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My 10 Favorite Soundtracks to Write By

In his adaptation of the works of Edgar Allen Poe, Tales of Mystery and Imagination, prog-rock artist Alan Parsons employs Orson Wells to read some of Poe’s works. It’s a wonderful synthesis of lyric and melody. Against a dark orchestral background, the album opens with “A Dream Within a Dream,” which includes a reading from an obscure piece by Poe entitled “Marginalia.” In it, Poe describes “a class of fancies of exquisite delicacy which are not thoughts, and to which as yet I have found it absolutely impossible to adapt to language.” Poe often contemplated the chasm between our perceptions and reality, and sought to bridge this chasm between our brute intuitions of “a class of fancies of exquisite delicacy” and language. Nevertheless, adapt[ting them] to language,” he does. “And so I captured this fancy, where all that we see, or seem, is but a dream within a dream.” What’s interesting about this is what Poe saw as the “perfection of rhyme” and the importance that lyrical structure played in the evocation of these heightened states (see Marginalia 147).

Yes, Poe’s musings are often eccentric. However, this idea that sound and rhythm — that music — can evoke words and capture thoughts or emotions that were once ethereal is a near universal truth. Something that most every writer will know.  Perhaps that’s why writing to music is one of those odd, yet oft-discussed subjects among writers. Music can create an atmospheric scaffold to our stories, an ambiance or vibe that draws out words or emotions and propels the imagination forward.

So I thought it would fun to list some of my favorite music soundtracks to write by. Here’s ten, but there’s lots of others.

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Master and Commander, Various artists — The score for Peter Weir’s film is one I come back to over and over. Especially when I want my spirit lifted and a sense of the spray of salt water in my face. I don’t write to much classical music, as you’ll see, but this album is an exception. The original orchestral music is by Iva Davies, Christopher Gordon and Richard Tognetti. However, the album is more of a score by committee and ranges from warlike kettle drums to the soaring beauty of the violin & cello. Perhaps my favorite is the nine-minute piece, Boccherini: String Quintet in C, Op.30 No.6. You can listen to the whimsical tail of that song HERE.

Let Me In, Michael Giacchino  — Giacchino is amazingly versatile, scoring films as different as Dr. Strange, Lost, Rogue One, and The Incredibles. This is my “go to” horror soundtrack, with some genuinely eerie moments. Yet interspersed with the screeching violins and a mounting orchestral dread are some beautiful moments. The film is, after all, a love story between a boy and a “young” female vampire. Giacchino captures both the lonely innocence of the strange couple and the foul nature of hunger which looms between them.  This score is a wonderful blend of horror and sweetness. At Your Disposal is a great example.

Fight Club, The Dust Brothers — If you’ve seen the Fight Club, you know it’s an odd mix of dark humor, violence, sensuality, and gross-out catharsis. The soundtrack manages to capture this cauldron of emotion in a mix of quirky, techno-orchestral fusion. With titles like Medulla Oblongata, Psycho Boy Jack, and Commissioner Castration you’re pretty much guaranteed for a weird ride. For me, the soundtrack conjures a more urban, street smart, even anarchist-like vibe. Check out this snippet from Medulla Oblongota.

The Fountain, Clint Mansell and Kronos Quartet — This is, simply put, one of the most beautiful soundtracks I own. It hearkens unto Schindler’s List with its mournful violin and melancholic ambiance. A perfect compliment to the film which is a surreal contemplation of life, death, and the universe. The composers move from spare instrumental pieces to pulsating drumbeat and swelling orchestral. However, the overall mood of the soundtrack is one of melancholy. The opening piece, The Last Man, will give you a great example of this haunting, beautiful soundtrack.

The Beach, Various Artists — This soundtrack is a bit out of my norm. Like the movie, the tone is that of a mixture of emotions, ranging from upbeat Caribbean sounds, ambient/dance, to some more swelling evocative pieces. It’s comprised of a number of artists — Moby, New Order, Sugar Ray, and others which lends to the eclectic nature of the soundtrack. However, for me, the album mostly conjures an upbeat, feel-good mood. I genuinely get the sense of the nomadic world traveler sprawled on the tropical beach gazing up at the crystal night sky.  Moby’s Porcelain is a good place to start.

Bitches Brew, Miles Davis — No, this isn’t a soundtrack. But it definitely fits the category of soundscape– a jazzy, experimental melange of horn, drum, electric keyboard, and guitar. It was the dawning of the “new” Miles Davis, moving from his classic Kind of Blue jazz to a two-disc Jackson Pollock, an musical abstract of incredible proportions. At times, the songs are discordant and disorienting. At other times,  it’s rock fusion at its best. The album is hugely improvisational and wildly polarizing. Personally, I find it inspirational and bombastic. When I need to an uppercut to the imagination and a time out from real time, Bitches Brew fits the bill. You can stream the entire double album HERE.

The Insider, Lisa Gerrard and Pieter Bourke — Director Michael Mann is known for his stylish films, and this soundtrack is no exception. At first glance, the film’s plot and the music might seem incongruous. The film is about a whistle blower on the tobacco industry. However, listening to a piece like Sacrifice, which features the soaring vocals of an Arabic pray-er, one can quickly see that the soundtrack is aiming for more than just dramatic thrills. It’s passionate and gorgeous music, and a surprisingly good soundtrack that received a well-deserved Golden Globe nomination.

John Wick, Various Artists — This album reminded of another one of my favorite movie soundtracks,  the Matrix. Like that film, this score uses multiple artists and aims for a grungy, electronica-influenced sound. Largely consisting of shorter instrumental pieces, the soundtrack captures a gritty industrial sound (despite containing a nice jazzy lounge number). This is another good album for writing those hardcore urban scenes. Who You Talkin’ To Man? is one of my favorite songs on the album. Here’s the shortened version.

Amadeus, Academy of St. Martin in the Fields and Sir Neville Marriner — Another one of my rare straight-up classical choices. Despite some of the operatic interludes, this is a great collection of Mozart’s work. And the movie is fantastic! There is wonderful breadth and passion to Mozart’s music, whether it’s a delightful gaiety or something darkly brooding. By far, my favorite piece is the Requiem in D Minor, which is sure to make my upcoming Best Horror Soundtrack.

Gladiator , Hans Zimmer — This album is a collaboration between a couple of stellar soundtrack artists — Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerard (The Insider). The soundtrack moves between swelling high action and serene, almost prayer-like refrains. Probably why it won the Golden Globe for the Best Original Score. When I need the highs and lows of cinematic inspiration, this is the soundtrack I turn to.  You can stream the entire album HERE.

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There’s lots of other soundtracks I write to. These would probably fall into an Honorable Mention category: Ghosts I-IV, Nine Inch Nails; The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring; The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place, Explosians in the Sky; Orange Mountain Music, Phillip Glass; The Matrix: Various Artists; Les Revenants, Mogwai ; Halo 3, Martin O’Donnell and Michael Salvatori; Edward Scissorhands, Danny Elfman; Kill Bill Vol 1, Various Artists; Oblivion, M83.

I’d love to hear some of your recommendations!

Misc. Writing Updates — Feb. 2017

The end of 2016 left me rather exhausted, but I’m finally getting back into the writing groove. The project I’m most excited about is the third book in my Reagan Moon series. It’s tentatively entitled “The Third Golem.” Here’s a brief synop:

With the help of Ki, the Wayward Guardian, the Summu Nura seek to empower a chaos magician in his quest to create an artificial intelligence which can bridge all dimensions. As the Imperia continue to unravel, Reagan Moon must find the fabled Golem Prison in time to stop the creation of an android demigod who can control the Crossroads of Time.

I’m hoping to have the novel published by year’s end. I’m also gearing up for another possible venture into the non-fiction genre sometime mid-year, and currently weighing topical options. One last thing, I’m developing a short sci-fi / dystopian story about a team of “sciocists” (“sy-o-sists” scientific exorcists) employed by the military to sweep graveyards of “latent energy” who encounter a non-corporeal entity above their pay grade. Hoping to get that published as well. It’s a lot to accomplish in one year, I know. But I’d rather aim high and fail than be successfully average.

The God Above Gods? Limits of Polytheism in Fiction

In response to a piece I wrote several weeks ago, Can All Myths Be Redeemed?, novelist H.G. Ferguson agrees that “myths can and should be redeemed, but there is a danger here.” Part of that danger, according to Ferguson, is “reproduction, not redemption.” More specifically, reproducing a polytheistic worldview instead of replacing it with a biblical, theistic one. So rather than portraying God as one of many gods, even superior to other gods, the Christian writer should insure that competing and/or inferior gods are non-existent in their fictional tales. In Myths: Redemption, Not Reproduction, H.G. writes:

One thing unifies all pagan mythologies, whether they be Egyptian, Norse, Celtic, Greek, or Slavic (and all of these can be rich sources of story fodder). That one thing is polytheism, many gods, some battling each other, some hopping into bed with each other or taking delights with mortal men and women, ad infinitum et nauseam. Why nauseam? Because polytheism cannot be redeemed and still remain polytheism. A polytheistic story universe does not honor the One who said, “I AM YHWH, AND THERE IS NO OTHER. BESIDES ME THERE IS NO GOD…BEFORE ME THERE WAS NO GOD FORMED, AND THERE WILL BE NONE AFTER ME” (Isaiah 45:5, 43:10).

So if a Christian writer thinks he or she can honor the God Who spoke these Words by creating a universe with many gods in it, even one with a “high god” at the top, and all these beings are called gods and they are indistinguishable from the mythology from which they were drawn, think again. This is reproduction, not redemption. It may sell books and not offend people, but it certainly would offend God. He says so. (Bold mine)

While I’m with the author in believing that polytheism is a flawed worldview and that YHWH is indeed the one true God, I’d like to offer pushback on this notion that fictionalizing a battle between gods is indeed unChristian. On the contrary, I believe that Scripture frames life in terms of a struggle between spiritual powers and that “gods” or godlike entities do indeed vie for our worship and service.

I’m currently reading Michael Heiser’s The Unseen Realm and finding it quite interesting. Heiser’s basic thesis is that God presides over an assembly of divine beings, other elohim. He is the God among gods. While recognizing the existence of other elohim – other gods – Heiser maintains the uniqueness and supremacy of Yahweh.

The verse that was the paradigm-shifting springboard for Heiser was Ps. 82:1 (this quote being from the NIV):

God presides in the great assembly;

    he renders judgment among the “gods”

Heiser notes that in the Hebrew, the word elohim (the word commonly translated as “God”) occurs twice in this verse, first in reference to Jehovah and then in reference other deities. Rather than attempt a detailed summation of the book, let me quote from this review from Benjamin J. Noonan at The Gospel Coalition;

Heiser’s theology of the unseen world is founded on the premise that God presides over a council of lesser divine beings (cf. Ps 82). The members of this “divine council” (pp. 25–27) accomplish God’s purposes in the supernatural realm, therefore functioning as the heavenly counterpart of humanity on earth. Although he refers to these divine beings as “gods” (elohim in Hebrew), Heiser rejects the notion that God is subordinate or co-equal with them in the polytheistic sense and instead contends that “there is no warrant for concluding that plural elohim produces a pantheon of interchangeable deities” (p. 31).

Despite their noble status, some members of the divine council rebelled against God. Heiser argues that Isaiah 14 and Ezekiel 28 describe the self-exaltation of one of the divine council’s members. This lesser divine being—identified by the New Testament as Satan—corrupted Adam and Eve as the serpent. God, in turn, declared war between the offspring of the serpent and humanity (Gen 3:15). This conflict subsequently manifests itself in two key events from the Primeval History that lay the foundation for the rest of the biblical metanarrative.

The first key event is the “sons of God” episode of Genesis 6:1–4. Heiser rejects the idea that the “sons of God” are mere humans and instead argues they are members of the divine council who, like Satan, rebelled against God. Instead, the Nephilim or “giants”—analogous to the apkallu of Mesopotamian tradition—were their semi-divine offspring. Like the fallen divine council members that engendered them, these “giants” posed a serious threat to the reestablishment of God’s Edenic rule.

The second key event is God’s judgment at the Tower of Babel. Heiser interprets Genesis 11:1–9 in light of Deuteronomy 32:8–9 (as preserved in the Septuagint and Dead Sea Scrolls rather than the Masoretic Text), contending that at the Tower of Babel, God chose Israel for himself but disinherited the other nations, placing them under the authority of his divine council. Many of those divine beings, however, became corrupt and led the nations they supervised astray in idolatry. Heiser refers to God’s disinheritance of the nations at the Tower of Babel as the “Deuteronomy 32 Worldview” (pp. 113–15).

It’s a fascinating perspective, isn’t it? In this approach, much of God’s redemptive work is indeed a battle between gods, corrupt spiritual superpowers intent on usurping YHWH’s rule and leading the nations astray. Take for example, the rescue of Israel from the land of Egypt was a battle between gods. In the section Yahweh and the Gods of Egypt, Heiser writes:

Pharaoh was the son of Re. Israel was explicitly called the son of Yahweh in the confrontation with Pharaoh (Exod 4:23; cf. Hos 11:1). Yahweh and his son would defeat the high god of Egypt and his son. God against god, son against son, imager against imager. In that context, the plagues are spiritual warfare. Yahweh will undo the cosmic order, throwing the land into chaos.

Re was the Egyptian god sometimes called Ra, god of the sun. Pharaoh was viewed as a “son of Ra” while Moses was viewed as the “son of YHWH.” The confrontation was more than just a standoff between earthly leaders, but a clash between spiritual powers for cosmic geography. In reality, the Old Testament and even the New Testament are rife with references to other gods, or a plurality of gods (angels or archons, according to the Christian and Gnostic traditions). It’s the basis for which many intercessors and missiologists have concluded that territorial spirits (like the Prince of Persia mentioned by the angel in Daniel 10) do in fact hold sway over large swaths of culture and geography.

Interestingly, this was the exact type of world I framed in my very first novel The Resurrection. It’s also one of the reasons I hedge against Ferguson’s suggestion that “creating a universe with many gods in it, even one with a ‘high god’ at the top” is categorically unbiblical. The thumbnail plot behind The Resurrection is that a bodily resurrection inexplicably occurs in the small coastal town of Stonetree, signaling a clash between YHWH and a bloodthirsty MesoAmerican deity. The antag is Benjamin Keen, a professor of anthropology who is charting the gathering of Pantheons, invisible superpowers, across the globe. In this scene, Keen reveals the spiritual map to his nemesis Pastor Ian Clark, who has himself fallen into the grips of the local “spirit.”

“It’s been years in the making.” Keen stroked his frayed goatee, eyes fixated on the map. “Thus far, we’ve successfully diagrammed our Time Zone: California, Nevada, the Pacific Northwest. It won’t be long before the entire nation is mapped.”

Clark stopped seven to eight feet away, glanced at Keen, then the dappled blueprint. Major metropolitan areas—Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Reno, Portland, Seattle—dotted the map in bold block letters. Below each city was a corresponding name. Abaddon, Moloch, Mammon, Gorgon, Belial, Beelzebub, and then in suburban areas, clusters of titles speckled the map: Succubus, Eligoth, Lilith and Leviathan. Throughout were spherical symbols, slashes, unopened eyes and watery forks. Clark’s mind swooned at the onrushing possibilities.

“The Pantheons. We’ve identified them, named them,” Keen whispered reverently. “And in the naming there is power.”

Clark looked from the map to Keen.

The Professor’s eyes were glazed with ecstatic delight. “They are the Watchers, the Ancient Ones. The Mesos are a drop in the bucket, one unit in a massive invisible army. Stonetree is just the tip of the iceberg, Ian.”

Clark stepped back in blank astonishment, his mind fighting for rational footing.

Keen moved to the map and traced his bony fingers atop it. “This is our mission, my boy— Orbis of Scientia —to prepare their coming, the circle of their knowledge. The warlocks and druids, their petty stone rings and incantations are just a shadow. We have discerned a plan much bigger, powers much greater than any man has conceived. Imagine, a society governed by superior intellects. Your god is just one of millions, a pathetic dying entity on the bottom rung of the evolutionary food chain.”

Of course, I don’t believe that Clark’s god was “just one of millions, a pathetic dying entity on the bottom rung of the evolutionary food chain.” But, like Moses before Pharaoh, Clark was responsible to take back ground that those before him had ceded. Yes.  I received some pushback from reviewers concerning this worldview. Like Ferguson, some viewed the idea of “cosmic geography” and God battling other gods for turf as unbiblical. Nevertheless, this idea seems central to the spiritual struggle framed throughout Scripture. Yes, the Kingdom of Heaven has arrived, Christ is seated above all principalities and powers. However, the war for the souls of men goes on, culminating finally the Last Great War and the judgment of the nations.

All that to say, it’s one thing to portray polytheism — countless gods with equal power — as a viable worldview; it’s another to portray spiritual superpowers vying against YHWH for supremacy, seeking to protect their turf, while binding the souls of the lost in delusion and resisting the advances of the sons and daughters of God. This view, I believe, is very much biblical. Of course, God wins. But it’s the struggle, the casualties, and the enduring hope we have which should be central to our novels.

Morally Ambiguous Superheroes Only Reinforce Moral Absolutes

Morally ambiguous superheroes are trending. Whether it’s Marvel’s Captain America: Civil War, where no one character was unquestionably in the right, Batman v. Superman fighting each other for… I’m not sure, or Deadpool‘s R-rated schizophrenia, contemporary superheroes have apparently transitioned into our age of postmodern relativism.

In ‘Spawn’ Reboot Could Refine Good vs Evil In Superhero Films, this Inverse author observes that moral evolution in another iffy superhero.

[Todd] McFarlane released Spawn #1 in 1992, and it remains one of the highest-selling independent comics of all time. It’s also one of the most famous examples of the over-exaggerated “anti-hero” archetypes from ‘90s comics. But what really allowed Al Simmons — a decorated Special Forces soldier who makes a deal with the devil to “live” past death — to stand above his contemporaries was that Spawn hovered exclusively over the tightrope of right and wrong. At the very least, superheroes are questionably fascist with no authority as vigilantes, and Spawn brought brimstone and hellfire to the debate.

While Spawn was created specifically as an anti-hero, McFarlane appears clear about his intent to push the character into R-rated territory, creating an iteration that “won’t appeal to fans of Captain America.” Yet while the morally ambiguous superhero is not a new thing, the growth of these Gray archetypes’ popularity is worth keeping an eye on.

For one, superheroes used to be a vehicle for modeling morality. A report in this educational newsletter notes that, for young children, superheroes can serve as a moral model for young children, and that “through [superhero] play they can feel brave, fearless, in control of their world, outside of ordinary, and just plain good.” Jeff Greenberg, a social psychology professor at the University of Arizona, noted that “By identifying with the culture’s heroes and superheroes, children can begin to feel like they are aligning with what is good and can develop their own agency, power, and value in the world.” Which is why justice, crime fighting, honesty, and integrity have long been associated with superheroes. Their power was just a vehicle for decency.

The shift to the morally ambiguous superhero should interest us for another reason —  when it’s used as a tool for the postmodern deconstruction of moral absolutism. The anti-hero necessarily blurs the line between good and evil; however, he or she doesn’t eliminate them. But in the hands of a secularist, the contemporary superhero is often intended to reconstruct, not reinforce, our notions of right and wrong. The intent is not simply to NOT be Captain America, but to rewrite (if not trash) his code of ethics.

Yet while some appear to see the morally ambiguous superhero as a reflection of moral relativity, the archetype actually does the opposite. Think about it this way: Gray is a combination of white and black. Without either one of them, there could be no gray (only white or black). Likewise, moral ambiguity can only exist because there is such a thing as Good and Evil to judge them by. Sure, the answer — Is this Good or Evil? — may not be always forthcoming. But it can only ever be asked with the assumption that some things ARE either Good or Evil.

If morals are relative, as many secularists posit, moral ambiguity is rather nonsensical. If neither of us can agree on what is Black or White, how in the world can we ever agree on what is gray? EVERYTHING would be gray! In fact, judging anything would be a pointless endeavor. While many superheroes do function in an area of gray, we shouldn’t confuse this as amorality. Rather, it is our instinctive sense of right and wrong which allows us to even describe an action as morally ambiguous.

Yes, moral ambiguity in storytelling can be helpful. It reveals that decisions and actions aren’t always cut-and-dried. People can be complex, bundles of both good and evil. It also reveals why discernment and judgment are essential to living. Just because someone wears spandex, can spontaneously teleport, and grow another limb does not mean they are good. It simply means that getting past the murky surface is necessary for reaching the Truth. Even then, the search for truth and/or admission of guilt or impure motives is not a surrender to moral indifference.

The morally ambiguous superhero is worth keeping an eye on. Is the archetype a vehicle for teaching discernment and navigating the moral complexity of life, or it a means of subverting our intuitive sense of Right and Wrong?

Can All Myths Be Redeemed?

Novelist Elijah David asks the right questions in his post at Speculative Faith, C.S. Lewis Redeemed Myths, and So Should We. Using Tumnus the Faun, Lewis sought to “redeem” what was an historically conniving character, and convert it to something less vulgar. “[F]auns in classical mythology were often far nastier than Lewis’ depiction.” Yet Lewis saw past the mythic veneer and twerked the archetype for his own purposes. Writes David in his post:

I think what Lewis accomplishes with Tumnus is… the redemption of a myth. Lewis does this with mythical creatures and legendary figures throughout his writings, but especially in Narnia. Centaurs, fauns, Father Time, and even pagan deities like Bacchus and Silenus, Eros, Venus, and Mars—all of these find new life under Lewis’ pen. The end of Prince Caspian is an excellent example of Lewis’ myth redemption. Here, Bacchus and Silenus lose none of their wildness, yet they are greater than the patrons of orgies and drunkenness from the Greek pantheon. Under Aslan’s reign, they become patrons of joy and celebration at their purest. It is the same with Tumnus. His role as would-be kidnapper is forgiven and forgotten and he is free to become the true friend he was always meant to be.

To many, the idea of redeeming “patrons of orgies and drunkenness” might seem blasphemous. However, for Lewis it was about illuminating those small shards of Light that are inherent in so many of the ancient myths. David sees this as a method worth employing by other Christian authors.

This mythic redemption is a literary working out of Paul’s admonition in 2 Corinthians 10:5 to “take every thought captive to obey Christ.” Normally, this verse is (rightly) applied to self-control in one’s own thoughts and to discourse and debate in which wrong thinking must be corrected and made “captive” to Christ. But when it comes to fiction, it is possible for us to take a different tack on the subject, as Lewis does.

This redemption does not mean that every myth must be sterilized or made impotent. Indeed, removing the power of a myth would make it worse than worthless. And Lewis is far from the only author to take myths beyond their pagan roots and (rather than simply Christianizing them) give them new life under Christ.

This idea of taking myths “beyond their pagan roots” and giving them “new life under Christ” is fraught with danger. Nearly a decade ago (my, how time flies!) I conjectured a similar “redemption with the vampire archetype. In The Good Vampire I wrote,

Much as Tolkien and C.S. Lewis sought to reclaim mythology and unearth the underlying sediment of biblical truth inherent in folklore and fable, perhaps the same could be done with vampire lore. Current notions of the nocturnal nemeses are shaped largely by superstition, gothic literature and pop culture. Therefore, it remains in flux, unmoored, largely freed from factual constraints and rife for further tweaking. But, as Christian authors, do we dare?

The answer given by most mainstream Christian writers and publishers is a resounding no! Apparently, while the fictional redemption of “[c]entaurs, fauns, Father Time, and even pagan deities like Bacchus and Silenus, Eros, Venus, and Mars” appears tolerable, the reclamation of vampires does not.

In his book, God Against the gods: Storytelling, Imagination and Apologetics in the Bible, screenwriter Brian Godawa suggests that employing storytelling to subvert cultural narratives is a powerful tool for culture makers and apologists.

“…subversion of narrative is not a special technique used only by activists and intellectuals. It is the very nature of most storytelling through history. We are all creatures of our times seeking to control the narrative of our times, just as the ancients did. And those who control the cultural narrative control the culture.”

In fact, there are many examples of pagan cultural narratives which biblical figures challenged and upended. Jewish cosmology directly subverted the pagan cosmologies. Babylon, “gateway to the gods,” was crudely renamed Babel. Elijah publicly ridiculed the prophets of Baal. And Jezebel was mocked as the “queen of dung.” And when biblical figures weren’t poking their eye in contemporary narratives, they were flipped them on their heads to serve a larger purpose.

But this idea of flipping cultural narratives and redeeming myths requires getting our hands dirty. David is right to recognize Lewis’ attempt to take “beyond their pagan roots.” Too bad more religious writers don’t employ such an approach. Nevertheless, one wonders whether all myths can be redeemed. Perhaps some cultural narratives, some archetypes, are so tragically flawed as to be un-salvagable. Unlike fauns and other pagan deities, when it comes to vampires, apparently some suggest they remain “unsaved.”

 

The Physics of Angelology

In the Book of Daniel chapter 10, the prophet Daniel encounters an angelic superpower who arrives in answer to his prayers. However, the angel says he was “detained” for 21 days and had to be assisted by another angel, Michael, “one of the chief princes” (vs. 13). The reason for needing assistance has to do with battling “the king of Persia” (vs. 13). Apparently, this was a very bad dude. Many scholars believe it’s in reference to some type of powerful demonic entity, a “territorial” spirit of some sort that held tremendous spiritual sway. So great was this entity’s power that it required tactical readjustments and forced delays.

Unless you believe this story is purely allegorical or apocalyptic, it poses some interesting possibilities for the physics of Angelology. Namely, it infers that angels are subject to time and space.

In physics, time is considered the fourth dimension. However, according to M-Theory, there are possibly 6 additional dimensions (10 total plus supergravity). It’s difficult for us to conceptualize these additional dimensions because we are bound within our four. Nevertheless, Scripture affirms the presence of a multi-dimensional universe when it speaks of God operating outside of the constraints of time (the Creation event; “With the Lord one day is like a thousand years” II Pet. 3:8), knowing us before we were born (Jer. 1:5), and predestining us “before the foundation of the world” (Eph. 1:4). Angels are often viewed as having similar qualities and are sometimes portrayed as being able to traverse time and space in an instant and materialize in our plane without difficulty. This scene in the Book of Daniel challenges that understanding. Not only does it suggest that physical space is being traversed (the angel is attempting to get from Persia to Babylon), but that it takes actual time to do so. Unlike Dr. Who, angels aren’t afforded a time machine that can zap them instantly from one historical event or locale to another. They must actually move and be subject to flight times.

In this case, the angel was 21 days late! This is interesting in itself because believers like to say that God’s timing is perfect. Well, unless God intended Daniel’s answer to be 21 days late, this incident seems to upend that notion. In fact, it could imply that one of the reasons for unanswered prayer is that the answer got lost in the mail (i.e., intercepted by bad guys). Think about that for a moment. You might be blaming God for ignoring your prayer when instead you should be appealing for help for the delivery boy. “God, send Michael!” Whatever the case, this seems to suggest that angels are subject to the fourth dimension. Of course, this doesn’t mean they don’t have access to others that we might not. The fact that they can or cannot be visible on our plane suggests properties and clearances we don’t have. But it does infer other things; like maybe heaven is actually a place that exists in proximity to other places and takes a given amount of time to traverse. (Just thinking out loud here.) Which, if so, would be dependent upon angelic flight times. Travel to Babylon from heaven would involve a lot more than a simple snap of the fingers. Especially if the Prince of Persia stood in the way.

Either way, the Daniel account potentially stretches our understanding of the physics of angelology.

Rethinking Christian Geek Culture

In Hipster Christianity: When Church and Cool Collide, author Brett McCracken analyzes a growing sub-culture within the Western Church — Millennial postmodern believers seeking to mesh trendiness with spirituality. McCracken concludes that while aspiring to be culturally relevant, Christians need not compromise Truth for being “cool.” In fact, “coolness” and/or “hipness” exist on a sliding scale. Meshing eternal truths with ever-changing contemporary valuations is quite sticky. Thus, the “Christian hipster” straddles the line between legitimate engagement of culture and superficial pop cultural appropriation.

I was thinking about this phenomenon while recently reading about another, similarly odd, subculture — the Christian Geek.

Before we can get to the Christian geek, we must acknowledge the ascension of geekdom in the broader culture. Somewhere along the way, nerds and geeks went from being dorky outsiders to cool kids. This transformation has as much to do with the proliferation of popular culture and exponential technological advance than almost anything. At one time, the geek was the kid who constructed the short wave radio in his garage and chatted with a caribou hunter in Alaska. Today, practically any cell phone owner can Facetime the same caribou hunter in between micro-waving lunch and streaming anime on their HD 4K thinscreen. Now that immediate geek cred is at our fingertips, we can proudly display our bona fides with any number of purchases or references. Just mention ComicCon, much less namedrop panelists you were pictured with, and your geek points accumulate at warp factor.

As a result, a glut of “geek” outlets have been born — Den of Geek, ThinkGeek, Geek Girls, Gadgets for Geeks, Geek Street Clothing, GeekFuel, Geek squads, make-up for geeks, and even a site for Geeks Who Drink. Eventually the most eligible bachelors weren’t just stud muffins, they were geeks, and the quickest career arc to affluence was through the use or development of cutting edge geekery. Now geek is the new sexy. And non-geeks are straight-up muggles.

As with many pop-cultural trends, it didn’t take long for Christians to follow suit.

I’m not sure when it started, but as with the Christian hipster, the Christian geek piggy-backed off an existing cultural trend, appropriating the label for their own purposes and sanctifying the pursuit in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. So now we have outlets like the Geeky Christian, Christian Geek Central, Geeks Under Grace, The Christian Geeks, and Geeks and God; there’s Geekually Yoked, a podcast for “married Christian geeks,” a Geek’s Guide to Christianity, an Apostle to the Geeks, and even a Gay Christian Geek. With this has come a spate of reflections on Why geeks make great Christ followers, what Christians can learn about God from geek culture, how to Geek-Proof Your Faith, and numerous principles of spiritual growth and evangelism via geek prescripts. Now you can apply Dark Knight Discipleship, and learn how to live in community (because geeks do Acts 2 better than most churches) and geeks don’t crucify each other, but know how to disagree respectfully (of course, don’t tell that to Gamergaters and the Hugo Award flamewarriors).

But while there has been much effort to baptize the new demographic, pushback has been minimal. Research the subject and you’ll inevitably be directed to articles like What the Church Can Learn from Geek Culture and 10 Things Church Can Learn from Geeks. You see, geeks are now the new demographic that the church should be crafting outreach to. Yet while Christians appear to be rushing to embrace the label of “geek,” at least usher them into the fold, few have appeared to offer criticism. Which is what I’d like to offer here.

Affirming Christian geek culture poses two potential problems. One is the continued fragmentation and commodification of Christian culture, the other is interpretative over-reach regarding Christian themes in pop culture. In other words, validating the demographic and sanctioning its many cultural forms.

People will always sub-divide according to their likes and dislikes. Whether it’s music, film, food, politics, hobbies, or clothing, we inevitably migrate toward those with similar interests. So it shouldn’t be a surprise if gamers, anime artists, or Star Wars fans do the same. Even if they do it in the church. The problem arises when we slap the label “geek” on these niche dwellers and frame them as some sort of outcasts who need to be shepherded into the fold.

In their article The Overlooked: Geeks in the Church, Geeks Under Grace suggests that “geeks are particularly too often overlooked in the church” and offers this example:

“A young Christian woman I know creates beautiful anime-style art, but hesitates to share it in a realm of faith because ‘no one wants anime Jesus.’ Well, who says? Hasn’t God equipped her with a love and grace to be shared with others who might respond best to such an outlet?

The fact is, Jesus loves gamers, otakus, and comic book nerds – and he lives in the hearts of many such people. Isn’t it a mistake to overlook them just because it’s hard to understand what God has called them to do?”

While this is true, it’s not not unique to “gamers, otakus, and comic book nerds.” The same argument could be made for creatives in general. Churches don’t do a great job of recognizing horror writers, sushi chefs, and chainsaw sculptors either. So why should “geeks” suddenly become the new outreach demographic? In fact, it could be said that with the embrace of technologies by the church (podcasts, digital overheads, professional stage lighting, etc.) that computer geeks are MORE in demand for churches than, say, oil painters or screenwriters. Other than musicians, the church does not do a great job engaging creatives in general.

Furthermore, do we really need another sub-culture within the church? At some point, we are in danger of fracturing the Body into an infinite number of subcultures – Christian geeks, Christian singles, Christian homeschoolers, Christian athletes, Christian business owners, etc., etc. Heck, even within the geek community there exists numerous sub-divisions — Firefly fans, Marvel enthusiasts, Halo buffs, Tech toy aficionados, etc., etc. Shouldn’t we be more reluctant to embrace another label (“Christian geek”) which potentially fragments the community into another specialty niche? And with technologically-based pop-culture exponentially growing, people who enjoy gaming, gadgets, computers, comics, and CGI comprise, like, half of our Western world. Christian geeks are not the lonely misunderstood outsiders they are often made out to be.

A second possible issue concerning Christian geek culture is its embrace, assimilation, and sanctioning of numerous pop cultural commodities. Now don’t get me wrong here, Christians DO need to be more culturally savvy. And in the broader sense, Christians should be adept at identifying echoes of the Gospel anywhere we hear them. God has fused us with His image (Gen. 1:27), placed “eternity in [our] hearts” (Eccl. 3:11), and written His Law in our consciences (Rom. 2:14-15). It’s no wonder that even the most seemingly innocuous pop cultural artifacts can contain glimpses of Truth. So riffing on these “Gospel glimpses” seems like a smart thing to do, apologetically speaking. In this sense, identifying and affirming spiritual themes in popular culture, from X-Men to XBox,  seems a reasonable thing to do.

The problem is that Christian geeks can simply become celebrants of niche elements of pop culture who attempt to spiritualize their specific fandom. With the rise of Christian geekdom, it is now not uncommon to find those highlighting the numerous “Christian” elements of their specific fandom. Thus, Christian geeks seem to find Bible truth just about anywhere — Harry Potter, Star Trek, Dr. Who, The Walking Dead, or Dragon Ball Z. To say that some of these are a bit of a stretch is an understatement. Take Star Wars Redeemed: Your Life-Transforming Journey with Jesus and the Jedi, wherein the author uses the Star Wars series as a template for expounding upon “some of the most difficult-to-understand subjects in the Bible.” From the synop:

Star Wars Redeemed teaches the powerful truths of God’s Word using the backdrop of Star Wars. Have fun exploring some of the themes, metaphors, motifs, scenes, characters, and dialogue from the first six Star Wars films while learning some of the most difficult-to-understand subjects in the Bible.

In Star Wars Redeemed, you will find answers to the following questions:

• Is it possible to find God’s will for my life?

• Does God’s control have limits?

• How can I know if I’m saved?

• What’s the purpose of the Church?

• How can I arm myself for spiritual warfare?

• Is speaking in tongues possible?

• Does God care how I vote?

• What about the “End Times”?

Look, I’m a Star Wars fan. Are there hints of the Gospel in Star Wars. Absolutely! But does the series really answer questions about the End Times or whether speaking in tongues is possible? This kind of interpretative overreach is symptomatic of much of today’s Christian geek culture. I mean are Batman and Robin really templates for biblical discipleship? Is there really a Gospel According to Spiderman? Only if you squint. Let me suggest that this is another potential problematic element of Christian geek culture. I mean, what is the “Christian geek” but someone who seeks to superimpose his or her spiritual values over a specific fandom? Often this involves over-reach, the sanctification of our own amusements. It is pop cultural appropriation at its worst.

But perhaps the potentially most troubling aspect of Christian geekdom is its appeal to cultural hipness. The term “geek” used to be synonymous with “outsider.” And though many professing geeks still like to gloss themselves as misunderstood outsiders, the truth is that geeks now exists in the tens of freakin’ millions. Yes, at one time the guy with the short wave radio in his garage WAS an outsider. Trouble is, anime fans, Star War cosplayers, and tech lovers are now everywhere!  Face it, the term “geek” is now brandished as a badge of honor. It is cool. Wearing a Superman shirt is hardly unfashionable. Quoting Batman in a sermon garners you props. And knowing how to write code for video games can make you a pretty penny. So this idea that geeks are somehow still some misunderstood group of outsiders is just inaccurate. Frankly, one reason Christians are anxious to embrace the “geek” label is because it carries cultural cache. Geeks are now the cool kids. And God knows that we Christians need to appear more cool.

Wherever you fall on the geek spectrum, might I suggest that we not rush to baptize “Christian geeks” as the next unreached people group. Every Christian, geek or not, is measured by their relationship to Christ and to His Body. Knowing all the characters in Full Metal Alchemist or owning a Nanoleaf Aurora will not improve your standing with either. Building a TARDIS might earn you a side-eye from the choir ladies. But methinks Jesus could care less.

Winterland Now Free for Kindle

[image error]Winterland: A Dark Fairy Tale is my most personal story, as well as one of my personal favorites. Yes, it’s really bizarre. Which is why I describe in terms of “surreal,” “fairy tale,” and ‘dark fantasy.” However, while Winterland is a journey through a bleak landscape with strange, often disgusting, characters, it is also a journey of hope. Here’s the brief summary,

Summoned into her dying mother’s coma, recovering addict Eunice Ames must traverse a surreal, apocalyptic dreamscape in search of three generational spirits who have imprisoned her mother’s soul.

Together with Joseph, a crippled drifter who serves as her guide, Eunice treks an abandoned highway strewn with debris from her mother’s “emotional” wars. Along the way, she encounters Mister Mordant, a perpetually whiny grub, Reverend Ash a fragile, supremely self-righteous minister, and Sybil, a beautiful sylph with a knack for deception. Eunice and Joseph endeavor to lead this peculiar brigade into the hell of her mother’s making, through the swamp of Mlaise and the volcanic plains of Cinder, to the Dark Throne where they were forged. Along the way, Eunice experiences, in awful living color, the forces that have shaped her mother’s descent into madness and disease.

Yet a more malevolent power conspires against Eunice. For not only is she forced to relive the psychological terrain of her own upbringing, she must now confront the darkness it has spawned… the one inside her. It seems Eunice has harbored horrors of her own; years of abuse, rejection, and generational sin have taken root. And no amount of psycho-babble and positive thinking can withstand the literal monster that is waiting at the end of this highway. Can Eunice destroy the spirits that have cursed her family and rescue her mother, or will the sun set on their hell forever?

The Wizard of Oz meets Dante’s Inferno in this novella (27,000 words), a dark adult fairy tale about finding faith, redemption, and confronting the monsters of our psyche.

Back in 2011 when it released, Winterland was included by the Horror Writers Association in their Bram Stoker Award Reading List. The story didn’t make the cut, but is was neat being included along with so many great writers. The novella continues to be the story I recommend most often to new readers.

Without giving away too much, there is a character in this story patterned after a very good friend of ours who committed suicide. He jumped off an overpass on the 210 freeway, just several miles away from where we live. Winterland opens on the the 210 freeway and employs the imagery of travel as a metaphor for our own spiritual and emotional journeys toward recovery. Like Virgil, who guides Dante through the Nine Circles of Hell, our friend is patterned as Eunice’s guide, leading her to confront her foul Generational Tree and follow the rotten stream produced by its fruit. See? I told you it was weird. Each character and locale represents a “season of the soul,” one which eventually culminates in a monstrous Regret. It is what we do with this beast that’s the difference between casting ourselves off an overpass (literally or figuratively) and rewriting our Destiny.

Anyway, not everyone who reads this story “gets it.” Which is fine. However, I’ve received several letters from readers who have deeply connected with this broken woman’s journey towards redemption. This, my friends, make the writing worthwhile. Winterland is available free on Kindle through December 26. I really hope you download a copy and, perhaps, share it with your friends. Thanks!

Does Biological Evolution Explain Our “Inborn Hunger” for Stories?

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Storytelling is an ancient custom, existing long before recorded history. While the mediums and methods have changed, stories continue to fascinate mankind. It’s a thread that traces as far back as the dawn of human history. Perhaps even more interesting are the thematic elements that humans consistently return to. Mythicist Joseph Campbell gathered these threads into a template, a thematic pattern that reoccurs, independently, in nearly every culture. He describes it as The Hero’s Journey, a journey of redemption which draws one individual into a supernatural quest, transformation, and returns them to their world empowered.

But where did this impulse and the corresponding need for stories and myths, come from? And why would universal stories all contain similar thematic elements?

Some attempt to answer the historical prevalence of,  and attraction to, stories through purely biological processes. In other words, storytelling and our need for it is nothing more than an evolutionary mechanism. In their article, How Stories Configure Human Nature, the science site Big Think explores the phenomenon from just that angle. Here’s the first four points in their argument:

1. It is in our nature to need stories. We arrive “biologically prepared” for them. They were evolutionarily crucial. We feel and think in story-logic (story-causality configures our reaction-biology).

2. Like our language instinct, a story drive—inborn hunger to hear and make stories—emerges untutored (=“biologically prepared”).

3. “Every culture bathes its children in stories” (to explain how the world works, to educate their emotions).

4. Story patterns are like another layer of grammar—language patterning the character types, plots, and norms important in our culture.

While it’s impossible to deny that stories are used to reinforce norms important to culture, the bigger questions are a.) Where did these “norms” arise (inside or outside us) and b.) Why the heck did they infuse our DNA in the first place (what compelling need required stories for survival)?  So we arrive “biologically prepared” with an “inborn hunger to hear and make stories,” a hunger that “emerges untutored.” But how are stories “evolutionarily crucial”?  Of course, one could see how the Story of the Wayward Boy could serve as warning to the youth of the tribe about the dangers of disobeying one’s elders. However, if man is evolved pond scum, it’s worth asking how parables and fables came to matter to those aquatic, multi-limbed ancestors. I mean, what use is a limerick to a creature a million mutations away from walking upright? You could maybe grant something like a wing might possibly sprout if a lizard jumped from a tree for a hundred thousand generations. (Where the impulse came to jump from trees is another story.) But how does storytelling — both the need for transmission of stories and a willing reception of stories — actually evolve in a species? What compelling gap caused stories and storytelling to become necessary for the survival of fittest? The absence of ethics? If so, then stories are little more than a rock or a spear — a tool to accomplish some bigger purpose, to configure our biology. However, if stories configure our biology, the next question should be Then what configures our stories?

[image error]While “Story patterns transmit, often tacitly, social rules and norms,” is it not odd that humans are “biologically prepared” with an “inborn hunger” to require those “norms”? For the secularist, these social norms are little more than useful moral codes, entirely subjective, rooted in pragmatics and survival. In other words, a particular culture’s appeal to ethics or morality is simply an appeal to its own utilitarian laws. It is unrelated to a Transcendant Law in the least. For in a materialistic universe, Transcendant Laws have no place.

But if The Hero’s Journey rightly identifies thematic elements that cut across multiple cultures — cultures seperated by geography and genetics — could it not speak to something Transcendant?

And here’s where secular and religious worldviews diverge regarding the essence of story. In Scripture, story is not simply a mechanism for social/moral inculcation. Indeed, it is that. The Jews were commanded to tell and retell the history of their lineage, the heroes (and rascals) of the faith, and the Laws of the Tribe. However, the Jewish story was part of a much bigger story. Some have described it as the Story of God. But whatever you call it, it is an epic tale that can be broken into three specific movements. Many of those movements (much like The Hero’s Journey) can be found in contemporary tales. Those movements look something like this:

Creation. Fall. Redemption.
Creation. Desecration. Recreation.
Generation. Degeneration. Regeneration.
Home. Homelessness. Homecoming.
Eden. The Wilderness. The Promised Land.
The Shire. Mordor. The Shire / Grey Havens.

Notice that the story of the Jews was just part of a much bigger story, a story about the redemption of humanity; it, like all of our lives, involves a macro-narrative (meta-narrative?) and a micro-narrative. It is a larger story made up of countless smaller stories. Or… an individual tale joined to something Grand. In fact, the very essence of the Gospel is not just the re-telling of a Story — that Christ came, died for our sins, and rose again for our justification — but it is also an invitation to become part of that Story. The evangel is one who not only shares the Story, but invites others into the Story.

And this is the huge divide between story as an evolutionary mechanism and story as a vehicle to the Transcendent.

Our individual stories, and the individual stories in any culture, take place within a much bigger story. It is a story about the history of the Universe, the Fall of Man, his Redemption, and the Culmination of human history. It’s a story that speaks to something above and outside us, a Call to Adventure, a moral battle, a transformation, and a return to the tribe with… gifts, insight, and power (The Hero’s Journey). It is a story with clear moral boundaries and consequences. It’s a story with high stakes. Not only does Scripture teach that God impregnates every human being with an awareness of the Story, placing His Law within our hearts and minds, but that God strives with us, forever wooing us to join our micro-narrative to His epic.

This is what separates men from animals. As Chesterton put it, “the more we really look at man as an animal, the less he will look like one.” We are “biologically prepared” for stories, not because they serve us like an eye or a pancreas does, but because they speak to something Transcendent. This is what makes us human. Our story is part of a much bigger Story. We look up at the stars and in it we find Something, no–Someone, looking back at us. Drawing us to Himself. And we hunger to join that narrative.

“Wickers Bog: A Tale of Southern Gothic Horror” is Now Available for Kindle!

[image error]My novelette, Wickers Bog: A Tale of Southern Gothic Horror, is now available on Kindle for just 99 cents. I’m a huge fan of the craft of short story writing. It’s how I cut my literary teeth. After writing several novels, this year I’d hoped to take a break in order to concoct a tale I’d long imagined — a Gothic Mermaid story. How does that work, you ask? How do mermaids do Gothic? Well, it helps when you set your story in a backwoods bayou and a submerged Southern plantation house. It’s an image that has fomented in my brain for quite some time, and actually came to me in a dream. No wonder, I guess. I’ve always been fascinated with denizens of the deep, especially those of the swamp variety. All the way back in my first published novel, The Resurrection, I referenced Nelda the Swamp Witch. In The Ghost Box I referenced another “swamp witch,” this one anonymous, who attempted to “pickle [Reagan Moon’s] gizzards.” So now, in Wickers Bog, I allowed myself to explore the concept more fully. Frankly, the outcome pleased and rather surprised me.

Anyway, I’d planned to shop the story to some pro magazines, but as I unfolded the tome, it just kept opening. Technically, short stories max out around 7,000 words. So when Wickers Bog reached 10K words, I figured I’d do the indie thing! Plans are in the works for print and audio version of the story. Many thanks to Rachel Marks for the wonderfully creepy cover design. You can download a copy of Wickers Bog HERE. Thanks!