Why Faith and Fantasy?
When God sent the prophet Nathan to confront King David over a serious sin, He gave the prophet a story to tell (2 Samuel 12). It was an allegory about a poor man who had one beloved sheep, and the greedy rich man who stole it from him to feed his dinner guest. David was horrified and outraged, and ordered swift justice be brought against the rich man and the poor man amply compensated for his loss.
Then Nathan dropped the bomb: “You are that man!” He went on to point out how David had done the exact same thing when he stole a faithful soldier’s wife and sent him to the front lines to be killed in battle. Until Nathan arrived, David thought he’d gotten away with murder (literally), but God showed him—through a story—how wrong he’d been.
This passage is one of my favorite illustrations of the power of storytelling. Stories aren’t just windows to watch the adventures of heroes and villains; they are mirrors, where we see a reflection of our own heroic potential—and of our own greatest enemies.
"Fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already... The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon."
—G.K. Chesterton
So, how does that answer the question at the start of this post: Why do I tell stories that fuse faith with fantasy and speak truth above the lies? The simplest answer would be a simple rephrasing of the quote above:
“Faith-driven fantasy provides the reader trapped in darkness and fear, a Hero who brings the light, and a Truth that sets them free.”
Life is hard. It’s hard for adults, for kids, for teens, and for grandparents. And even though our struggles may not be in all the same categories, they are almost always in the same intensity. My fear of the dark as a little girl is no less valid because I’ve now learned to be afraid of failure and rejection. But in a fantasy world, fears can take mythical shapes that represent all our struggles; the proverbial fire-breathing dragon can just as easily be a school bully as it can a short-tempered boss, and the hero standing up to it—sword in hand, refusing to back down—gives the same measure of courage to the tortured student and employee alike.
God knew this principle when He created us with an imagination; consider how many times he uses metaphors to explain salvation: “A tree planted by the waters,” (Psalm 1:3), “I am the vine, you are the branches,” (John 15:5), “The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field,” (Matthew 13:44) and on and on and on, all throughout the Bible. Kingdom principles are best understood in earthly packaging; in story packaging.
I know fantasy can be a twisted genre, and much of it is used to glorify darkness and lies, but it doesn’t have to be that way. I’ll never forget the overwhelming mixture of horror and gratitude that flooded me the first time I watched The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and realized that I was Edmund, and that Aslan was dying for me, despite how foolish and arrogant we had been. It brought me to tears and left me in awe.
This is why I write Christian fantasy: to connect a broken, scared, lied-to reader with broken, scared, lied-to characters who learn to trust a Love that will not let them go. I write Christian fantasy because I have been and still am that reader; because I need to understand God’s goodness and redemption in a way I can grasp, and the Land of Tenebra helps me do that.
If any of this resonates with you, I hope you’ll visit Tenebra too and discover the Giver’s love for yourself. It’s an adventure you don’t want to miss with a message you can’t afford to disregard.
Until next time, stay curious; stay kind; stay courageous. <3 <3 <3