The Ghettoization of Christian Storytelling

Christian art, or art by Christians?

Don’t get offended, but…why are Christian films mostly cringe, and why are Christian novels these days mostly romance? Why is “Christian sci-fi” mostly mislabeled spiritual warfare stories and end-times speculation while the Mormons are kicking our holy behinds in actual epic storytelling?

The answer to both these questions is much the same: Christian art has been ghettoized, and the secular culture isn’t to blame. It’s us.

There’s a lot in a name, and I aim to unpack it here. Is all art by Christians supposed to be Christian art, or are we allowed to just make art? I think we are, but my marketing research reveals most Christians (in America, anyway) expect stories from Christians to be explicitly Christian. If your imaginative work doesn’t map neatly onto a biblical framework, in many Christian circles, especially among evangelicals, Baptists, and charismatics, then it’s suspect. “Oh, I see you have aliens in your story. Are you trying to lead us ASTRAY?”

Yes, there are marketing limitations to speculative or fantasy Christian works in traditional publishing. Where does one put “science fiction” in the Christian bookstore? If it’s not about the seven-horned beast of the apocalypse or spiritual trips into hell, where does it go? If it has aliens, but the aliens aren’t demons (spoiler alert: in real life they totally are), how is that “biblical?”

More than that, there seems to be little appetite for broad, nuanced, or ambiguous storytelling among Christians—at least not for stories written by Christians. Why? I think the hyper-literalistic framework that has dominated Protestant Christianity in America for a century is largely to blame: Yes, it’s six literal days of creation. Yes, it’s literally a flood over the whole planet. Yes, it’s literally a rapture into the air, literally a physical mark of the beast, literally a seven-year tribulation, and so on.

It’s not just that evangelicals believe these things—it’s that any alternative interpretations are branded as theological liberalism, and getting that black mark leaves few avenues for even moderate success with Christian audiences. (Never mind that many church fathers didn’t hold literalism as the gold-standard hermeneutical framework, but this isn’t about that.) This rigid framework has spilled beyond doctrine and into storytelling, so that any speculative work that could possibly be “interpreted” as heresy probably will be, and sooner rather than later. Many Christian influencers won’t see speculative stories as places to dig deep into themes like sacrifice, salvation, and human dignity—they’ll see a Christian “failing to do their job” or “wandering off the path.” But if we appreciate these poignant themes in secular works, why can’t we do the same in works by Christians?

When Art Becomes a Sermon

No, Christian storytelling today means Christian stories, not stories told by Christians. Never mind that Christian bakers don’t only make cross-shaped cakes, and Christian lenders don’t stamp Romans 3:23 on every document, and Christian hair stylists aren’t expected to only play worship music in their studios.

We’ve taken the idea of “Christian storytelling” so far that art becomes a mere vehicle for sermon-like messages, hollowing out the complexity and nuance of life. God’s Not Dead is a cringey film—acting and budget aside, it’s preachy and it lacks dimension. By contrast, Interstellar, a non-Christian film, is a speculative marvel about human connection and sacrifice. It doesn’t align with Christian cosmology, and yet it resonates deeply with themes of love, sacrifice, and human connection. If you asked any regular church-going Christian which film they enjoyed more, they’d likely pick Interstellar, even though it doesn’t map neatly onto Christian doctrine. It doesn’t reflect truth like a mirror, but it resonates with it.

We’re allowed to appreciate stories like Interstellar because of “common grace” and “deeper themes,” yet we hold believers who create art to a different standard: make explicitly Christian art that lines up perfectly with mainstream theology, or risk being called a false teacher or a liberal. Hollywood didn’t do this to us. Big Five publishing didn’t do this to us. We did. We’ve ghettoized Christian storytelling by hamstringing our ability to speculate and explore, to be truly imaginative instead of derivative.

But what about LOTR?

Someone is bound to think of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings at this point, and it’s a useful exhibit for proving my point. Widely seen among Christians as a wonderful work of mythic truths, its reflections of a Christian worldview are far more hazy than C.S. Lewis’s works like Narnia. Yet Christian affection for it is enduring. Why?

First, LOTR is strictly fantasy. That makes it easier for Christians to compartmentalize it, to see it as metaphor, allegory, or mythic echo. But it’s harder for some readers—particularly literalists—to set science fiction, the realm of “what if,” apart from the real world. Hard sci-fi asks how the world might change given certain technological developments, and it has often been the playground of atheists and progressives eager to explore and reinforce the perceived irrelevance of faith. So, its reputation may leave a bitterness for some believers. It’s worth noting that most sci-fi today isn’t that—it’s more like “fantasy with spaceships.” Yes, these grand multi-planet worlds are often godless, but they still explore ideas worth wrestling with.

More to my point, LOTR is a legacy. It represents what Christian imagination used to be—before sensational works like Left Behind kickstarted a new era of Christian fiction dominated by embellished literal interpretations of eschatology, historical fiction, or formulaic romances. We’re allowed to have Christian versions of what the secular market offers—historical fiction, romance, even thrillers. We’re allowed to have “end-times fiction,” but we’re not allowed to have “Christian science fiction.” (Apparently, that died with Lewis’ Space Trilogy seventy-five years ago.) Everything now must be either sermon-quality theology or sanitized mirrors of mainstream fiction with explicit Christian messages: by Christians, for Christians—then we wonder why Christian voices “can’t break through” in the arts.

Someone asked me the other day why I, as a conservative Christian, am writing science fiction. The answer is simple: science fiction and speculative fiction have always captured my imagination. They imbue a sense of awe at creation and the ingenuity of creatures made in God’s image. More than that, the genre allows us to ask important questions about our place in the world and to see things in a different light—through contrast, metaphor, allegory, or some combination thereof. Since it’s fiction and clearly labeled as such, a whole fictional world doesn’t have to be “theologically correct” to be intellectually engaging and spiritually edifying.

I know that’s a lonely position to take, but I’m used to taking the lonely position.

I say: free the ghetto of Christian storytelling. Envision new worlds. Captivate imaginations. Thrill a culture thirsting for myth, and meaning, and purpose. Be bold, be provocative, be so immersed in your faith that it can’t help but color everything you do.

And dare to be original. If you’re a disciple and you love science fiction and fantasy, you’re not a heretic—you’re just imaginative. That is no sin.