Drax from Guardians of the Galaxy accidentally teaches us a surprise about bad words.

Christians who want more “realistic” language in books may benefit from this lesson.

In one of my favorite scenes, this newly famous, metaphor-challenged muscle-alien Drax comes to a realization. He’s been blinded by his own vengeance quest. But he’s become cared for by his new friends: Peter “Star-Lord” Quill, Gamora, Groot, and Rocket Raccoon.

While invading the enemy base, Drax clearly confesses his realization. However, his confession includes at least one bad word, which I will utter here:

Drax: I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you’ve accepted me despite my blunders. It is good to once again be among friends. You, Quill, are my friend.

Peter Quill: Thanks.

Drax: This dumb tree is also my friend.

Groot: (grunts)

Drax: And this green whore is also—

Gamora: Oh, you must stop!

Back up if you missed it: Drax calls Gamora a “whore.” Similarly, he calls Groot a “dumb tree.” Earlier he calls Rocket a “creepy little beast” and “vermin.” (The last name genuinely upsets a drunken Rocket, who dissolves into tears because of his past wounds).

But “whore” is most egregious of all. No woman should be called this name. (For the noble and true Gamora, it doesn’t even fit: she doesn’t once engage in promiscuous behavior.)

So why haven’t we seen any social-media outrage against Drax, Guardians of the Galaxy, Marvel, or Guardians director James Gunn? For progressivists, didn’t Drax use a trigger word? For evangelicals, wasn’t Drax’s term one of many bad words in the movie?¹

There are several reasons, starting when the Guardians’ enemy Nebula arrives on scene:

Nebula: Gamora! You’ve always been weak! You stupid, traitorous—

(Drax blasts Nebula)

Drax (deadly serious): No one talks to my friends like that.

Why aren’t we mad at Drax? Why not call him a gaslighter or a hypocrite?

The answers teach us about two things: well-made story characters, and the reasons why Christians will or won’t appreciate other fictional sins, including folks who use Bad Words.

Naturally, ‘ware spoilers.

1. Drax is a strong but tragic person.

We meet Drax in prison, where he quickly joins with the other captured folks: Peter, Gamora, Rocket, and Groot. Drax easily qualifies as the “muscleman with heart” trope. He’s built huge, thanks to wrestler-turned-actor Dave Bautista. But he also carries a genuinely tragic backstory: galactic enemy Ronan has killed his wife and child. Which leads to …

2. Drax is utterly sincere.

Drax is very direct about his ambition: to avenge his family’s death. To that end, he has no ulterior motives. Only once does he appear to hide his action (secretly summoning Ronan in an attempt to fight him). Otherwise, he doesn’t subvert or deceive. Which also means …

3. Drax is literally metaphor-challenged.

“His people are completely literal,” Rocket says of Drax. “Metaphors go over his head.”

Drax objects. “Nothing goes over my head. My reflexes are too fast. I would catch it.”

This particular aspect makes Drax even more endearing. First, he’s comically “weak” in one area. Second, this is yet another indicator of his sincerity. He’s so literal and above-board that he is not even capable of hiding definitions or meanings in the words he uses.²

4. Drax is humble.

Groot rescues Drax from his loss to Ronan. Instead of showing arrogance or stubbornness, Drax is overtly broken. This leads to Drax’s overtly humble confession to his new friends.

5. Drax truly seeks joy and friendship, not vengeance.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 opens in the United States Friday, May 5.

Unlike other “antiheroes,” Drax hasn’t lost sight of truth and beauty in his vengeance quest. His eyes widen with curiosity or wonder. He throws himself into new experiences. (“Let us put more of this liquid into our bodies!”) When a thrilling spaceship ride ends in a crash, I love Drax’s belly laugh and thrown-back head and exclamation of “Yes! Yes!”

Drax defends Gamora’s honor. His actions speak louder than his use of a bad word.

Later, Drax also kindly comforts Rocket upon the (temporary) death of Groot.

Once Inigo Montoya had his vengeance, he didn’t know what to do with the rest of his life. But you get the idea that post-vengeance, Drax will be quite content to move on with his life.

6. For all these reasons, we implicitly trust Drax.

Drax calls other characters bad to worse names: “imbecile” against Peter, “vermin” against Rocket, “dumb tree” against Groot, and “whore” against Gamora. Why don’t we hate him?

Because we rightly assume that Drax doesn’t mean any special ill will toward them.

He’s strong but tragic. He doesn’t press secret agendas against them. He is simply being literal: Groot is mostly “dumb,” as in he can’t speak; Rocket is literally vermin; and Drax (wrongly) concludes Gamora is a literal prostitute. And we see him confess other sins and pursue joy in gifts outside himself. We “allow” Drax this because we feel we can trust him.

Application: if we trust people and fiction, we’ll ‘allow’ their sins

None of this justifies sins the Bible condemns. For real people, no matter their tragic backstory, likability, or positive aspects, you shouldn’t slander people or swear in anger.

But what about fictional characters using bad words? There’s a time-honored debate.

By now, it seems the issue is not so much that Christians feel certain words are always bad.

Instead, the issue is about trust. Apparently, more Christians trust secular superhero/space fantasy movies. So we “allow” their trusted characters to swear. But fewer Christians trust Christian fiction. So we don’t “allow” their characters to swear.

So what is the solution?

I suggest that advocates of more-realistic fiction need to follow Drax’s example. This may involve creating trusted characters. But more likely, this solution involves becoming those types of people—strong but humble people, who try to live openly and joyously, sincerely, likely keeping our metaphors but avoiding any hint of hidden agendas.

Toward that end, we ought to be first to condemn real, actual sin, either in ourselves or endorsed by other stories. We ought to be first to give the Gospel in nonfiction contexts, and warn against very real and dangerous heresy. We ought to win trust, to exalt God.

Only then may we feel freer to recommend stories in which good but flawed characters can realistically swear. Only then can critical Christians accept us, despite our blunders.

Copyright HR Giger

I recently watched an intriguing documentary on Netflix called Dark Star: The World of H.R. Giger. If you don’t know who he is, Giger is an icon in the art world, pioneering a unique style of Gothic sci-fi art that is instantly recognizable. And even if you don’t know who he is, you certainly know his work. Giger created the most terrifying movie monster in film history, the soulless killing machine in Ridley Scott’s Alien. Giger’s style is a blend of organic and synthetic, drawing heavily from muscular and skeletal anatomy, fetuses, tentacles, and roots, along with pistons, wires, cables, rivets, and plating. But Giger did not simply create Borg-like nightmares; his work is definitely surreal and even whimsical, and more than a bit sexual. There is also a very dark edge to his creations, with numerous works featuring pentagrams and baphomet imagery. I suppose you could describe his style as “demonic sci-fi erotica.”

Aside from his Oscar-winning collaborations on Alien and the subsequent movies, he has a very devoted cult following in the Gothic and heavy metal communities, where his dark fantasies find fertile imaginations to take root. He is also the inspiration for a distinct tattooing style called “biomechanical,” which features organic designs of a futuristic nature. Claws and tendons merge with blades and wires, making the wearer look like a human/alien hybrid.

Copyright HR Giger

The documentary was a fascinating look at a famous artist at the very end of his life (he died only months after shooting wrapped in 2014) but there is a scene at the end of the film that struck me with a bit of sadness. As he looks into the mirror, he declares that he doesn’t believe in life after death, that there is nothing else after we die. While his work skew heavily towards the dark side of the psyche, there is little to suggest an active acceptance or invitation of Satanism. His works are almost always cold, monochromatic, and nihilistic, with hardly a shred of religious influence. One does not look at a Giger painting and say, “I can see hope.” It’s a shame that he died without knowing the God who gave him his incredible imagination.

I also got to wondering: if Giger’s work embodies dark or even demonic sci-fi art, what would Christian sci-fi art look like? Could such a thing even exist? I don’t know of any artists who paint futuristic cathedrals in the stars or robots praising God. Honestly, the notion is a bit silly. This doesn’t mean that Christianity and science fiction aren’t compatible (countless excellent books have already shown this compatibility) but as far as imagery goes, it would be hard for a science fiction artist to paint pictures that would make viewers think, “Yeah, I can really feel the worship in this piece” or “See how God’s love shines through the metal and glass?”

A quote that is often misattributed to Martin Luther says, “The Christian shoemaker does his Christian duty, not by putting little crosses on the shoes, but by making good shoes, because God is interested in good craftsmanship.” A Christian artist doesn’t have to paint divine pictures to be a Christian artist, and the challenge is exponentially harder if he or she is a sci-fi artist. Rather, the artist should strive to paint the best pictures they can, even if they are dark in nature. And if the artist is truly seeking to glorify God in their art, His grace will shine through, even if unintentionally.

Much debate has raged on the topic of books.

Are print books dying? Are eBooks the digital wave of an increasingly digital future? Has traditional publishing become passé?

I think a new debate might be looming around the corner, and it may create as big—possibly bigger—an uproar as the Ebook revolution and self-publishing surge.

Over the past several weeks, I’ve been researching the affect the Internet is having on our ability to concentrate.¹ (Thank you college Capstone class.) What I’m finding is a lot of evidence pointing to the reality that people’s attention is more easily pulled away from one thing to another.

The Internet’s design promotes distraction. Such distractions abound—social media, texting, email—but the thing we don’t always think about or realize is the consequences. It’s also noteworthy that differences exists between the way we read text online and how we read it in physical books.²

I won’t go into the nitty-gritty details (though I’m happy to provide more info of what I’ve found for anyone who’s interested), but based on the patterns, I’m beginning to wonder if a major shift is headed down Storytelling Avenue.

Not in content so much as in style.

It’s a trend seen in movies that are shorter because people have a hard time sitting through 3-hour long films. And scenes in movies and TV shows constantly jump between points-of-view, often in rapid-fire succession.

I think the style techniques apply to books, too. Keeping the reader riveted is part of the story’s job, and with the increasing amount of distractions, that job is becoming more difficult. Over the past few centuries, writing styles have dramatically shifted toward shorter or incomplete sentences, snappy dialogue, and a quick pace to keep readers engaged.

Perhaps another change is in the making.

A New Style of Storytelling?

Last week, Ben Wolf, founder/editor-in-chief of Splickety Publishing shared a fascinating article in a writers group I’m part of. Written by a couple who were in the app-creation business, it tells the process they underwent to write a five-minute story in the format of a text message conversation. Their research and findings caught my attention, but one section in particular stood out to me:

People say that reading is dying.

But we refused to believe this. Storytelling is fundamental to humans; some believe it is the essence of humanity. The demand for great stories is ever present.

Fiction must evolve with the times.

Their specific target audience was teens. That’s key to this entire conversation. Young adults are growing up in a world that’s becoming more digitized by the day. Their brains are being programmed by their environment, an environment which, in many cases, is undermining key features of attentive reading.

Sure they might sit down with a book, but how long before the buzz of a phone or their favorite TV show pulls them away? Is it becoming more difficult for the average teen to read for long periods of time, even finish entire books?

That seems to be the case.

We Become What We Read?

Cognitive neuroscientist Maryanne Wolf has developed a theory about the digital effects on reading. The brain is plastic, basically meaning it has an ability to reprogram itself based on changes we experience. The concern Wolf has is that the flood of information available online presents a danger to developing reading skills by presenting a radically different context in which we absorb information.³

According to Wolf’s theory, the brain circuitry that enables attentive reading doesn’t have a default “On” setting. It’s something that needs to be nurtured, cultivated, expanded through time and effort. On the flipside, that means it won’t develop without intentional effort, and can even be eroded over time.

Plenty of adults—who are likelier to have developed the deep reading competence—still enjoy fiction, so I’m not saying the change will happen overnight.

But what about the next generation, one that has grown up consuming digital content more often than not? I think it’s highly possible the online lifestyle so prevalent today may be having the affects Wolf talks about.

• Less compression.
• Greater distraction.
• Decreased ability to become immersed in a story.

How people take in stories may become much different than what we’re used to, which in turn will influence how storytellers approach their craft.

The Future of Fiction

What does this mean for readers and writers?

Two things.

First, don’t panic.

I’m not saying this to be the Eeyore voice of doom and gloom, but rather to draw attention to a fascinating topic that may become central to the writing profession in coming decades.

There’s plenty of evidence to support the ideas mentioned here. That said, I’m not a super-smart science person, so please don’t take my thoughts as iron rules. By writing about the possible changes, I want to raise the question and start the conversation.

Second, perhaps the time has come to investigate this matter from a storytelling perspective.

As writers, we must at some level cater to the popular demands of the day. If you write a long book with long sentences, static descriptions, and a slow pace, you likely won’t travel far down the road of success. We need to keep that in mind going forward.

Who knows? In the future, writing five-minute stories might be the best way to attract a generation accustomed to Tweets, brief text messages, and fragmented pieces of information.

A generation in which hyper attention⁴ has become the norm.

A generation that may well cause us to rethink how we tell stories.

Do you think storytelling techniques will adapt to accommodate shrinking attention spans? What ways do you see storytelling changing (or not) because of this issue in the coming years?

Struggling author, I’ve read your posts about your pursuit in getting an agent and the challenges in writing career.¹

First and foremost, I hope you get an agent and find a new publisher for your book. You have written an excellent dystopian series and deserves to have wider readership for it.

I know you are going through a tough situation and its easy for others on the outside looking it to tell you just have a faith and everything will take care of itself in “God’s timing.” That is a trite and overused phrase, but I have to admit that it is appropriate for your situation, but with a caveat.

Just having faith and waiting on God’s timing has become completely countercultural in our current social-media culture. We want our things yesterday and being patient is for losers to many in our current age. Also, in the writing community, we are sold the romance of becoming rich, famous, and having literary status by the one book they got the attention of the culture. This writing romance myth started in traditional publishing and now has come into the self/indie publishing world. And most writers are grinders, working day in and day out by publishing numerous (some with pen names) to make a living from their words.

So having faith and waiting on God does not fit in with this current paradigm of being a writer.

I truly understand your waiting things in your writing career to happen and happen right now. However, I have begun to realize there are things in life that will happen on its own time no matter how fast we want it. This is where faith and works come into play here. James says it so clearly in his most (and I will admit overused) well-known verses of scripture in 2:14-26:

Dear friends, do you think you’ll get anywhere in this if you learn all the right words but never do anything? Does merely talking about faith indicate that a person really has it? For instance, you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, “Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!” and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—where does that get you? Isn’t it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?

I can already hear one of you agreeing by saying, “Sounds good. You take care of the faith department, I’ll handle the works department.”

Not so fast. You can no more show me your works apart from your faith than I can show you my faith apart from my works. Faith and works, works and faith, fit together hand in glove.

Do I hear you professing to believe in the one and only God, but then observe you complacently sitting back as if you had done something wonderful? That’s just great. Demons do that, but what good does it do them? Use your heads! Do you suppose for a minute that you can cut faith and works in two and not end up with a corpse on your hands?

Wasn’t our ancestor Abraham “made right with God by works” when he placed his son Isaac on the sacrificial altar? Isn’t it obvious that faith and works are yoked partners, that faith expresses itself in works? That the works are “works of faith”? The full meaning of “believe” in the Scripture sentence, “Abraham believed God and was set right with God,” includes his action. It’s that mesh of believing and acting that got Abraham named “God’s friend.” Is it not evident that a person is made right with God not by a barren faith but by faith fruitful in works?

The same with Rahab, the Jericho harlot. Wasn’t her action in hiding God’s spies and helping them escape—that seamless unity of believing and doing—what counted with God? The very moment you separate body and spirit, you end up with a corpse. Separate faith and works and you get the same thing: a corpse.²

I believe this entire section of Scripture hits on a key point. You must have faith and works. Not one or the other. And the works in this scenario is “why” are you writing? That “Why” will help you with your faith when it seems lacking or even missing while you are going through a challenging time.

I will be a transparent to expound upon what I mean. I have only made about $300 in profit for both Kammbia novels, Transformation Toward Destiny and The Descendant of Destiny. However, I spent at least 5 to 6 times more in getting those books edited, a cover design, formatted for eBooks and paperbacks, and published since 2014. And after I published the second Kammbia novel last October, I was beginning to become disillusioned with the indie publishing process.

(I’m now realizing that discoverability for a self/indie published author is the most challenging aspect of developing a career. And you are basically running a small business and have to treat it as such.)

I began to pray about disillusionment and ask the Holy Spirit if I’m doing the right thing. I truly believe the Holy Spirit nudged into discovering “why” I’m writing instead of what I’m writing.

My first “why” is that the Kammbia fictional universe has been in my mind, heart, and imagination for nearly 25 years. I will be 46 in August and that’s over half my life. I have written stories, made-up cities, created geography, and a fictional universe all of that time. It has been so beneficial to my life and giving a much needed outlet. This “why” I had to write this fictional world no matter what. Whether it becomes a success or not.

My second “why” is to communicate with my readers. I want to tell good stories and be read. I have no illusion in becoming a literary master or postmodern star or anything like that. To tell stories by learning the craft of storytelling for each book I write. I owe to myself and my readers. Also, I have never studied and practiced harder for anything in my life like I have with writing. And I want my readers to escape from their everyday lives when they are reading a Kammbia novel. If I can provide a relief for a few days of reading and they enjoy their experience, then I have done my job as a storyteller. I had to admit that to myself recently and be at peace with it because I’m a serious person by nature. But, when I looked at my favorite novels and I saw this “why” come clear to me and I had to embrace it.

My third and final “why” is to help other indie writers get their first books published. God willing, if I’m able to make a living of my Kammbia novels, I would like to create a grant to get people to write their first novel and published if they want. I’m a huge proponent of creativity and people having that outlet. And if I can help in that way, I will do it.

I felt the Holy Spirit showed me those “whys” to strengthen my faith. Now, I have to create the “works” in order to make it possible. Also, I know that it’s a possibility it will not happen. Very few writers make a living from their words. However, it becoming more of an opportunity with the advent of self/indie publishing. And knowing my “whys” have given me a piece of a mind and strengthen my faith in the process.

Lastly, I have learned that writing, in all parts of it, is an act of discovery. We have to keep evolving and growing and not get seduced and disillusioned by the writing romance myth.

Struggling author, I truly hope you have your “why” or are discovering your “why” for you. And lean on those “whys” for your faith. God bless!

Some of my Christian storyteller friends share legitimate protests against Christian fiction clichés. These include: Christian fiction is too “clean,” legalistic, unrealistic, and narrow.

Despite market downturns, many authors do well. But for various reasons, some do not.

In response, these authors might say, “All those moralistic rules are why I gave up trying to write for the Christian market. Instead I will take my chances with secular publishers.”

As the proverb goes: out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

I say this because from what I’ve seen, some secular publishers may not actually be more free than Christian publishers. Based at least on accounts that have risen to the top,¹ it sounds like secular publishers are taking a page from stereotypical Christian publishing. They are increasingly restricting content based solely on religious (not “neutral”) beliefs.

Let’s survey three unbiblical notions in Christian fiction, and then each secular “imitation.”

Christian fiction: ‘You can’t say bad words’

Splickety Publishing founder/editor-in-chief Ben Wolf recently offered five thoughts in this infamous issue. He emphasized an author’s purpose compared with common Bible texts.

Advocates of the no-fiction-swearing rule seem to apply these common verses not only to a Christian’s personal behavior, but to writing or reading about fictional characters who do swear. They seem to suppose that merely seeing letters on the page will provoke a typical reader to imitating the character’s sinful attitudes that provoked the verbal outburst. (In biblical texts such as Mark 7, Jesus teaches the more frightening truth about sin’s origin.)

Secular fiction: ‘You can’t say bad words’

Meanwhile, secular fiction also increasingly restricts certain “bad words.”

People often restrict books that acknowledge racism, even if they don’t endorse it. We’ve heard debates over whether schools should allow students to read Samuel “Mark Twain” Clemens’ The Adventures of Tom Sawyer or The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.² Less challenged are some very evangelical-sounding assumptions behind this battle: that just seeing any bad word on a page could make a reader commit sin.

Older generations blocked books’ references to sex, but allowed names or other bad words. Today, those previous allowances/taboos have been exactly reversed.

Christian fiction: ‘You can’t explore particular themes’

Arguably, the Christian fiction no-bad-words rule is also applied to certain themes. Most Christian novels I’ve read don’t want to concede that Christians have denominations—and can get very loud about them. Deeper doctrines are off-limits too, like “Reformed” ideas (e.g., God gives special grace to elect those whom He freely chooses to save) versus more “Arminian” ideas (e.g. God provides grace to people who must freely choose salvation).

Christian publishers may want to “be all things to all people,” as much as possible. They may also want to avoid offending many special interest groups. After all, God’s word says to think about pure things avoid triggering (or “causing to stumble”) everyone, right?

Secular fiction: ‘You can’t explore particular themes’

Author Nick Cole explained why he was forced to publish independently, after his already-sold manuscript included a story element that Harper Collins editors deemed too negative of abortion. Meanwhile, a featured author at Tor.com blasted C.S. Lewis’s The Horse and His Boy for supposed sexism, particularly Hwin the mare, who was suffering “repression.”

And of course, there’s the apparent trend of publishers hiring “sensitivity readers.”

Secular publishers, too, want to “be all things to all people” as much as possible. They also want to avoid offending many potential interest groups (or the perception thereof).

Christian fiction: ‘You cannot question our fashionable religion’

I say this cautiously, because there’s a whole industry of Christians (real and otherwise) who literally turn a profit by selling their own Doubt and Authenticity. At the same time, it would help to see more Christian characters directly, blatantly, and honestly wrestling with doubt and despair. Like the Psalmists. Like people who want to curse God and die.

Most Christian fiction I’ve read seem to circumvent this. The problem isn’t their lack of doubting characters. Instead, the Christians’ doubts are so deucedly simple. (“Why did God let my wife die?”). Or the skeptics’ doubts are easily answered. (“Yes, God really loves you.”)

By contrast, the Bible endorses complex doubts on the way to resolving them. The Psalms are full of these. The book of Job is all about this theme; it concludes with Job’s restoration.

Secular fiction: ‘You cannot question our fashionable religion’

Meanwhile, secular fiction holds just as sacred a series of unquestioned religious values:

• Progressivism: thou shalt not question global warming or environmentalism.
• Scientism: science isn’t used for evil, but in fact will “save the day” (like Bill Nye!).
• Particular agnosticism: thou shalt not, by incident or intention, assume the existence of a God who has good, absolute authority over human lives, especially sex lives.
• Sexualityism: thou shalt not say that “gay” sex is anything other than wonderful.³

Secular stories are allowed to be “agnostic” on some of these religious points. But, with very few exception I’ve seen, they are not “allowed” to directly challenge these beliefs.

Spiritual sickness vs. spiritually dead

Do I mean that secular publishers are actually worse than Christian publishers? Do I mean it’s all relative and Christian authors had best stick with the devil they know?

In either case, not at all.

However, it does seem strange to pretend secular fiction markets will be less restrictive than Christian fiction markets. In either one, humans are going to human. Either will be religious and/or restrictive. Either will offer certain freedoms and limits.⁴

It also seems strange to imagine that secular editors, who are not simply “neutral,” will help Christian authors flourish. In any case, the author will likely need to choose, not whether to compromise, but how to compromise. Which can you give up: bad words, or other beliefs?

But in the end, I do wonder about one last market difference. Many godly Christians work in secular media and publishing. Aside from them, which of these is simpler: 1) efforts to cure the spiritual sickness of legalism and anti-excellence notions in Christian publishing, or 2) help resurrect spiritually dead hearts of non- or anti-Christians in secular publishing?

Christian authors can strive to do both, in whatever sphere God has called them to serve.

The problem has plagued Christian readers for decades. Should we read Christian or secular fiction? Or both?

The debate has lasted a long time, and I doubt it will disappear before they remake Lord of the Rings (you know it’s going to happen eventually).

I think we’re missing the point entirely. The question shouldn’t be “What do we read?” but “How do we read it?”

Much Ado About Nothing?

To be clear, I’m not advocating reckless reading habits, where we toss caution casually aside and launch into any tale we please because freedom and choice. In fact, I’m suggesting the opposite.

It strikes me as interesting that in conversations about fiction, two camps generally emerge. The first flees in mild terror to the waiting arms of all-things-Christian (whether overt or subtle) while the second lauds ABA offerings. The issue is much more complex than that, which I’ll get to in a minute.

Why does this dichotomy exist? More importantly, should it?

I think not, for two reasons.

1. It treats the issue with too broad of a brushstroke, categorizing books based on label and other subjective criteria. There’s too much room for stereotyping and not appreciating the nuances inherent to fiction.
2. It puts readers between a rock and a hard place, implying they need to choose one or the other, and nary the twain shall they meet.

At the end of the day, categories are helpful, even necessary—otherwise chaos would reign. But saying “Thou shalt” to one and “Thou shalt not” to another is too simplistic.

What’s the answer, then?

Discernment.

The Vital Role of Discernment

As Christians, I think we have a tendency to drop the ball in this area. It’s right and well that we protect young readers from content too mature for their age, and remain wary ourselves about the stories we consume.

Yet are we too prone to this mindset? So set on protection that we undermine the ability to analyze a story on its merit and not on the accompanying label? By reducing our choices to the safe and the dangerous, we miss out on the opportunity to hone the sword of discernment.

N.D. Wilson shares a thought-provoking opinion:

The world is rated R, and no one is checking IDs. Do not try to make it G by imagining the shadows away. Do not try to hide your children from the world forever, but do not try to pretend there is no danger. Train them. Give them sharp eyes and bellies full of laughter. Make them dangerous. Make them yeast, and when they’ve grown, they will pollute the shadows.

That doesn’t only apply to kids. We young adults and adults and everyone in between need to appreciate the value of discernment. It is the tool by which we can mine the gems of truth from the soil of the stories we read. It’s also the tool by which we spot the counterfeits.

A reader doesn’t—and shouldn’t—need to entirely agree with an author’s perspective to enjoy that person’s book. Heck, if we did that, we wouldn’t read anything outside our own stories.

I read secular fantasy tomes to enjoy a good tale, not as the basis for building my theology or values. Some parts contain shards reflecting the truth, while others don’t. Knowing the difference is where discernment enters the picture.

And how can we sharpen that blade to identify truth from falsehood, solid worldviews from questionable ones, if we hide it in a closet to gather dust because that’s safer?

How we interact with stories, how we engage with them, is just as important as what they contain.

Of course, there are lines which we shouldn’t cross (without getting into the complicated discussion of how and why everyone draws them in a different place). But I think we shouldn’t let fear dictate.

The more we grind our discernment into a keen edge on the whetstone of stories of all varieties, the more we don’t need to fear. We can better the better detect what’s worthwhile, while not letting the rest drown us.

For example, we can plumb the depths of Harry Potter, letting the upright and honorable stick while seeing the shadows for what they are and passing on.

Ultimately, discernment equips us to enjoy both Christian and secular stories.

How do you think we should approach what we read?

This Saturday, April 22, is Earth Day. But most Christians have even less regard for this day than we do for Halloween. After all, it’s about environmentalism and other, well, “earthly” causes. Some are nobly secular. Some are boldly religious. Some are downright pagan.

Yet I think I know how to redeem Earth Day.

A U.S. senator with help from students started the first Earth Day in New York City on April 22, 1970.¹ Organizers wanted to spark a national and worldwide effort to combat pollution and rescue endangered species. They began to get their wish. It started by moving the cultural discussion from the theme of “conservation” to “the environment” (we didn’t always use this word). Then came congressional acts that are, even now and often debatably being used at the federal level to restrict human actions.

Christians can and should discuss how we steward this planet in light of God’s “cultural mandate” in Genesis 1:24. How we follow this mandate is certainly changed after the first humans brought sin into the world. To an extent, Jesus’s Great Commission comes first: to spread the gospel in the world. Saving a human soul is still better than saving the whales.

However, Scripture leaves us no option for ignoring creation care. Our care can include cautious yet intentional participation in events such as Earth Day. Andrew Spencer writes:

Creation itself testifies to God’s glory (Ps. 19: 1–6). Adam and Eve were given responsibility to cultivate and keep the earth (Gen. 2:15), and proper stewardship of the environment remains a primary human function as sub-creators made in the image of God.

Evangelicals broadly agree that humans have a God-given responsibility to use natural resources wisely and maximize flourishing of all creation. However, when we say we are concerned about creation care and fail to participate meaningfully in organized efforts to care for creation, our actions undermine our rhetoric.²

Earth Day events and causes can do a lot of good. Yet Christians are also right to associate the occasion with all manner of religious progressivist beliefs and even outright paganism. As Spencer says, some rhetoric supporting Earth Day blamed Christianity for mistreatment of creation. To save “the environment,” other activists proposed drastic, human-loathing measures such as sterilization, abortion, and other eugenics-minded nastiness.

Meanwhile, even Christians who rightly support “caring for the environment” may lack real beliefs for doing so. One can easily challenge them about why they care so much. Don’t souls matter more than whales? What about “this world is not my home”? Would you really put so much effort to clean up a rental property that’s already condemned to destruction?

New Earth will last forever …

Except, as I’m fond of saying: the Bible doesn’t clearly forecast that planet Earth is doomed.

Except: Scripture constantly prophesies the eternal state in overtly Earthlike terms:³

• Isaiah 60: nations, kings, family members, the sea, wealth, camels, precious minerals and incense,⁴ animals, coastlands with ships, cities with walls and gates, trees from Lebanon (with specific types named), and plenty more precious metals.
• Isaiah 65: houses, vineyards (with hint of prosperity and wine-making from the grapes), trees, work, and childbearing(?).⁵

• Revelation 21: a holy city (this could be symbolic), a mountain, precious jewels again, “no need of sun or moon,”⁶ nations and kings (again, as in Isaiah 60), and “the glory and honor of the nations”—an even clearer reference to some kind of continuity between this world’s kingdoms and the next.

Apart from these direct prophecies, Scriptures such as the Psalms express overt delight in creation. They exalt the Creator. They give nary a hint of the notion that all these wonders and creatures will someday be divinely nuked from orbit—as if God blames the creation for sin’s corruption, rather than blaming the hearts of creation’s would-be human caretakers.

These match the apostle Paul’s more didactic teaching in Romans 8 that “the creation itself groans” as it awaits its redemption, similar to how Christians groan awaiting resurrection. Paul equates creation’s hope with humans’ hope. Creation’s fate is tied to ours. If Jesus rose, then we will rise. And if we rise, in physical Spirit-empowered bodies,⁷ then “the creation itself” will also rise.

Even if we concluded the Bible forecasts Earth’s destruction, God’s word still offers enough delight in creation for us to conclude that it’s worth something to us now. How much more, then, ought we to continue to delight in his world—to worship Him—given that this planet will last forever? And so how much more can we embrace good stewardship of this world?

… After God’s judgment fire

Make no mistake. Some people have gone off the deep end with this. They act as if Jesus won’t return as he promised, or as if “all things are continuing as they were from the beginning of creation.”⁸ Against such skepticism there’s only one response: a reminder of the terrifying future fiery judgment against this world. ⁹ This is just what the apostle Peter promises, with words like “pass away with a roar,” “burned up and dissolved,” and total exposure of “the earth and the works that are done on it.”¹⁰

Since all these things are thus to be dissolved, what sort of people ought you to be in lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set on fire and dissolved, and the heavenly bodies will melt as they burn! But according to his promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells.¹¹

We don’t need to believe God’s judgment fire will obliterate the Earth to quake at reading this. God’s people are safe and even hopeful, but everyone sinful on Earth won’t be.

Why not instead celebrate ‘New Earth Day’?

Still, Peter concludes with that expression of hope. All these terrible things will happen. Then afterward comes the glorious future for saints, especially saints who currently suffer persecution: “the new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells.”¹² No more sinful hearts. No more sinful actions. And that means no more abuse of creation, failure to steward, unsustainable resources, endangered species, or any of that. Unlike secular activists, Christians have a greater hope of a world restored far beyond its original, pre-sin beauty. And even better: we’re not responsible for making this paradise.

Why not then adapt Earth Day into a uniquely Christian celebration?

That way, we could celebrate not just today’s Earth or our care of it, but the future New Heavens and New Earth that Jesus will make. This change makes more sense as a logical followup to the far older (and better) ancient celebration of Easter. We can celebrate Christ’s resurrection and ours, then celebrate Earth’s coming renewal.

We can also still help with environmental care, as our life situations allow. But we would not be motivated by celebrity trendiness, or desire to impress our non-Christian neighbors, or conformity with law, or religious-level guilt about our failure to recycle and conserve.

We would be motivated by the same Person who motivates our other good works: Jesus.

And we would be less affected by progressivist guilt trips. We needn’t suspect the planet will burn if we don’t perform. We would be more affected by God’s promise of a restored paradise—Earth not as an object of our devotion, but as a means to our worship of God.

“You lot, you spend all your time thinking about dying, like you’re gonna get killed by eggs, or beef, or global warming, or asteroids. But you never take time to imagine the impossible. Like maybe you survive.” – The Ninth Doctor in “The End of the World”

Without Jesus, Earth Day makes no sense if you question it. Worse, it can become part of a legalistic religion. If you repent of your selfish human pollution and commercialism, and perform limitless righteous acts to recycle and minimize your carbon footprint, maybe next century you’ll Save the Planet. But then millions of years later, as documented by Doctor Who and many other fine science fiction stories, the sun will swell up and burn up the planet anyway. And you’d be dead millions of years before then. So what’s the point? Only if you believe in Jesus, planet Earth’s Creator, does Earth and human caretaking of Earth have any purpose.

And if you yearn, as I do, not just to stay on a purified planet New Earth, but journey into New Heavens, this will make today’s “practice” stewardship of Earth far more meaningful. Because for eternity, we won’t just care for the planet. We’ll be caring for the universe.

Happy New Earth Day!

Here is a post that I recently wrote for my blog. I’m sure many writers can empathize, and if you’re a reader, I hope it can give you a glimpse into the thought process behind the books:

Unlike many writers, I don’t like to lay my soul bare and dredge up emotional silt and muddy the waters, but I want to share some thoughts that have been simmering for quite a while.

As any writer will tell you, the writing game is far from what people expect it to be. It’s work, pure and simple, a work that the writer is compelled to do, often against their wishes. They have a story inside and they have to let it out. Of course, everyone likes to see positive results and returns from their work, and writers are no different. Any writer who tells you that they don’t at least occasionally dream of fame and fortune is a liar. And for many, that dream does come true. In fact, those success stories are the fuel that keep many writers going, hoping for that one big break, like actors or singers who dream of that one hit that will change everything.

I’m a fairly realistic person, and while I indulged these thoughts in my early writing years, I didn’t let them take root. I was writing edgy Christian speculative fiction, which is about as small as a legitimate genre can be. I realized very quickly that I wasn’t going to have a large audience and one book wasn’t going to make much of a splash. I did my research and looked at what successful authors did to make themselves successful. One important point is having a lot of books available, and producing new ones fairly regularly.

So I did that. In less than six years, I have released seven full-length novels and several short stories. I never hit writer’s block, and I’ve never struggled for ideas. The words have always flowed fairly easily for me, and I thought, “Surely after a few years and a few books, I’ll start to at least get noticed.”

That didn’t happen as quickly as I thought, but I wasn’t fazed. I kept writing, producing books in a variety of genres. I attempted to brand myself as an edgy Christian author who isn’t afraid of controversial content or topics. At first I was self-published, then I landed on a small press, then self-published again, then joined a startup small press. All the while, I was thinking, “It can’t be long now…”

When my sixth book, BEAST, was released, I thought, “This is it. A book with mainstream appeal and Christian content, co-written with a real-life oil driller to make this story of an oil dig disaster as realistic as possible.” It got a little bit of attention but was quickly lost in the literary sea. No big deal. I was already working on what I believe to be the edgiest Christian fiction book of our generation, NIKOLAI THE PENITENT. It was going to be an epic medieval tale that would make readers squirm in their seats – a shocking cover, brutal violence, nauseating depictions of plague symptoms, sexual content, anti-Semitism, religious fanaticism, and the hope of redemption in the midst of horrors. I thought that there was no way this book wouldn’t get noticed, either positively or negatively. Any publicity is good publicity.

And it never materialized. The book did get some early positive reviews and then dropped off the radar astonishingly fast. Besides my secular book INDELIBLE, NIKOLAI THE PENITENT is my lowest-charting book on Amazon. My magnum opus barely had time to spark before it was ash. Of course, the great thing about books is that they last forever, and many stories have been plucked from obscurity years after their initial publication. But as it stands, the stories on which I pinned my hopes have more or less sank like a rock.

Now before you get worried about my mental state as a writer, don’t fret. I’m hard at work on book #8 and I am enjoying it as much as I always have. I am a generally positive and energetic person who is not prone to depression and self-doubt as many writers are. A few years ago, I set a goal for myself to write thirty books in my lifetime. The reason I did this was because I could see that fame and fortune weren’t going to come my way and I needed another source of motivation, and self-created goals have usually worked for me. If I didn’t have this tangible number to strive for, I might just throw in the towel, as I have seen happen to several of my writer friends. Just as with a job, you can’t go to work when you feel like it. If a writer wants to achieve some level of success, they can’t just write when they want to and quit when the tank is empty.

So that’s where my head is at these days. I don’t expect my new book to fly off the shelves when it’s released, though I certainly wouldn’t complain if it did. I’ve just learned to tamper my already muted expectations, and perhaps this is a lesson that God still thinks I need to learn. My goal should be to write the best stories I can as an offering to Him and as fulfillment for myself, not seeking the praise and affirmation of others. And that means I’ll keep chugging along, cranking out story after story, exploring genre after genre. If I hit it big, awesome. If I don’t, at least I’ll have done my best, and what more can a man do?

Sam Gamgee, the humble hobbit

Who’s the best character in fantasy?

Such a broad question begs for any number of answers, but one character always comes up in the conversation.

Sam Gamgee.

Sam is to Lord of the Rings fans what cosplayers are to comic con. It’s impossible not to love him. By all rights he’s a hero, and one of the kindest, humblest, and bravest to grace the pages of fantasy with his presence.

Good old Sam. I don’t know about you, but for me, merely saying his name in my head conjures a host of images.

• Carrying Frodo up Mount Doom.
• Tending his garden in the Shire.
• Embarking on a perilous quest in an act of utter sacrifice, love, and loyalty.

Consider his predicament for a minute. He could accompany his dear Mr. Frodo into the wilds beyond the Shire, but at what cost? Leaving behind his home, his friends and family, his garden, his sweetheart Rosie. Everything he’d known.

As readers, we don’t always appreciate the significance of the sacrifice heroes make in order to combat evil. One reason quest stories are powerful (putting aside tired stereotypes and dulling clichés) is the compelling ways they show sacrifice.

Coming back to Sam, he’s one of the most sacrificial characters you’ll meet. Few characters I know of are as highly regarded as dear Sam.

Why? What about this humble hobbit appeals to us?

I already listed a number of his positive traits, and I could wax eloquent for days on his personality and character. He’s a hero in the truest sense of the word, which is one reason it’s so easy to love Sam. But there’s more to it, I think.

I’ve been running a character tournament over on my blog the past several weeks, and today I announced the winner.

Sam, of course.

He leveled the competition, and that started me thinking…why? Of all the fabulous characters we geeks talk about, why does Sam constantly rise to the top as a universal favorite?

To Be Sam or Not to Be Sam

What’s so special about Sam besides all his hobbit awesomeness and the fact that he saved Frodo and Middle-earth and can cook and is the best gardener this side of Rhȗn?

I think something deeper is at work than his characteristics. As readers, we empathize with characters. We’re able to step out of our skin, our lives, our problems and triumphs, and into theirs.

Image from lotr.wiki.com

When we see Sam, we see someone we want to emulate.

We see his loyalty and admire it.

We look at his courage and wish for the same when facing our own dark paths through Shelob’s Lair.

We witness his humility and innocence, stirring a desire that the same would be true of us.

Sam is loved because who wouldn’t want to exhibit the same qualities if given the chance? There’s something intrinsically compelling about such a character. We marvel at Sam because he’s who we want to be when we grow up.

Sam the Faithful Friend

Yet this perspective points in another direction as well—outside ourselves.

Yes, it would be great to be half as worthy as Sam. In addition to that, such are the virtues we naturally seek in others. At its core, Sam’s worthiness is summed up in one word: relationship.

His friendship with Frodo drives and colors all other parts of his behavior and attitude. Without Frodo, Sam may easily have lived a quiet, uneventful life without ever leaving the Shire. But Frodo’s need and presence drew out the side of Sam we’ve come to know and love.

Deep down, we long for such connection as well.

To have people in our lives as loyal and loving as Sam.

As steadfast and encouraging as Sam.

As brave and fierce—yet humble—as Sam.

The story of Sam, and by connection Frodo, gains its potency from the inherent role it plays in our lives.

In Sam, we have heroism in the tangible form of a sturdy hobbit. Not only does that appeal to us as readers, it digs into the nooks and crannies of our souls to motivate, encourage, and inspire us.

And in the end, his story shines bright with the rays of redemption and hope.

Image from lotr.wikia.com

Why do you think Sam is so well loved?