a blizzard, and 27 hours of labor my beautiful daughter Victoria came into the world on April 2^nd.

I went home a new father and a newly published author.

Is magic “real”? I mean, can people really perform magical acts?

If a person believes the Bible (and that is the defining point in discussing a Christian Worldview from my perspective), then the answer has to be, Yes.

Let me name three examples. First, in Egypt when Moses confronted Pharaoh with the first miraculous acts God empowered him with, “Pharaoh also called for the wise men and the sorcerers, and they also, the magicians of Egypt, did the same with their secret arts.” (Exodus 7:11 NASB)

In the next example, King Saul went to a woman who was a medium: “Conjure up for me, please, and bring up for me whom I shall name to you.” He named Samuel and she brought him up: “Then Samuel said to Saul, ‘Why have you disturbed me by bringing me up?'” (I Samuel 28:8, 15 NASB)

A third example is in the New Testament. “Now there was a certain man named Simon, who formerly was practicing magic in the city, and astonishing the people of Samaria, claiming to be someone great; and they all, from smallest to greatest, were giving attention to him, saying, ‘This man is what is called the Great Power of God.’ And they were giving him attention because he had for a long time astonished them with his magic arts.” (Acts 8:9-11 NASB).

These examples seem to identify actual power, not fraud or deception. And there are others—powers demon-possessed people had—the man who was so strong chains couldn’t hold him, the girl who foretold the future.

Magic, therefore, is real, but what, exactly is it?

Are we talking about sorcery and witchcraft? Demon possession? Astrology (such as that which the Magi—the magicians from the East—used to find the baby Jesus)? How about all the divination the people of Israel did, using the Urim and the Thummim or casting lots to figure out what God wanted them to do?

I have to tell you honestly, the subject confounds me, but here’s what I believe. Supernatural beings have supernatural power. That’s it.

Not profound, is it. Oh, one more important point. No supernatural power is greater than God or His Sovereignty.

But that is only part of the picture. The Supreme Supernatural Being also has “natural” power.

Think about it. Who hung the stars in space? Who sees that it all continues to work? It’s not as if God established a set of natural laws that has gotten away from Him, that He no longer can control. Gravity exists because God created it and maintains it. As He did and does, photosynthesis. And the Pythagorean theorem, or the second law of thermodynamics. Or the law of sin and death.

OK, that last one is a spiritual law, but the point is, God rules it all, and in the ruling can suspend or countermand the rules. He can stop the sun for a day or even make it—or the earth—go backwards. He can raise the dead or come to earth as Incarnate God. He can walk on water. Change water to wine. Predict the presence of a coin in a fish’s mouth. Multiply chunks of bread. And forgive sinners. Nothing, nothing is beyond His power.

So how does this fit with magic? Part of the inexplicable is that God has allowed His enemies some measure of power (magic), and He chooses to let evil ripen before He puts an eternal end to it.

Meanwhile, Mankind—he of such little power—longs for the day of triumph, or dreads the day of disaster, even as a war rages in his soul.

Fantasy shows the longing, the dreading, the raging, with the admission that the enemy does have power, just not omnipotence.

Originally posted at A Christian Worldview of Fiction, May, 2006, in a series on fantasy.

I remember the first time I looked at the back cover of House and being turned off by three words I found there. “I killed God” written on a soup can to be precise, did not (and still doesn’t) sit well with me. Yes, the story’s antagonist wrote the phrase to freak out the ‘good guys,’ but it gave me a reason not to buy a copy. So, when I was invited to write a post I thought about different books to discuss, but came back to this one.

My goal with this is to start a discussion of the novel and not offer critique or criticism. I really enjoy Dekker and Peretti. They are masters of the craft.

Dekker did a book signing in the area and I remember picking up a copy of House for him to autograph. The excitement of meeting Ted gave me the little mental shove I needed to start reading House.

A friend of mine has a Facebook profile picture that has the phrase, “I killed Jesus.” That got me to thinking…what sounds weird and disturbing at first glance might have real meaning after careful consideration. Because of my sin, Jesus did die on the cross. And praise his holy name that He loved me that much to do so!

House opens up with a Psycho-esque set of chapters where the main set of characters end up at a roadside inn nestled in the “Alabama backwoods.”

The antagonist, Barsidious White, orchestrates a game of horror by locking the characters in the old Victorian house and telling them that the game will end when one of them dies.

A cool element of the book that resonated with is a girl named Susan who appears halfway through the novel as a mysterious savior figure. She alone knows how to navigate through the murky places underneath the house. However, Susan doesn’t lead the crew to immediate safety. She goes missing and our cast becomes divided on whether they should save themselves or risk their own skin to go looking for her.

After they decide to look go in search of Susan, doubt enters into the picture. The characters start to consider Susan to be in a partnership with White. I like this element because it reflects a ton of my own spiritual journey. On Sunday, God feels real close. By Monday morning, when life happens, He feels distant. Funny thing is, God hasn’t gone anywhere. He pursues me, but I let doubt blind my heart and miss His beautiful presence.

Like a roller coaster, the plot goes up to cool places and back down to spots you might not miss. One of the main characters, Jack, begins to encounter other men in the house that look, act, and sound just like him. His twins shout to him for evil actions. The dark side of his own being tempts the real Jack to try and kill Susan.

Later, we are given a meaty explanation that the house is really a product of one’s heart. The people running the inn are really demons powered by the evil desires of the human heart. Susan dies so that the rest may live.  

In case you haven’t read the story, I don’t want to ruin the ending. The last chapter is a nice walk through the garden of pleasant things. It made me feel like I had gone some place meaningful. I think Isaiah 61:4 is a nice summary of House: they will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated.

It makes me think of the entire novel as a mirror, showing me inside the spiritual realm where sin tries to make a mockery of things. But, in the end, God’s grace pours down and makes everything clean again. That is sufficient. All I need. And one day we, too, will all be restored!

I can’t wait to hear your thoughts. Have a great day.

When I grow up, get old, and very likely die, and go to Heaven, I anticipate at least three things:

1. Finally getting to see the face of Jesus.
2. Reunions with Biblical saints, other faith heroes, perhaps household pets, etc.
3. Novels will surely be published based on their inherent virtue, not Big Christian Names.

No. 3 is an issue of what Christian theologians (and writers who want to use theology terms) call adiaphora. Unlike, say, plagiarism or claiming to write a book you haven’t, it’s not sinful for a Big-Name Christian to try his hand at writing novels, and have an advantage over others because he has a Big Name.

Yet I wonder if it’s wise. And perhaps it’s even a violation of the Bible’s direct and implied teachings on spiritual gifts and God-glorifying vocations.

Paul wrote that the eye shouldn’t say to the hand, “I have no need of you” (1 Cor. 12). But what happens when the eye (say, a famous pastor or nonfiction author) instead says to the hand (in this case, a novelist), “Hey — I want your job”? And what does Scripture tell us about Christians who have different gifts and callings — are some of these more “spiritual” than others?

Big name on cover

Last week I wrote about likely the worst published Christian novel I ever read. I don’t want to pick on the author, but it’s called The Third Millennium (must — resist — nasty pun). And not only did I read this work, but its two sequels — intentionally? Why? For a learning exercise.

And one of the lessons I’ve learned is this: in a perfect world, only real novelists would publish novels. If they won’t let a mere researcher of medical thrillers head into the emergency room, don a clean white coat, pick up sharp objects and start a surgery, why let people who are clearly without writing gifts operate fiction’s heavy machinery, just because they have Big Names?

Of course, this isn’t a perfect world. Also, this celebrity-driven culture is just as common outside Christianity as within it. Yet if we truly believe God has given people different kinds of spiritual gifts, shouldn’t the ministers encourage novelists, and shouldn’t novelists encourage ministers?

The Third Millennium was written by a guy who had little fiction-writing training. I don’t know the story behind its path to publication (believe me, I’ve tried to find it). But I do know this:

The author is a psychiatrist, which is stated in the ending Appendix and “About the Author”, but those are unneeded for information of the author’s profession because of the multiple psychiatric “rabbit trails” that are woven into the story, often departing completely from the main intent of the novel. When planning the rooms in your office, it is best to match paint and wallpaper decor for specific patient needs; for example, rooms for examining hyperactive people would be painted in darker-toned colors such as gray or dark blue, whereas depressed patients should be treated in rooms with upbeat colors, such as yellow.

(From my 2002 review of The Third Millennium)

Another glaring example is from the sequel, which tries to portray a literal Millennial Kingdom.

[T]here seems to be no real motivation behind the antagonist world rulers—many of whom, oddly enough, carry the names of their countries’ latter-20th century heads of state. They are simply determined to cause plagues and pestilences and have sheer fun by making a war and breaking things.

But, on one occasion are we given a motivation behind the anarchistic goals of the Egyptian monarch, and the explanation is, to put it bluntly, a riot. [The author] provides the king’s excuse as: struggling with dyslexia and peer abuse as a youth.

(From my 2003 review of The Fourth Millennium)

The ‘bench of bishops’ should not write novels

But as many Christian readers know, it gets worse than trying to find ways to cram in references to your area of expertise (compromise with secular behavior theories notwithstanding). Many of the novels that tarnish all Christian fiction, by making stories mainly means to Life Lessons, come from authors whose true gifts just might lie in more-direct Gospel proclamation.

A Christian novelist is tasked with spreading the Gospel as much as anyone. But his platform and method is different from that of a minister. Thus a novelist might avoid (at times) giving the equivalent of a call to repentance in every single book. Is he compromising the Gospel? Not necessarily. Is he failing to be a witness for Christ? No. He’s merely following the rules of his vocation — just as a Christian politician may not give John 3:16 at the end of every speech.

Speaking of politics, C.S. Lewis had some great things to say about the different practices of Christians who are in different callings: be it clergyman, politician, or playwright or novelist.

People say, ‘The Church ought to give us a lead.’ That is true if they mean it in the right way, but false if they mean it in the wrong way. By the Church they ought to mean the whole body of practicing Christians.

[Lewis goes on to say that many believe, or imply, that Christians should help the world by pushing for specific economic or political improvements — wrong, in Lewis’s view.]

The clergy are those particular people within the whole Church who have been specially trained and set aside to look after what concerns us as creatures who are going to live for ever: and we are asking them to do a quite different job for which they have not been trained.  The job is really on us, on the laymen. The application of Christian principles, say, to trade unionism or education, must come from Christian trade unionists and Christian schoolmasters; just as Christian literature comes from Christian novelists and dramatists—not from the bench of bishops getting together and trying to write plays and novels in their spare time.

— from Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis (emphasis added)

Vocations in view

My case doesn’t just rest on what Lewis wrote, of course. Rather it’s based on what I’ve come to believe is rampant confusion in Christendom about what vocation is. Buried in the back of our minds tends to be the assumption that if your job is not overt Ministry, it’s not very spiritual.

But that isn’t just contrary to theologians who through the ages have written about glorifying God in all of life (by which the Puritans in effect built this civilization). It’s contrary to Scripture.

Slaves [equivalent to employees], obey in everything those who are your earthly masters, not by way of eye-service, as people-pleasers, but with sincerity of heart, fearing the Lord. Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ. (Colossians 3: 22-24)

And in the previously mentioned 1 Corinthians passage, Paul is clear about different gifts. These do not compromise our unity in Christ — they express it, through diversity of tasks and callings.

So in a perfect world, what would happen if someone from the “bench of bishops” thinks he’d like to try his hand at something like Christian fiction? Well, he wouldn’t have a leg up just because he’s made his Big Name at another vocation. Like any other first-timer, he’d have to demonstrate that he can write a story worth telling. Editors would take into account the author’s existing platform, but not only that. And they would also be caring and honest enough to say, “Doctor, all this psychiatry stuff has nothing to do with the story.”

Someday that perfect world will come: the New Heavens and New Earth. And nothing in the Bible presents the idea that “you can’t take it with you”; in fact, multiple passages support the idea that our good works, devoted to God, will follow us into eternity. Why wouldn’t the best novels and nonfiction of God’s people also be there? Surely we’ll also be able to write more.

And while I’m writing more, I hope to catch up to two Biblical heroes in particular — some of the heroes who don’t have their own Sunday school lessons, but whom God used so powerfully:

The Lord said to Moses, “See, I have called by name Bezalel the son of Uri, son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with ability and intelligence, with knowledge and all craftsmanship, to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, to work in every craft. And behold, I have appointed with him Oholiab, the son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan. And I have given to all able men ability, that they may make all that I have commanded you […]” (Exodus 31: 1-6)

God’s first artists and craftsmen. The first man of whom He said, “I have filled him with the Spirit of God.” And those who had unique callings — not a big name, but still an essential role in Israel’s heritage. That’s an encouraging thought to “small” names today.

(Next week: How we can learn to never, never info-dump the way that bad books do.)