We all have our fandoms, and other people have theirs. With the never-ending expansion of shows and movies and franchises, no one has the time to join every fandom. Even if we did have the time, no one would have the inclination; human tastes and interests vary too widely. But isn’t it nice to witness the endless enthusiasm other people can show for things that hold, for us, so little interest?

No, not really. Because to be subjected, at length, to enthusiasms you don’t share is so much aggravated boredom. You can’t tell other people you don’t think their fandoms are interesting, any more than you can tell them you don’t think their pets are cute, but you can certainly think it. Dwell on it, even, until your indifference is gradually transformed, by dint of another person’s passion, into implacable hostility.

Why should this be? For one thing, we are all self-centered. If I were a kinder and more generous person, I would have more patience, and even interest, for other people’s enthusiasms. But sometimes fans go too far in insisting on their opinions – over contrary opinions, and contrary evidence, and obvious disinterest. Sometimes, fandoms really do attack.

We all have our fandoms. In the interest, then, of not going on the offensive, here are three principles that we should all, as fans, try to live by.

Number one, in order to have an actual conversation on your fandom, you need another fan. Trying to talk fandom with people who are not fans is like trying to talk shop with people who are not in your business. They likely won’t know what you’re talking about, they probably won’t care, and they certainly will have nothing to add to the conversation. Indeed, this is one of the surest signs of a fandom attack: a conversation – in the loosest sense of the term – that goes on and on even though one party’s main contribution is “Uh-huh.”

Number two, retain your objectivity. I cannot stress enough the importance of this. The worst sort of fan is the one who has lost all critical judgment; who in regards to their fandom will hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil; who insist that the newest movie in the franchise is awesome before actually seeing it, and perfect after seeing it; who feel greater affinity for those who share their fandom than for those who share their nationality, religion, or blood; who can scarcely credit the intelligence or motives of critics; who still cannot admit that Tom Brady probably did not destroy his cell phone because he was innocent.

Don’t be this fan.

Number three, keep your perspective. The better part of no one’s life consists of his fandoms. It really is all right if other people reject, even strongly, your fandoms. And don’t be offended by jokes or parodies or insulting memes. It’s not worth the energy or a fight. Everyone has the right to object to, for example, parodies of his religion or jokes about his mother; no one’s fandom is that important.

These principles will help all of us to, in our fandoms, keep from going on the attack. And if we’re on the defensive when fandoms attack, there are three principles for that, too. Smile. Nod.

Back away.

I knew the Lego Batman movie would be a fun, romping adventure as only an animated film about Legos can be. Especially with the Caped Crusader in the star role.

But little did I expect to find myself immersed in a geek’s paradise of homages, references, easter eggs, and quotes. To quote Larry the Cucumber, “I laughed, I cried, it moved me, Bob.”

I didn’t actually cry (promise), but wow, watching that movie hit the same level of fun as, oh, I don’t know. Running up and down the halls of a college dorm at 3am shooting people with Nerf guns. (Yes, that’s a true story.)

In addition to being a fandom lover’s best friend, the Lego Batman film had plenty to say. Some points more obvious than others. Some goofy, some profound.

ALERT! ALERT!

We’re in spoiler territory. Consider yourself fairly warned, Frodo. If you continue on this journey, you’ll run across dangers you may wish to avoid.

If you dare tread this path, then forge ahead.

Batman and Superman

Here’s a list of ten things we learned from Lego Batman.

1. Superman knows how to par-tay. Seriously, for being an alien, his level of cool is atmospheric. He must also have a grudge against Batman, for like, you know, not inviting him to the annual Justice League celebrations fifty-seven years straight.

2. Villains abound.

In the first Lego movie, everything was awesome.

In round two, everything is Gotham. Full of riotous rogues bent on disturbing the peace and ruining the lives of Gotham’s citizens. Criminals are on the loose. The world’s not always a safe, happy place.

3. Boldness is useful. Robin displayed this well when asking Bruce to adopt him. Sure Bruce gave distracted answers, but Robin took the initiative to approach him.

How about when they infiltrated Superman’s Fortress of Solitude? That took some serious guts.

4. Fandoms rock. There are few things more enjoyable for a geek than to have your favorite fandom worlds collide. That’s where this film excelled, with sightings from Lord of the Rings, Doctor Who, Harry Potter. Also, the references. Brilliant.

A never-ending fandom-powered river of awesome.

5. Batman can drop the beat and Alfred plays a sick electric guitar. Who knew such Bruce’s mansion/the Bat Cave harbored such talent?

6. Family is important. Loneliness is something we all struggle with. On the surface, Bruce seemed to have everything. Fame, importance, a city practically worshiping him. But what value did it give him in the long run?

Everyone, from the world’s best vigilante to the town’s forgotten orphan boy, needs community. Relationships. Family.

7. How to destroy Sauron. Looks like Gandalf and everyone else had it wrong. They were missing the secret ingredient. Hiring a sea monster that shoots fireballs out of its mouth.

8. Work together. This took awhile for Batman to figure out. He loved working on his own, having control, soaking up the glory for himself. But as he learns later on, having a team is not only enjoyable, it’s vital for success.

9. Good ideas are hard. In a nutshell, if you’re not named Batman, good ideas are as hard to come by as self-chosen superpowers.

10. Batman’s password is the best ever. Guess we know his deepest darkest opinion about Iron Man.

via GIPHY

What did you enjoy or dislike about the Lego Batman movie?

Christian fiction is getting a beat down these days. Perhaps we should take a second look at some of the past analysis of it. This article is an edited version of one that appeared here at Spec Faith five years ago. I think it’s an appropriate examination of Christian fiction, then and now.

In addition, I thought about Christian fiction in conjunction with yesterday’s sermon at my church by Dr. Tim Muehlhoff, guest speaker and professor at Biola University. In addressing how we as believers can be ministers of reconciliation to our neighbors and family and friends who are without Christ, he said that we can agree with them about the problem we all face.

He went on to illustrate how we all resist death, how we all desire peace, and how we all have a passion to find love, so much so that we fill our stories with happy endings that give us the perfect world we so desperately desire. Yes, fiction does that. Not just Christian fiction. The Princess Bride, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Superman, Pretty Woman, Sleepless In Seattle. Or even more recent films like La La Land, Love And Friendship, It Had To Be You, and others.

The point of the message is that we all, believers and non-believers alike, have a desire to know the perfection for which we were created. We want life without death, a world without war, and relationships that give us true love. So we pepper our stories with the desires of our heart.

Christian fiction does so as well. Is that a bad thing?

– – – – –

The novel had a simple, even predictable plot, and the writing was serviceable at best. The characters were not complex, the theme undeniably obvious. Imagine my surprise, then, when I came to the climax of the story and cried.

Isn’t that the greatest achievement for fiction—to move readers emotionally?

Not according to freelance writer Tony Woodlief in his article “Bad Christian Art” which appeared in the online journal Image. In this critique of Christian fiction, Woodlief lists three specific areas he refers to as “some common sins of the Christian writer.” Last on the list is sentimentality:

Like pornography, sentimentality corrupts the sight and the soul, because it is passion unearned. Whether it is Xerxes weeping at the morality of his unknown minions assembled at the Hellespont, or me being tempted to well up as the protagonist in Facing the Giants grips his Bible and whimpers in a glen, the rightful rejoinder is the same: you didn’t earn this emotion. (emphasis mine)

I’ll admit, this has me confused. When is passion in fiction “earned” by the reader? It isn’t. Whatever passion a reader experiences is in one sense “borrowed” because he’s reading someone else’s story. The fear or tension or joy a reader feels in reaction to what happens to a pretend person is never earned in the sense that the reader lived the events that generated the emotion. So what kind of story could ever create “earned” passion?

Since I’m admitting stuff today, I’ll add this: I’ve teared up at Hallmark greeting card commercials, too.

You might think that I’m merely a maudlin person, perhaps, but I don’t think so because I know others who have teared up at the end of those heartwarming, sentimental card ads.

Ah, sentimental—“of or prompted by feelings of tenderness, sadness, or nostalgia” according to the Oxford American Dictionary. But there seems to be an important difference in the use of sentimental when discussing literature, music, or art: “dealing with feelings of tenderness, sadness, or nostalgia in an exaggerated and self-indulgent way” (emphasis mine).

So the emotion isn’t the problem, it would seem, but rather the issue is whether it is exaggerated or self-indulgent. Honestly, I don’t know that this use of sentimentality gives room for a “right” or earned passion. It seems to me if it is sentimental—exaggerated and self-indulgent—there is no change that will make the reader’s emotional experience “earned” and therefore acceptable and appropriate.

I’m not sure I’m any closer to understanding this. For one thing, I don’t know if I understand what exaggerated emotion in fiction looks like.

I think I know it when it comes to suspense. It’s the old piece of writing advice—if all the character has to trust in is a horse, then shoot the horse. (That’s my interpretation of “make things go from bad to worse.”) Often times I read or watch a story unfold and roll my eyes because all those bad things happening to one person in a lifetime would be unbelievable, never mind that in this story it’s all taking place within forty-eight hours!

Perhaps the same could play out with grief—one person after another dying or leaving. But I don’t think that’s the accusation against Christian fiction.

Woodlief compared sentimentality in Christian fiction to Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s idea of cheap grace. He then elaborates:

The writer who gives us sentimentality is akin to the painter Thomas Kinkade, who explicitly aims to paint the world without the Fall, which is not really the world at all, but a cheap, maudlin, knock-off of the world, a world without suffering and desperate faith and Christ Himself, which is not really a world worth painting, or writing about, or redeeming.

I can only imagine that someone who complains about Thomas Kinkade landscapes must live a deprived life, away from all natural beauty.

But that brings another question. Is it always sentimental to show God’s goodness and not also show man’s depravity? I mean, apparently Kinkade detractors want to see a rusted car or a discarded tire painted into the foreground of his scenic pictures.

These visual comparisons to writing make me think of where I live in Southern California. We are surrounded by beauty, but at the same time, man’s depravity is just as apparent. As an illustration, a view of the snow capped San Gabriel Mountains, which I can see out my window, often include the gray haze of smog. But not always. If I were to paint the picture the day after it rained, the sky would be a wonderful cerulean hue.

Which of these views is true? Both. If I were to intimate, however, that the latter is the only truth, then perhaps that would be “self-indulgent” or at least dishonest.

But I believe, to intimate that the sky is never smog-free is just as untruthful.

In other words, I believe that stories that suggest God never brings things to right here in this life are just as untrue as those that imply He always does so.

Perhaps J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis were such masters because they knew how to show both the truth of this world and the truth of Christian hope.

In the Lord of the Rings, Frodo decides to claim the one ring for himself, but in spite of his change of heart, the ring is destroyed. Yet that’s not the end. There is more struggle before evil is vanquished, and even then not everyone “lives happily ever after.”

So too with Narnia. At one point each of the children learns he or she won’t be coming back to Narnia … but then all except Susan do, in a final way that is bitter-sweet.

I cried at the end of those stories. Was that sentimental because I hadn’t earned the right to feel the joy mixed with sadness—the commingling sense of triumph and loss?

I never considered anything about these stories to be sentimental. Instead, I think I cried because they felt real.

It is real stories (not “realistic”) that stay with readers. Not because I as a reader have suffered as the characters did or triumphed in the same way either, but because I recognize the truth of their condition. I may mourn because of it or I may long for it, but one way or another, it triggers an emotional response.

Is that good or bad?

Is allegory dead? Are people still writing it? Okay, never mind, I know people are writing it, but are there any good ones anymore? Good allegories only seem to come out once a generation, but why are there so many pretenders scratching out half-baked stories that flop in a flash?

I’ll wager a guess: it’s a good allegory, but a bad book. Many Christian writers think a good message will stand on its own, and maybe it used to, but that won’t fly today. Readers don’t want to buy sermons—or if they do, they won’t go to the fiction section! Fiction readers want to read books. Stories, tales, yarns that you’ve spun.

But stories have rules. So if you’ve ever even entertained the idea of writing an allegory, consider the following suggestions.

1. Throw out the Bible

Stay with me, put down that pitchfork. I mean in a narrative sense. Themes, topics, characters, all these Bible facets are welcome in allegory, so long as you keep them far, far away.

By this, I mean don’t cut and paste, or do so as little as possible. I once edited a story where the scene follows a non-Jesus character who is totally Jesus because he’s literally saying and doing every single thing Jesus said and did in the order he did it. That’s not allegory. That’s a lawsuit from Zondervan!

Allegory takes things and expounds upon them in a new way, or arranged in a new order. They don’t just give us what the Bible has already said—there’d be no point. If you want people to read the Bible word-for-word continuously, just give them a Bible.

Fiction is about creating.

2. Forget about Jesus (as you know him)

Do you know why Aslan worked so well? Because C.S. Lewis didn’t see him as allegorical. In A Life Observed, biographer Devin Brown reports that Lewis didn’t say, “This is Jesus;” he said, “This is what Jesus would say and do if he were Aslan.” He made Aslan a character that existed in his own world.

If you’re dropping Jesus in your story, he’d better literally be Jesus, not some representation, but Jesus himself. If it’s a representation, then it has to act like a representation.

If your Jesus figure (or whomever) wasn’t merely an allegorical element, how would he act?

3. Subtlety, even in Overt-ness

I don’t like coffee at all, but douse it in enough sugar and flavoring, and I might drink it. The same goes for allegories. To most, it’s a bit hard to swallow, but drown it in another flavor, and they won’t even realize they’re taking their medicine.

Take another leaf from Narnia’s book. When Aslan died and rose again, it was an extremely obvious parallel to the cross. But you know what the book never said? That it was an extremely obvious parallel to the cross. It let the moment be and rest on the laurels of its own world.

The book never turned to the reader and said, “This is for you! It’s the same in real life!” Lewis kept the act about Edmund and Aslan. It didn’t even preach a salvation message to its own inhabitants. One might say that nobody is really “saved” by Aslan’s death except Edmund. But it’s okay.

Why? Because the readers got it.

4. Give your readers credit

When you’re writing to adults, remember this: adults can feed themselves. Just give them the food and they can take it from there.

Don’t fret over the message of your allegory, fret over the writing. Messages are easy to make, but hard to deliver. The more it’s a story and the less it’s a message, the better the odds are your readers will love it.

Writers must be excellent actors when they write allegory. This isn’t church; it’s a novel. There’s no place for an alter call or a desperate plea for salvation thinly veiled as narrative. Even Christian readers get sick of poor pretenders. So you must sell your allegory under the guise of a planned, logical, meaningful story, even if that “story” is thin.

For example, Hind’s Feet on High Places isn’t fooling anybody, not when the main character’s name is Much-Afraid. But though it’s overt as can be, it never looks at the reader and says, “Get it?” It just tells the story of how Much-Afraid grows and changes on her journey, and trusts the reader to bridge the gap from book to life.

Subtlety is an art. Writing is an art. If you want to write allegory, you must be, or become, an artist yourself. This takes a lot of work and a lot of failure, but those things make you a more successful writer, one whose messages are more likely to be heard by the masses.

In short, try to forget what you’re writing is an allegory. Think of it as a story and weave the tale around the allegory so tight that your readers won’t know what hit them.

– – – – –

Michael A. Blaylock is a writer, editor, Christian, gamer, reader, film buff, and anime nerd living in Southern Idaho. Passionate about art in all forms, he creates to show God as artist and promote Christian freedom. He’s the author of Ferryman and several shorter projects. Find him on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, and his website.

Wow! How about that “first known system of seven Earth-size planets around a single star”? They already have official government fan art and everything. But seriously, that news is exciting. Could we see them someday? Maybe even travel there or colonize them?

But if people colonize the moon, Mars, or these planets, what happens when Jesus returns?

I first pondered this eschatological riddle during my teen years. But now that I’m older and have read many books about doctrine and the end times¹, and can put away childish questions about such immature and fantastical notions, this challenge still baffles me.

Whatever your end-times view, all Christians believe Jesus will physically return to Earth. The problem is, these biblical texts are entirely Earth-focused. For example, John writes:

Behold, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, even those who pierced him, and all tribes of the earth will wail on account of him. Even so. Amen.²

This concept already causes some difficulties when you consider time zones. The final³ Left Behind novel, Glorious Appearing, tried to solve this by hinting that believers on the other side of the world (opposite Israel, naturally) somehow saw a vision of Jesus returning over there.

But it causes even more difficulties to hypothetical residents of spheres that are not earth.

Can Jesus return in a sci-fi future?

NASA still existed in the Left Behind series novels, but only so someone could report the killer asteroids were coming.

Imagine it’s the year 2250 A.D. Several private space corporations working with Earth’s governments have founded a lunar colony. It’s primarily to support multiple consortiums active among relatively nearby asteroids. Meanwhile, a few human scientists populate a small research base on the planet Mars. And on Earth we get wars, rumors of wars, perhaps a creepy Devil-run Roman dictator sort, or whatever floats your end-times boat.⁴

Soon it’s a literal Battle of Armageddon, if that’s your thing. Everyone is fighting everyone else. Suddenly, krakoom. Heaven opens, “and behold, a white horse! … [Its Rider’s] eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. … From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron.”⁵

As prophecy foretold, “every eye will see him … and all tribes of the earth will wail on account of him”⁶ What about the tribes not on Earth?

It sure sounds like a binary: you anticipate Jesus’ return, or you anticipate space colonies.

That’s a bit harsh on Christians who want to anticipate both, while putting first things first.

Isn’t SCIENCE AMAZING? Yeah, kinda

For my part, I want to love Jesus more than science or science fiction. Jesus is the Creator not only of Earth but of the entire universe.⁷ He also commands humans to steward the Earth,⁸ which led to the human invention of science.

Many early scientists professed Christianity. So did former German scientist Wernher von Braun, founder of modern rocketry.⁹ Even in years since, when other religions, such as progressivism and secularism, have dominated science, people may still struggle to keep their atheism when staring in awe at the stars.

(Perhaps this is why many astronomy articles and memes pull out all the worshipful adjectives: Isn’t SCIENCE great? Behold the wonder of SCIENCE! Rather, behold how stupid this verbal evasion! At least say behold creation, which is slightly closer to the real truth.)

But if you, like me, want science to succeed so we can observe and maybe even physically explore this marvelous universe, you’ve had an awful/beautiful week just based on these:

• SpaceX Launches 1st Private Rocket from Historic NASA Pad — Then Sticks a Landing, Space.com, Feb. 19. Wow! Privately owned SpaceX, working with NASA, lands a rocket back on Earth so you can save the equipment and make launches cheaper. Next, the capsule should dock with a space station sometime today.
• And of course, NASA Telescope Reveals Largest Batch of Earth-Size, Habitable-Zone Planets Around Single Star, NASA.gov, Feb. 22. Wow! New planets! Like Earth!

Then along comes some snoozer to say, for example, calm down about those “Earth-like planets.” No one took any photos. It’s all math, telescopes, and illustrations. And no one’s going to the Moon. And no one is going to Mars. Even though we could have done this years ago using today’s technology. Every big space news fizzles out these days. (Remember the Jan. 14, 2004 call by President George W. Bush for clearer space exploration goals? He called for human missions back to the moon by at least 2020. How’s that working out?)

And of course, then along comes some Christian, like me, to remind us all of a spiritual truth: that Jesus’s return doesn’t seem to jive well with space colonies.

Or does it?

The best extra-biblical book on Heaven (really more about the New Heavens and New Earth) you’d ever read.

Space travel in the New Earth

I checked. Even if my little argument is true—that Jesus can’t return if some people aren’t on Earth for the event—I read nothing against space travel after Jesus returns.

Jesus’s adopted daughters and sons are destined to rule under Him on New Heavens and New Earth. This is a physical paradise for physical, super-embodied (but embodied) people to live. New Earth is this planet, fire-purged of all sin, not replaced with some other existence mode, but renewed almost like our resurrected bodies will be renewed.¹⁰ And New Heavens will surely be this selfsame universe, melted down and made like new.

Why then wouldn’t we explore New Heavens for the glory of their Creator and Savior?

Why wouldn’t we use science and technology, good tools humans managed to create per God’s command in Genesis 1:28, to build better and faster ships and depart this Earth (only temporarily!) on journeys of wonder and discovery? Why not settle on the Moon? On Mars? Maybe even on other planets we could not survive on before?

And even assuming we get no “cheat codes” from the Creator of physical laws themselves, why couldn’t we also develop something like warp drive to reach those seven planets? Even without such technology, we would have eternity to wait for slow ships to reach them.

Either way, I’m sure the best space missions await in eternity. But I’d love to see more now, if for no other reason than to ensure we don’t forget the awesomeness of God’s creation.

Why do we create stories?

More specifically, why as Christians do we create stories?

As I writer, I’m well-acquainted with the long journey of crafting a tale. The lonely hours, countless revisions, fear that what you’ve written is no good. The life of a typical storyteller is as far from the glitz and glam as the Shire is from Mordor.

Yet we continue to tell stories.

What sparks the passion in our hearts? What spurs the motivation and shapes the desires and goals we pursue with our craft?

Ask ten different creatives, and you’ll receive ten different answers. In my experience the goal for the Christian storyteller, in simple terms, can be boiled down to a single theme: write stories that show the Truth.

How we go about this is as varied as the commanders of the U.S.S Enterprise.

Speculative stories are near and dear to my heart. They, unlike any other medium I’ve encountered, are perfectly positioned to present epic stories that resound with the clarion call of truth while wrapped in a compelling narrative.

Sadly, though, when planted in the soil of the CBA, these fantastical stories may just as well have found a home in the Sahara. And even the overall industry seems in decline. What to do?

• Decry the abundance of Amish, romance, and other genres that dominate the market?
• Mourn over the lost opportunities for a vibrant spec-fic slice of the CBA pie?
• Worry about the shrinking market in general?
• Throw up our hands and say, “Beam me up, Scottie”?

In a word, no.

Last week, E. Stephen Burnett discussed the resurrection of Christian fiction (and not just spec-fic). As he said, the rumbles of doom and gloom regarding the fate of Christian fiction are strengthening. How should Christian storytellers of all genres respond?

1. Wait for (or help bring about) the resurrection

The resurrection of Christian fiction, that is. Stephen’s post made some excellent points, particularly:

We need distinct companies and labels and systems and everything. Apart from faith-based reasons, Christians are a people group, too. And people groups will inevitably develop their own subcultures, just like any other semi-organized fandom. In fact, if we believe in the Church doing the Great Commission, we must accept that we’ll have some kind of culture by gathering together in local churches to learn the Gospel, fellowship, and help one another practice evangelism.

In a previous post, he advocated for deeply real Christian fiction, an area too often neglected in the conversations about Christian fiction, Christian spec-fic, and the fates and woes and downsides of the entire industry.

Personally, as a reader and a writer, I think it would be grand to see the entire Christian market thrive. Meantime, though, the outlook grows bleaker. Where does that leave storytellers?

2. Despair of ever making it and move on to other things

Let’s just say NO and leave it at that. The temptation is there, I’m sure. Why struggle, why pour your heart and soul into something that will never escape an obscure existence on your hard drive or in your desk drawer?

I’m going to suggest that view is too narrow. It’s too easy for Christian storytellers to become content boxing ourselves into an either/or scenario. Either we publish Christian fiction or we don’t publish anything.

“But self-publishing,” you might say. “That’s a viable option.”

Quite true. But who’s the target audience? Probably all the other Christians who aren’t satisfied by what the CBA has to offer. How does that help, though, if the market is shrinking and readership is down?

Perhaps it’s time to turn our attention elsewhere.

3. Explore other options

This is where the idea of purpose comes in. In order for our storytelling to matter, need we focus solely on a specific market (e.g. the CBA)? I think not. In fact, I think it’s healthy that we expand our horizons.

Some have done an excellent job of this. I’ve attended the Realm Makers conference the past three years and have met authors who are seeking publication in the ABA. Maybe, if Christian fiction experiences the rumored doomsday, this could provide a good resource.

Focus on the Purpose

The point is this: the market doesn’t matter as much as the purpose. Certainly, each author has a distinct style and motivation, and each story takes on a unique quality. But if our ultimate goal is to present timeless truths through story, why limit ourselves to this market or that market?

Why depend on a Christian publishing industry?

Is our purpose to write stories that fit into a box? Or rather, is it to be sub-creators, as Tolkien put it, whose work reflects in small fragments the Greatest Story? To tell tales of heroism, sacrifice, love, loyalty, and redemption?

That’s the crux of the matter. Even if the CBA bombs, or if it survives and spec-fic (or other genres) struggles to grow like a rose in the arctic tundra, that’s not the end of the story. Because our focus should be on our purpose as storytellers.

To paraphrase Field of Dreams, “If we tell good stories, people will read them.”

So let’s roll up our sleeves, crank up the music, and tell some truly epic, God-glorifying tales.

How do you think Christian storytellers should face the coming changes and challenges?

This past week, I saw the TV ad for the upcoming The Shack movie. I’d seen the trailer some time ago, but was dismayed that the promotion was reaching a TV audience. And in LA. We don’t often hear about “Christian” projects here.

There’s no doubt that The Shack positions itself as Christian. After all, Jesus shows up, albeit in imaginary form. But is it Christian?

What constitutes “Christian fiction”? That’s a question we here at Spec Faith have answered and revisited since our inception some ten years ago (see for example this early post by one of the founding members of Spec Faith).

Not only have writers and readers debated what constitutes Christian fiction, and particularly Christian speculative fiction, we’ve debated the rightness of and the need for good doctrine in our fiction (see for example “Reading Choices: Realism, Truth, And The Bible“). “Doctrine” encompasses both theology and beliefs concerning morality, and we’ve discussed those too (see for example “Marcher Lord Press and the Hinterlands Imprint“).

On top of these generalized discussions, we’ve also posted articles specifically about The Shack. But that was eight years ago, when the book was still on the top of best-selling lists and Christians and non-Christians alike were passing it around from one person to another and discussing it over coffee.

Now the movie version of Paul Young’s book is about to come to a theater near you, and the question no one could answer back then is bound to resurface: Is The Shack truly Christian?

There are some specific issues that came under scrutiny concerning the book.

Some people stumbled over the most glaring issue right from the gate. I mean, isn’t it blasphemous to depict God the Father as anything but a Father?

I understand how portraying God as other than how He portrays Himself, can be troublesome. At the same time, I can see how others accept “God’s” explanation: that He needed to reveal Himself to the main character in a way he could receive Him.

That being said, I suggest one of the central problems of the story surfaces within the discussion of this rather peripheral issue. The Shack has little use for the Bible. Hence, God the Father is easily replaced by the needs of the character.

There are other major issues—the attitude toward the Church and universal salvation and an understanding of the Trinity.

Yet more than one Christian has reported how life changing The Shack was for them, how they wept as they read it, how they understood God’s forgiveness in a way they never had before.

So . . . is it Christian?

Can it be Christian if it shows God in ways He does not show Himself? If it does not point people to His word or His body, the Church? If it falsely claims universal salvation?

On the other hand, how can it not be Christian if it gave many believers renewed faith and deeper love for God and a deeper understanding of forgiveness?

On one hand, The Shack may not tick all the intellectual, theological boxes, but on the other, it more than makes up for that lack by the emotional, spiritual juice it provides.

In thinking about the “what makes something Christian” question, I have to look at the object itself, not the results that may come from it.

The Apostle Paul did just the opposite when he was imprisoned in Philippi and a bunch of so-called Christian brethren started preaching. Paul identified their motives as envy and strife and selfish ambition (Phil. 1:15, 17), but he basically said, so what? As long as they preached Christ, who cared that they had bad motives?

the former proclaim Christ out of selfish ambition rather than from pure motives, thinking to cause me distress in my imprisonment. 18 What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed; and in this I rejoice. (vv 17-18a)

Paul was only concerned with the bottom line: the result. These “brethren,” false or true, were telling people about Jesus.

So, isn’t that the best test? Shouldn’t we be applauding The Shack, if the movie is successful, because it is bringing people to Christ?

I said above that I have to look at the object itself, because my question is, Is The Shack truly Christian? Lots of things can bring people to Christ. War has been known to do so. A friend of mine came to Christ by reading a novel. Others look at the heavens and know they need to find the One who made them. After 9/11, here in the US any number of people turned to God in the midst of their fear and uncertainty.

Would we say war is “Christian” because some soldiers reported coming to Christ when faced with their own mortality? No, certainly not. God can and does use whatever means He wishes, but His use of the thing does not baptize it as emblematic of His Good News.

So I reject the idea that The Shack must be Christian because people report a deeper relationship with God after having read it.

When Paul talked about those so-called brethren in Philippi, he gave no indication that they were preaching anything but what was true about Christ. Elsewhere, however, he addressed those who were not preaching the truth.

For such men are false apostles, deceitful workers, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. No wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. Therefore it is not surprising if his servants also disguise themselves as servants of righteousness, whose end will be according to their deeds. (2 Cor. 11:13-15)

In writing to the Galatians he also brought up the matter:

But it was because of the false brethren secretly brought in, who had sneaked in to spy out our liberty which we have in Christ Jesus, in order to bring us into bondage. (Gal 2:4)

Clearly, Paul was not hesitant to call out those who were not preaching the gospel but who were masquerading as if they were fellow believers. The same is true throughout the Bible about false teachers and false prophets. Jesus Himself made some of the strongest statements about “wolves in sheep’s clothing,” about false prophets misleading many, even about false Christs.

So determining who is and who isn’t a Christian, what is and what isn’t true Christian teaching, seems like an important aptitude.

Yet I know people will hold back for fear of judging. We aren’t supposed to judge each other, are we?

We’re not.

But that doesn’t mean we’re to put our brains on hold, either. We can still think. We can still look at the story on the screen and compare it with what the Bible says. Which is, after all, the unchanging, authoritative Truth by which we know what “Christian” means.

Violence is sensationalized in the media day after day. Saw, Final Destination, and Silent Hill movies have made a killing at the box office (pun intended). The Walking Dead, one of the most terrifically gruesome TV shows ever made, is also one of the most viewed. And M-rated video games like COD: Modern Warfare set worldwide sales records that rival many small nations’ GDP.

The point many make in response to this wave of violent entertainment is that Philippians 4:8 instructs us as follows: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

How could gruesome violence ever fit into that framework?

Because I grew up in the era of hack-n-slash video games, I’ve struggled with this concept for quite some time. More recently, as I tackled the story of the world’s first murderer, I had to revisit it with some fervor.

The last thing I wanted to do was create something perverse, slap my name on it, and put it out to the world. Before I hit “send” on the final manuscript for Cain, I had to make sure my conscience wasn’t seared.

Violence in the Bible

The first place to look for direction is, of course, the Bible itself. Seeing as Genesis 4 talks about Abel’s murder, we know that it’s perfectly acceptable to talk about violence. But the point of mentioning the violence in Genesis 4 is to show God’s grace and love, and to juxtapose it with Cain’s evil.

So, what if what’s in question is a novel, which must give the reader a vivid, multi-sensory experience? Abel’s murder is vague. We don’t know if he used a weapon, or how brutal the murder was. Therefore, to answer the question of how much violence is appropriate to show, we have to dig deeper into Scripture.

Violence portrayed in Scripture

First, we could look at instances where God commands certain acts of violence.

And the LORD said to Moses, “The man shall be put to death; all the congregation shall stone him with stones outside the camp.” And all the congregation brought him outside the camp and stoned him to death with stones, as the LORD commanded Moses.

Numbers 15:35-36

Second, we could look at the violent actions of God-honoring people. Like in Judges, where we see one of God’s prophets brutally slaying a fat king.

And Ehud said, “I have a message from God for you.” And he arose from his seat. And Ehud reached with his left hand, took the sword from his right thigh, and thrust it into (king Eglon’s) belly. And the hilt went in after the blade, and the fat closed over the blade, for he did not pull the sword out of the belly; and the dung came out.

Judges 3:20-22

Yikes. That’s pretty disgusting. If we try to argue that graphic detail is only acceptable to make a central point about God, then that last passage pretty much debunks our thesis. What’s the point of saying, “and the fat closed over the blade, for he did not pull the sword out of the belly; and the dung came out,” other than to add detail and realism?

Then there’s the next chapter of Judges. . .

But Jael the wife of Heber took a tent peg, and took a hammer in her hand. Then she went softly to him and drove the peg into his temple until it went down into the ground while he was lying fast asleep from weariness. So he died.

Judges 4:21

And the actions of David, one of the most beloved Bible characters of all time.

And David put his hand in his bag and took out a stone and slung it and struck the Philistine on his forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell on his face to the ground. Then David ran and stood over the Philistine and took his sword and drew it out of its sheath and killed him and cut off his head with it. And David took the head of the Philistine and brought it to Jerusalem, but he put his armor in his tent.

1 Samuel 17:49, 51, 54

These passages seem to indicate that detailing violence, even in certain graphic details that don’t play a central role other than to add detail and realism, can be perfectly acceptable. And this doesn’t even come close to the gory detail of blood sacrifices peppered all throughout the Old Testament.

Violence as essential to Christianity

Though the Bible says many times that it’s perverse to enjoy violence, sometimes detailing violence is necessary, and even encouraged. “But that’s only in the Old Testament!” you say.

Not true. If we shied away from detailing the graphic deaths that the apostles endured, we miss the depth and import of their faith. Stephen had his head smashed in by a rock. Some of the apostles are said to have been crucified upside down. Other early Christians were eaten alive by lions, burned to death, or beheaded.

Even more important, the centerpiece of Christianity is built on one of the most gruesome deaths of all time. Just watch the movie The Passion of the Christ, which offers a fairly accurate representation of the sufferings Jesus endured as he was murdered on the cross, and you’ll realize that violence, even graphic violence, is biblical. In fact, without graphic violence, the Christian faith wouldn’t exist at all.

By all accounts, the Christian faith is not for the squeamish. We’re even commanded to symbolize drinking Christ’s blood and eating his flesh by partaking in communion. “But wait,” you say, “Don’t zombies eat flesh, and don’t vampires drink blood?”

If violence is used to emphasize a deeper truth–as it is in Scripture–who are we to criticize?

Brennan McPherson

When we really examine the reasons for why violence isn’t acceptable to some, we find it’s mostly because we don’t want to be made to feel uncomfortable. But Christ did not come so that we could feel comfortable. He came to redeem us and to empower us to bear our own cross. The cross is the symbol of ultimate suffering, and we’re commanded to take that suffering willingly. If we don’t, we have no place in God’s family.

Yes, there’s much to be said about not glorifying violence or causing an audience to revel in it. But, in the end, that line is so ambiguous that it must be settled between God and the artist. When the world has ended, all our works will be judged by fire. God will lay everything bare.

What do you think about violence in entertainment?

Christian fiction is dead. Long live Christian fiction?

In the last months I’ve heard rumbles of doom about the fate of inspirational or Christian fiction, e.g. novels from Christian publishers, just keep getting louder.

Agent blogs, such as this one, hint at big industry-wide changes starting this year, as evangelical publishers will apparently reduce their fiction offerings.

Christian authors, such as Robert Treskillard and Anne Elisabeth Stengl, who had formerly been published through larger evangelical publishers, both announced last month they are pursuing other opportunities. (Stengl said this is because her books have not sold well.)

What’s causing this shakeup? I’ve read a few theories:

• Christian fiction has a lingering reputation (undeserved) for being uniformly bad.
• Christian bookstores and physical bookstores altogether have a dwindling audience, or perception of such. (One bookstore chain fell into bankruptcy but was rescued in 2015. EDIT: Just one week after this article was originally published, the same retailer, Family Christian Stores, announced Feb. 23 that it would close all of its stores.)
• Younger Christians aren’t shopping at Christian bookstores, or for “Christian” things in general, for various reasons—including the above, and for other lifestyle choices.

For my part, I used to purchase books enthusiastically at Christian bookstores. I stopped when I got older, for the same reasons I prefer streaming services over cable television: I like to go directly to the stories I want, while skipping other stories or ads for other things.

But I’m a fan who believes Christians do need their own fiction. We need distinct companies and labels and systems and everything. Apart from faith-based reasons, Christians are a people group, too. And people groups will inevitably develop their own subcultures, just like any other semi-organized fandom. In fact, if we believe in the Church doing the Great Commission, we must accept that we’ll have some kind of culture by gathering together in local churches to learn the Gospel, fellowship, and help one another practice evangelism.

Others have other reasons for avoiding “Christian fiction.” Let’s talk about those elsewhere.

Here, I want to imagine life after the death of today’s Christian fiction. After all, Christians believe in the ultimate death-and-resurrection Story. We believe this so much we repent of our sins, die to ourselves, and receive new life in Jesus. Sometimes we’re even called “born-again Christians.” So what can we do to help Christian fiction become born again?

I’m speaking partly to the next generation of Christian publishers here. But mostly the fans.

1. Figure out what fiction is even meant to do, starting with Scripture.

Recently a biblical pastor Facebook-ranted against another Christian’s article that, in part, reviewed a popular (yet sexually explicit) TV series. I sympathized with his criticism. But I happened to know this pastor has not publicly considered or taught about what fiction is meant to do in the first place. So arguably he had no standing to say of another Christian, “That’s not how you should engage with a story.” At least the other Christian was trying.

The same is true of Christians who criticize existing Christian fiction using arguments that may sound spiritual or even artistically superior, but aren’t ultimately based on the Bible.

If you sally forth to declare that the best Christian stories must first “reach people better,” or even merely be “artistically excellent,” without appealing to biblical texts about Jesus’s Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20, the “reach people” part) or God’s earlier Cultural Mandate (Gen. 1:28, the “artistic excellence” part), it’s not very effective!

2. Find fans who have similar biblical conviction and imagination.

Websites such as Speculative Faith can be awesome. But their outreach is limited, first in focus (we’re about fans of fantastical stories) and then in physicality. We are not members of your local church, or workplace Bible study, or campus group, or circle of live friends.

So spread out to reality. Start by keeping up with Realm Makers. This five-year-old real, live, working creative conference is currently the leading chance to build an organic and excited Biblical Christian-based community, which will help with the fantastical side of any pending Christian-fiction rebirth. Consider going to the Reno, Nevada conference this July.

Meanwhile, start a church story group. Help remind people who have biblical conviction and who like imaginative stories, “This is okay to enjoy for God’s glory. Let’s do it together.”

3. Stride forth with winsomeness, a confident voice, and ‘swashbuckling.’

Green tights optional.

Sometimes Christian fantasy fans’ articles and remarks can betray uncertainty about our “geekiness” or position in Christianity. That is inevitable in some cases. But as we study these issues, overthrow old unbiblical notions, and find godly friends, it will become easier to grow in confidence even while striving for appropriate biblical humility in these pursuits.

Don’t whine about bad Christian fiction or the death of its genres. Instead, swashbuckle. Doff a feathered cap, retrieve a rapier, and “fight” for this cause while laughing and dancing.

4. Encourage bravery about certain words and topics.

Good Christian fiction can include swear words. There, I said it. If Christians disagree, they are likely either being inconsistent, or ineffective evangelists: inconsistent, because they do not also avoid non-Christian people who voice vulgarities; or ineffective (perhaps even sinfully so) evangelists, because they do avoid these people and therefore cannot show by their actions that Jesus came to preach repentance in an R-rated world, not a G-rated world.

Of course, speech codes are not the only wrong restriction on Christian fiction. Theme codes also do this by limiting the doctrinal span and scope of most novels (more below).

5. However, do nothing for outrage’s own sake—that is the dark side.

There is no surer way to keep other Christians’ bad-words-bans firmly in place, at least in the back of people’s minds, than whining in youthful outrage about the problem.

Many complaints about Christian fiction’s lack of “bad words” are simply immature. They ask the wrong question, Why can’t we do this? instead of challenging the bad-words rules based on the more biblical challenge: According to the Bible, this is why we should do this.

Christian fiction: fall, die, and rise.

6. Budget each month to buy great Christian novels you’ve heard about.

Last year my wife and I budgeted $10 a month solely for book purchases. We still did not buy nearly enough books. But it’s a start. We are building on it this year. And it’s needed so we can resist that ever-creeping assumption that great stories ought to be cheap, easily accessible, or else perennially free as part of an Eternal Kindle E-Book “Promotion.”

Also, read more than you write. Yes, I’m also writing that Great American-Flavor Christian Novel that will “fix” this whole problem straight away. Guess what? Nobody cares. O author, die to self a little bit. Go out and “evangelize” for someone else’s published fantastical story.

7. Don’t ‘ban’ any genres: romance, fantasy, mystery, literary, popular.

In my personality and circles of friends, it’s easy to diss romance and other genres we feel take over fiction and Christian fiction in particular. Let’s not do that. All these stories reflect God-given human creativity. We may prefer fantastical stories, and want to see Christian-made ones grow among readers. But we should want all genres to be improved by any future reboot, or rebirth, of Christian fiction. I myself have heard of a few “literary” novels by Christians that I need to try. Such stories can only help challenge other genres to grow.

8. This is ‘Christian fiction,’ so let’s see more than generic Christianity.

Finally, for now, I sometimes have to laugh at the label “Christian fiction” because I do not recognize its faith as little more than Elseworld Christianity. In some (not all) novels—and this includes some fantastical novels—Christians are “local color” side characters who assist weak seeker-friendly non-Christian heroes. Or they are members of a single, vaguely megachurch-ey denomination(?) specifically dumbed-down as if to placate members of any other denomination who pick up the novel. Thus, these characters don’t seem real. Because in real life you have denominations, and sometimes Christians even get into fights.

This would also solve the narrowed-theme problem. If a Christian novel limps along, afraid to portray any specific flavor of Christianity, it can’t fully explore many potential themes.

Perhaps my all-time favorite popular Christian novel, Frank Peretti’s The Visitation, easily surpassed this issue. Peretti not only showed denominations but specifically made his hero a charismatic Pentecostal. It opened his story to themes such as healing, false messiahs, and the very real challenges of following Jesus in a world drawn to celebrities and “miracles.”

Go ye therefore

Christian publishers can’t resurrect Christian fiction. They’re businesses. If they end imprints, or publish fewer novels, that’s not because they want to. It’s because their audience “wants” them to. So show them differently. Write letters if you need to. Publish comments to their Facebook pages. Know what fiction does. Find others. Swashbuckle. Challenge when appropriate. Don’t be outraged. Buy stories. Of all kinds. And go deeper.

Christians, of all people, ought to love seeing dead things come back to life. So let’s pray and gather and work and anticipate the birth of the next generation of Christian fiction.