by Heather Donckels
I’ve read a fair smattering of Christian fiction in my lifetime. By Christian fiction I mean the paperback novels with pictures of beautiful young women on the front and dramatic questions under the titles: “Can she fulfill her dreams without losing the one she loves?” After reading four Christian novellas of this type in early high school, I realized that often Christian fiction is Christian in name only. Though the pages of these stories were sprinkled with prayers and a few Bible verses, the characters behaved in ways that made them indistinguishable from unbelievers.
Since reading those novellas, I’ve had an interesting relationship with Christian fiction. Even though I don’t like it, I sometimes stroll down the Christian fiction aisle at a bookstore, waiting for something different, something radical, to catch my eye. But nothing ever does. It’s all the same. The girl eventually gets the guy, and they live happily ever after.
There are many reasons why Christian fiction drives me up the wall, but for now, I’ll ignore the stale plots and actual quality of the writing and focus on aspects that, I believe, have even more significance. As stated above, I’ve found that much Christian fiction is Christian in name only. Many of the characters in the stories I read were more concerned with chasing after Mr. or Mrs. Right than pursuing a relationship with the Lord. I’m not saying that characters should be perfect Christians; that wouldn’t be realistic. However, I do think that fiction labeled as Christian should show genuine Christians fighting to pursue the things that matter. Often, in spite of the Bible verses, prayers and spiritual breakthroughs, Christian fiction is not edifying. Honestly, do you read a Christian romance novel for the spiritual truth or for the love scene? Now tell me, how will a love scene draw you closer to Jesus? Likely, it won’t. It may give you nice feelings, but it won’t bring about any change in your life. There’s nothing inherently wrong with romance or love scenes, but should a book that focuses on these be labeled as Christian? Often Christian fiction — and Christian art in general — gives easy, unrealistic answers to life’s problems.
A recent Christian film, “Facing the Giants,” demonstrated this tendency of Christian art. In the movie, the protagonist and his wife are unable to have children. However, after the protagonist places his complete trust in God, his wife gets pregnant. Life does not always operate on this blessing theology. Sometimes trusting God doesn’t bring success, but it does bring a person closer to God, a benefit greater than earthly prosperity.
The question then rises: What sort of fiction should a Christian read? Personally, I’d suggest almost anything besides Christian fiction. There are so many classic and contemporary works of literature out there that have been largely ignored by modern evangelicals. These works are mostly secular, but I believe that in our times, it can be more profitable to read a secular novel than a Christian one. The secular ones show us our world with all of its imperfections — the immorality and paganism, the poverty and injustice — and force us to see our depravity apart from the grace of God. If we consciously filter secular literature through the grid of Scripture, we can practice discernment while reading and strengthen our ability to distinguish between right and wrong. Also, reading secular literature increases our ability to relate to unbelievers. If we can understand their literature, we will better understand their philosophies and be able to more effectively share the truth with them. As Christians, we cannot wall ourselves up in completely Christian worlds. We must get out and understand our culture if we are going to change it.
Showing posts with label editorial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label editorial. Show all posts
Friday, May 4, 2007
Breaking Down the Walls: Editorial
By Debbie Stampfli
When I was nine years old, my room fell apart. Literally.
In one moment on a cold January morning in 1994, my drawers full of books flew out onto the carpet, my glass figurines tumbled from their shelves, and my furniture fell over onto the floor and on top of my bed.
It wasn’t just my room though. The Northridge Earthquake hit our entire neighborhood in a severe way — mainly because my family lived only a few miles from the epicenter. Some chimneys collapsed, and most incredibly, nearly every single one of our neighbor’s fences and walls were knocked down, including ours.
As a result, if you looked outside through our backyard, you could see into nearly every other backyard in the neighborhood. We were suddenly taken away from our comfortable, fenced-in environment, and forced to see into the backyards of people we barely knew. Stranger still, when the boundaries of our backyard opened, we suddenly became host to a number of animals. We began to regularly see squirrels, possums and mice in the days that followed. Our patio table even became home to a pure white dove that we affectionately named “Snowshoe.” After a while, he knew us so well that he would eat Saltine crackers right from our hands.
Although our world was shaken in a terrible way, it was also opened in a strange and beautiful way. After the earthquake, the busy main street we lived on became an unconventional neighborhood. Everyone had to come out of their homes eventually that day, and the most common phrase spoken that morning became, “Are you guys okay?” I wondered if those words would have escaped anyone’s lips if our “worlds” had not been tangibly broken.
In the same sense, I wish we would all become this shaken. It is a terrible thing to go through life in the center of a busy world with fences and walls and barriers keeping us apart from it. We become trapped behind our own fences, unaware of the world that is just next door, full of broken people and even beautiful white doves.
I’ve come to the point where I’ve realized that this is one of the defining marks of our culture. We live for ourselves and rarely see what is going on outside what interests us. When I was driving past a bus stop the other day, I saw an older woman with frazzled dark hair and disappointed eyes, holding her face in her hands. I knew she had grief that this world would categorize as unfixable. And I knew I would never see her again. Granted, it is impossible to take into consideration every pained person we come across. Yet, to ignore them altogether and dissolve into our own self-centered worlds is a tragedy. Some might call this condition apathy, but I think they are being far too kind. It is merely a symptom of our self-consumed culture: egoism, to be sure. Moreover, it demonstrates the complete lack of compassion that has taken us all captive. Instead of being aware and concerned for others, we are exclusively centered on ourselves. And by shutting out the world around us with a frame of indifference, we lose a whole world of unexpected beauty as well. Instead of building taller fences and thicker walls, we should long for earthquakes that take us into worlds we would have nothing to do with otherwise.
In spite of the destructive effect of the earthquake, my family gained a wonderful pet dove and a few new neighbors — things I wouldn’t have noticed in any other circumstance. Likewise, oftentimes when we lock ourselves behind fences instead of letting our walls fall down, we miss the important things, the simplistically beautiful things, and the imperfectly lovely things. But even more so, we need to desire “earthquakes” in order to get out of ourselves and observe those around us. If our worlds have to be shaken in order to transform us into observant and sensitive individuals, then so be it. Better a world of fallen fences than apathetic egomaniacs.
When I was nine years old, my room fell apart. Literally.
In one moment on a cold January morning in 1994, my drawers full of books flew out onto the carpet, my glass figurines tumbled from their shelves, and my furniture fell over onto the floor and on top of my bed.
It wasn’t just my room though. The Northridge Earthquake hit our entire neighborhood in a severe way — mainly because my family lived only a few miles from the epicenter. Some chimneys collapsed, and most incredibly, nearly every single one of our neighbor’s fences and walls were knocked down, including ours.
As a result, if you looked outside through our backyard, you could see into nearly every other backyard in the neighborhood. We were suddenly taken away from our comfortable, fenced-in environment, and forced to see into the backyards of people we barely knew. Stranger still, when the boundaries of our backyard opened, we suddenly became host to a number of animals. We began to regularly see squirrels, possums and mice in the days that followed. Our patio table even became home to a pure white dove that we affectionately named “Snowshoe.” After a while, he knew us so well that he would eat Saltine crackers right from our hands.
Although our world was shaken in a terrible way, it was also opened in a strange and beautiful way. After the earthquake, the busy main street we lived on became an unconventional neighborhood. Everyone had to come out of their homes eventually that day, and the most common phrase spoken that morning became, “Are you guys okay?” I wondered if those words would have escaped anyone’s lips if our “worlds” had not been tangibly broken.
In the same sense, I wish we would all become this shaken. It is a terrible thing to go through life in the center of a busy world with fences and walls and barriers keeping us apart from it. We become trapped behind our own fences, unaware of the world that is just next door, full of broken people and even beautiful white doves.
I’ve come to the point where I’ve realized that this is one of the defining marks of our culture. We live for ourselves and rarely see what is going on outside what interests us. When I was driving past a bus stop the other day, I saw an older woman with frazzled dark hair and disappointed eyes, holding her face in her hands. I knew she had grief that this world would categorize as unfixable. And I knew I would never see her again. Granted, it is impossible to take into consideration every pained person we come across. Yet, to ignore them altogether and dissolve into our own self-centered worlds is a tragedy. Some might call this condition apathy, but I think they are being far too kind. It is merely a symptom of our self-consumed culture: egoism, to be sure. Moreover, it demonstrates the complete lack of compassion that has taken us all captive. Instead of being aware and concerned for others, we are exclusively centered on ourselves. And by shutting out the world around us with a frame of indifference, we lose a whole world of unexpected beauty as well. Instead of building taller fences and thicker walls, we should long for earthquakes that take us into worlds we would have nothing to do with otherwise.
In spite of the destructive effect of the earthquake, my family gained a wonderful pet dove and a few new neighbors — things I wouldn’t have noticed in any other circumstance. Likewise, oftentimes when we lock ourselves behind fences instead of letting our walls fall down, we miss the important things, the simplistically beautiful things, and the imperfectly lovely things. But even more so, we need to desire “earthquakes” in order to get out of ourselves and observe those around us. If our worlds have to be shaken in order to transform us into observant and sensitive individuals, then so be it. Better a world of fallen fences than apathetic egomaniacs.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Thoughts From Elliot Bay: Editorial
by Anna Forbes
Pioneer Square stands as one of the oldest districts in Seattle, and it also houses my new favorite bookstore, Elliot Bay Books. This old brick building and I were recently introduced by my best friend Emily. We pulled open the front double doors and stepped onto the creaky hardwood floor, at which point I was already captivated. After looking at stationery and the Staff Favorites section, she brought me to the dimly-lit café in the basement. I studied the posters that hung on the brick walls while a man with dreds and tattoos made my hazelnut Americano. This was Seattle.
I sipped my hot drink and scanned the wooden bookshelves, amazed at the size of the bookstore and the amount of information contained within its walls. Lately I’ve been lingering at the Biography and Religion sections. I suppose it’s because at my age, I’m making decisions that will set a pattern for the rest of my life, and I find some sort of inspiration from knowing how other people lived and how I ought to.
These past few months, I’ve thought a lot about my generation’s reputation. Let’s face it: many of us don’t know how to grow up, and quite frankly, we’re scared to. Sometimes I almost feel frozen in place, knowing I don’t want to go back in time but hesitant to step forward, uncertain of where I’ll land. I’m afraid to make the wrong choice, but I think that not making a decision is nearly the same as making the wrong one.
On the shelves in front of me sat the stories of Winston Churchill, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther and Saint Augustine. Each of these remarkable men was at many points afraid of what the future would hold and wondered what would result from their decisions. Their fear didn’t stop them from doing what they had to. Churchill said this: “Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.” Such optimism in his words!
I stood there for several moments, mulling over these thoughts, and something in me changed. Ironically, I became aware of another choice. I can choose to take responsibility for my actions and take steps toward making things happen in my life, or I can wait on others to pick up the slack for me and straggle through life riding on everyone else’s accomplishments. As I see it now, that is what I’m choosing between. Personally, I would rather chase my dreams as hard as I can and see where God allows me to go with them. The adventure of this is so much greater than living a predictable life where no risks are taken simply for safety’s sake.
The pages of the books I looked at were black and white with words describing the fascinating lives of people who achieved great things with their efforts. They were not afraid to live with fear. They saw fear as the wind at their back; it wasn’t a wall to climb over. These great people embraced maturity and became adults capable of making good decisions. I am almost 22 years old and must do all I can to place myself in that same position.
Right now I’m drifting somewhere between childhood and adulthood, and although it seems like an endless fog right now, it won’t last long. We will all be something, and that will become clear soon enough. So whether you mentor children with special needs, start your own business, clean people’s teeth, or take beautiful pictures, do something that’s worth writing a book about.
Pioneer Square stands as one of the oldest districts in Seattle, and it also houses my new favorite bookstore, Elliot Bay Books. This old brick building and I were recently introduced by my best friend Emily. We pulled open the front double doors and stepped onto the creaky hardwood floor, at which point I was already captivated. After looking at stationery and the Staff Favorites section, she brought me to the dimly-lit café in the basement. I studied the posters that hung on the brick walls while a man with dreds and tattoos made my hazelnut Americano. This was Seattle.
I sipped my hot drink and scanned the wooden bookshelves, amazed at the size of the bookstore and the amount of information contained within its walls. Lately I’ve been lingering at the Biography and Religion sections. I suppose it’s because at my age, I’m making decisions that will set a pattern for the rest of my life, and I find some sort of inspiration from knowing how other people lived and how I ought to.
These past few months, I’ve thought a lot about my generation’s reputation. Let’s face it: many of us don’t know how to grow up, and quite frankly, we’re scared to. Sometimes I almost feel frozen in place, knowing I don’t want to go back in time but hesitant to step forward, uncertain of where I’ll land. I’m afraid to make the wrong choice, but I think that not making a decision is nearly the same as making the wrong one.
On the shelves in front of me sat the stories of Winston Churchill, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther and Saint Augustine. Each of these remarkable men was at many points afraid of what the future would hold and wondered what would result from their decisions. Their fear didn’t stop them from doing what they had to. Churchill said this: “Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.” Such optimism in his words!
I stood there for several moments, mulling over these thoughts, and something in me changed. Ironically, I became aware of another choice. I can choose to take responsibility for my actions and take steps toward making things happen in my life, or I can wait on others to pick up the slack for me and straggle through life riding on everyone else’s accomplishments. As I see it now, that is what I’m choosing between. Personally, I would rather chase my dreams as hard as I can and see where God allows me to go with them. The adventure of this is so much greater than living a predictable life where no risks are taken simply for safety’s sake.
The pages of the books I looked at were black and white with words describing the fascinating lives of people who achieved great things with their efforts. They were not afraid to live with fear. They saw fear as the wind at their back; it wasn’t a wall to climb over. These great people embraced maturity and became adults capable of making good decisions. I am almost 22 years old and must do all I can to place myself in that same position.
Right now I’m drifting somewhere between childhood and adulthood, and although it seems like an endless fog right now, it won’t last long. We will all be something, and that will become clear soon enough. So whether you mentor children with special needs, start your own business, clean people’s teeth, or take beautiful pictures, do something that’s worth writing a book about.
Master Minds: Inspiration from the Past: Editorial
by Heather Donckels
One night about a month ago, I walked across the baseball field in the dark. The Astroturf felt springy under my feet, and above me, the white half-moon hung in the sky. The air was so clear that I could see the half of the moon that was supposed to be hiding. It looked like a faintly glowing handle attaching the moon to the blackness. I found the gate in the chain link fence, stepped through it, and crossed the path to the Bryce House.
Anna and Debbie, my fellow editors, were waiting for me in the Writing Room across from Dr. Simons’ office. It is a small room, containing two computers, a bookshelf full of writing books, a coffee table covered with old yearbooks, and a water dispenser. On the far wall, there’s a window covered with blinds, the cheap, flimsy, off-white kind, and a deep windowsill crowned with the two-volume Oxford Compact Dictionary.
After a minute, Titus Gee finished his phone call and joined us. He is tall, with a goatee, rimless glasses and nearly white blonde hair held back in a ponytail. In 2001, he edited and published Master Minds for its first year. After about an hour, a petite young woman wearing a purple sweater joined us. She had soft brown bangs on her forehead. Her name was Christine Berwick, and she was the editor of Master Minds after Titus.
For two hours, Titus and Christine taught Anna, Debbie and me about newsletter layout, how to gather content, writer-editor relationships, and what we could expect our editing experiences of the semester to look like. But also, perhaps without knowing it, they passed along their original vision for Master Minds.
“Every night, the Bryce House used to be full of students,” Titus told us. “People would come here to hang out and study and talk philosophy. This was the art hub of The Master’s College.” Today, the Bryce House is a discarded shell of the old days. It’s almost always quiet.
Titus and Christine left for a meeting. Debbie and Anna left too, but I stayed behind in the Writing Room. “This is your office,” Titus had told us, “your home away from home.” I looked over the first year’s issues of Master Minds and was transported to the days when it ran strong, being published bi-monthly.
I sat down in the desk chair and looked around—at the world map on the wall and the picture of Albert Einstein that Titus said they’d salvaged from the Science Department when they were remodeling. I thought about a noisy Bryce House. All I could hear was the ticking of the clock and the computer fans spinning. Where do the artists and writers of TMC discuss ideas? I wondered. I hear the English majors whispering behind me in class, and their whispers tell me they’ve talked things over already. So they must talk somewhere. What about creative expression? Where do the writers and poets express themselves and get read? Master Minds hasn’t been published in a year. What has the artistic community of The Master’s College done in the meantime?
Then and there, I decided that as much as it depended on me, Master Minds would be that creative outlet. Master Minds’ motto is “Read, Write, Think, Discuss, Create.” I want this newsletter to live up to that motto. As a result of reading Master Minds, I want people to think and discuss and be inspired to write and create their own art.
Before I left the Writing Room, I whispered a prayer that Anna, Debbie and I would be useful and honor God in our editing this semester. And then I added to myself with a smile, “Maybe this is the beginning of something new.”
So, writers and artists of The Master’s College, come out of the woodwork. Feel free to express yourself and glorify God in that expression. If He has given you a gift, don’t hesitate to use it.
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