Robin Layne's Blog: From the Red, Read Robin - Posts Tagged "christian"

I held the tent flap closed with my right hand, except for the little hole I created to see through. In my left hand, I held a fanned-out wad of money. A hand in a long, black satin glove grabbed mine and together we strode out into the hot sun of Portland’s Pioneer Square; I kept my eyes on the Devil as I mirrored the being’s movement—lifting my free arm and shaking the twenty dollar bills , then pulling my arm dramatically down. The Devil, all in black, with an elaborate mask over the eyes, moved with all the grace of the ultimate puppet master, charming one after another of us to tempt and torment a straying child of God. Released, I held my prize beyond the slim girl’s reach as she begged. I shook my head. I pointed to the necklace Jesus had given her when she had romped and danced with him in innocence and freedom. I motioned for her to give it to me. The girl hesitated, but I nodded. She finally relented—removed her string of colorful beads and handed it to me, then reached out for her reward. Holding my the necklace, I held the money beyond her reach, laughed in pantomime, and backed off. I took my place in front of the lover with the red rose who had first charmed her away from Paradise. I compared my money to the necklace. My lips curled in disgust. I tossed the worthless piece of junk aside. I didn’t even look aside when Jesus lunged forward and picked it up. I was too intent on my beloved mammon. I held it up, kissed it, counted it, counted it again.

By that time, the third “sin,” Vanity, had approached in her violet dress and styled hair, measured the girl’s waist, found her wanting, and taught her to vomit. Next, a drunkard in Mardi Gras beads spun awkwardly out of the Devil’s grasp, stumbled up to the girl, and introduced her to a bottle of something that made her sputter. A drug lord followed, and then, at the depths of her despair, the girl imitated Suicide, who wore a black hood and led her in cutting her arm . . .

The Devil was actually a woman named Sarah, an amazingly talented dancer, who wore not Prada but ballet slippers. When she was younger, she used to dance for Ringaling Brothers Circus. She was a good leader in the “sin” tent, although she had a tendency to talk during rehearsals in spite of the orders of the director/producer/choreographer, Carissa, who also played a demon in this fourteen minute show, “Miracle Man.” Members of Westside Vineyard Church, we performed our dance four times on Saturday, August 3, at Pioneer Square in Portland, Oregon, as part of our annual Heaven to Earth Festival. Yes, I know, I’m a little late at describing it. I’ve been very busy.

Getting free of being a “sin” took some time and a little struggle. First, in response to a backward glance at the girl (played by a teen named Lisa), Jesus pushed all the sins aside and let another girl (Kaitlin), who had stayed loyal to him throughout, pull the gun from Lisa and pled for her to let go of her shame and be reconciled to her Lord. As all this took place, I couldn’t watch. I had to stand motionless with my head down, until Satan and two demons crept out and brought us back up again. Then we reached out toward Lisa like zombies, pleading with our respective props. She considered turning back to her sins, then turned her attention fully to Jesus. Three angels in white stepped in front of us, and we backed off from the unseen barrier. The demons went back to casting their spells to keep us wrapped up with our symbolic props. I went back to counting money, but this time my expression was less gleeful, more hardened.

Jesus danced again with both his girls, and then spun them in our direction. They brought each of the tempters to Jesus, going from the first to the last. I kept counting and kissing my money until they got to me. I looked from one to the other, confused, as they dragged me forward; I offered them money, but strangely, they showed no interest whatever. As soon as I crossed the line of angels, I saw Jesus face-to-face. Seeing his loving gaze changed everything, just as it did for all the others. For, unlike the “sins” in the Lifehouse “Everything Sketch,” on which our drama was based, we were also people—just people who had been enslaved by Satan.

I ran into the Lord’s embrace. During rehearsal, I had suggested that I might knock him over with my weight and enthusiasm. “Jesus” was a tall high school student who looks older than he really is. He wore blue jeans, and a purple sash over a white tee-shirt that got a little “blood” on it when Suicide and Lisa hugged him. But like the rest of us, the boy had Jesus in him; God’s love shone in his beautiful blue eyes.

We lined up on either side of Jesus and, when he gave the signal, marched forward against Satan and the demons. As one, we held out our hands as if to push them away, and the angels charged between us and routed the evil ones, who ran into the tent to the right of the stage. The applause in the accompanying music was joined by the cheers of the generous-sized audience.

Together we turned and walked back to Jesus. We circled him and danced around him in worship. “Holy . . . You are holy . . . who was, and is, and is to come . . .” (“Miracle Maker,” sung by Kim Walker)

We then each had a short moment of interaction with the Lord—first Kaitlin hugged him , then I hugged him again, bowed, and walked behind the circle back to the tent. Suicide also went back to the tent, but other than Satan, we were the only ones who didn’t join in the final dance—a rousing hip-hop to “I Feel So Alive,” by Capital Kings.
Here is a link to the video, which was recorded during the first and second performances: http://youtu.be/MawFxZEmq_w
The second performance contained the shots with the chalk markings on the bricks.

What the audience couldn’t see was that my performance (and all the rehearsals) were a sacrifice for me. I had injured my knees falling off a bike, and they were slow to heal. That was why I couldn’t do a controlled fall to the bricks like the others, and why Carissa changed it so I had to stand, which was painful too over a long period of time; she had Rachel, who played the drunkard, stand as well so that I wouldn’t stand out so much.

I wasn’t the only one injured during the course of rehearsals. I think something happened to Sarah early on. Then Daniel, and especially Lisa, suffered abrasions going down a concrete slide at a youth retreat. Lisa was banged up so badly she couldn’t let anyone touch her for a while, and a piece of gauze stuck to her wound as if it were part of her skin. The real Devil was trying hard to shut us down. But we persevered, and we kept praying and practicing. It all worked out well in the end.

Some events of note about the process: One Sunday night after we had rehearsed in the afternoon, I was in the cry room in back of the sanctuary, and Daniel was asleep in an easy chair. In front of me I noticed a familiar brown ponytail from the back. Sarah, I thought. I said to her, “Jesus conked out, but Satan is still wide awake and prowling around.”

The woman turned and stared at me. “What?” It wasn’t Sarah, and she had no idea why I had just called her Satan.
On the day of the outreach, many of us arrived early to help set up the tents: A stage for the worship bands; a large prophetic art and children’s tent complete with a bubble machine, art supplies, and paintings on display; a healing tent, where a number of people would experience miracles through God’s love; a “messages from God” tent, where believers prayed and gave people words of knowledge and encouragement. Our drama group stayed in close communication so that we could be properly prepared for each of the performances of “Miracle Man.” At lunchtime, we walked together from Pioneer Square toward the Waterfront, toward a stretch of outdoor food booths. On the way, I saw a billboard with my prop on it: Key Bank used a fan of twenty dollar bills to advertise its gift of free money to new customers. The major difference was that the billboard showed real bills. Mine showed Shakespeare instead of Jackson on the front and I had carefully stapled them back-to-back so the blank backs didn’t show on either side of the “fan.”
As I hung out in the art tent between performances, a couple of our members spoke of some needy people whom they had met who said they would come to the Heaven to Earth Festival. These people never arrived. Tim, one of our dancers, said they must have been distracted by “Sarah.” We may have a new code word, we agreed. When I told Sarah later, she said, “I’m never going to live this down!”

On another day following the festival, the drama group gathered one final time to debrief, to sign Thank You cards for the people in the church who had interceded for us, and to receive awards. Each award certificate was unique. Mine, which now hangs in my apartment entryway, is “the superstar perseverance award.” Carissa’s is “the multipersonality award” because she was the writer, director, choreographer, and also played a demon that transformed into an angel for the final dance. Daniel’s award said, “I’m God. Who the heck are you?” We discussed possibly performing again in the future, and many said they were interested. But when asked if we might perform at a Waterfront outreach this month, not enough people were interested, and there would not have been enough time to create a new drama for a small number of people. Really, it’s no surprise; most of our performers are students, and it’s September.

Ironically, my knees are finally healed, so I could have done it much easier. Now that I am no longer needed for the part, there is no pressure from “Sarah.”

I wrote the following article for “Robin’s Nest,” my web domain of “Den of Insanity” (later called “Artisan’s Republic”) many years ago. I have made just a few changes to update the progress of the manuscripts in progress. Today the issue it discusses is more pertinent than ever. Picture, if you will, a mob of villagers armed with torches and pitchforks, chasing a “monster” down in the dark of the night. The monster? A writer of fiction.

The writer takes a stand in front of the old, creaking windmill. This is what she says—or tries to, before they cast her down from her pedestal and burn her to death:

Some of my Christian friends don't seem to understand what I am doing in writing my AVS fiction series. It's true we say people don't understand us if they disagree with us, but most of the people who disapprove of my writing about vampires haven't even heard me explain my story and its purpose, much less read a word of it. All they have to do is hear the word “vampire,” and they think I'm doing something terrible. One of them went so far as to inform me, “Don't you know God doesn't want you to write about vampires?” It's interesting that she knows better than I do what God wants me to do, especially when I have been working on this story for years.

Why do I care what people think? These people are my brothers and sisters in the faith. I need their prayers and encouragement over a work whose main idea, I believe, was inspired by the Lord himself. It's hard enough that this is a crossover novel that may be hard to place with a publisher. I need all the moral support I can get. And I love talking about my writing because, second to God Himself, it is my greatest passion.

It has been hard having my various subject matters rejected by fellow Christians over the years, anyway. Fantasy? No, it has to be realistic. Romance? That's naughty. Do any characters cuss? Do any characters have sex? Even think or talk about sex? Then forget it! Some people—not all—are quick to condemn everything they possibly can. They seem to think it is their ministry to discourage people like me.

My AVS series has a few scattered cuss words in the mouths of my characters. Shocked? I cuss myself sometimes, mostly when I'm really angry. God hasn't hit me with a lightning bolt yet. I know that doesn't prove He approves, but I just don't feel it's such a terrible sin to let each character talk in the way that is natural for him or her. I think it would bring more attention to cussing if I censored them each time by always saying “she cursed.” There is a meaning to their words; it's not just cussing for no reason. They are not the kinds of people who cuss all the time so that their words lose meaning. These characters do not start as Christians, but the stories do have a Christian message. When a few of my characters get involved sexually, it is not on camera, as it were. By letting them do that, I am also letting them be themselves, not condoning their activities but instead showing some possible consequences. What is wrong with presenting human beings realistically? Because of the existence of vampires in my stories, they are a type of fantasy, but when I write fantasy, I work all the harder to keep all mundane details as mundane as possible, to create the illusion that such an event could really happen and to express the realities of human life.

What is it that bothers many Christians about vampires? I'm not entirely sure. For one thing, I think these people make assumptions. Does my writing glorify evil? No. The Bible speaks of evil, including Satan himself. It doesn't condone evil but instructs in fighting against it. I'm doing the same thing, and in a similar way—through the lives of imperfect people who struggle with difficult issues. Am I claiming vampires are real? No. There are real people who drink blood but not who grow fangs like dogs and live on blood indefinitely. And there are still some people today who believe the undead exist (like Montegue Summers, who wrote books about vampires), but by writing fiction that uses some of these ideas I am not proclaiming my own belief in vampires any more than Tolkien claimed he believed in the reality of elves. My Christian friends may assume that I am trying to copy Anne Rice or some other vampire writer. I couldn't even if I wanted to. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't think it was a fresh approach for a worthy cause. Least of all, I'm not copying any vampire movies.

Disclaimer: It is possible to dwell upon evil too much, and I have sometimes done so while writing about my vampires. It harmed my mental, spiritual, and even physical health. I learned from that and sought out greater balance in my life. But you can't write a story about the battle between good and evil without some evil in it. And what subject is more worthy than good verses evil?

I didn't think of vampires as a subject for some of my writing until a certain dream suggested a particular story—the one that started it all. But the more I've thought about it, and the more I've researched the subject, I've found many good reasons to write about vampires. This being represents a lot of things that touch us at a deep level, and it can be used to teach us a good deal about life, death, and ourselves.

In Bram Stoker's Dracula, the Count said, “The blood is the life.” This quote comes from the Bible. God required the Israelites to drain the blood out of all their meat and give it to him as an offering. He did not want them to partake of the blood of animals. This prohibition shows the vampire as particularly evil in a tragic way; he is driven to break this law and cannot find sustenance any other way.

Jesus said, “He who has the son has life; he who has not the son has not life.” What was he referring to? He spoke of people who did not believe in him as being “dead in their sins.” He said that to enter the kingdom of God, one had to be “born again,” or “born from above.” If, as he said, the road to life is narrow and the road to destruction wide, most of the human race is spiritually dead. That is not an idea that most people choose to believe. Why, then, are undead creatures such a popular fiction, and why do many act as if vampires are real? Could it be related to some innate sense of not being fully alive?

Traditionally, the vampire is undead. He is a corpse animated either by some altered form of the original soul or by a demon. This is a gruesome counterfeit of the Resurrection. Christ is the first example of what the resurrected righteous will be like in the end. Most people today are probably not aware that God promises a physical existence beyond the grave. But I think we all have a craving for immortality. In a world devoid of belief in an end-time Resurrection, the lure of immortality attracts people to the vampire. Why not let them learn that it is those who are born again spiritually, not those fictional beings who are re-animated supernaturally, who will live forever?

The vampire represents a neediness that takes and never gives. He is appetite run amok... guilt, addiction of any kind, seduction, rape, violence, and murder. He is the bitterness that lingers in the victims of such crimes and urges them to be too much like their abusers. He is the darker side of all of us, something so bad that we sometimes cannot face him except in nightmare or horror story. In the largest application of the idea, vampirism is sin. In a sense, we are all vampires.

If God doesn't want anyone to write about sin, then why did he inspire the Bible?

If all I wrote about was the dark side, from its own point of view, there would be reason to question it. Yet even the noted Christian writer C.S. Lewis' famous novel The Screwtape Letters used a demon's point of view to cleverly communicate Christian truths. My book doesn't even dwell on the darkness as much as his does. Question if you will, but don't come to conclusions based on nothing but the word “vampire.” That would be as shallow as a vampire who shies away from a cross without any knowledge of what the Cross means.

For you readers of “Den of Insanity, Robin's Nest,” I write this. For my Christian friends, I have fallen into a more comfortable tactic. Now if they ask what my story is about, I tell them it's about a teenager who has prophetic dreams. I get glowing encouragement for that. And really, Mary Lodge needs more attention than her enemy, anyway. A commentator on the “Blade” series complained that in other vampire stories the vampire is the most interesting character but always ends up with a stake in the heart. I want my main character to be at least as interesting as her nemesis. People do like Carletta already. Whether she ends up with a stake in her heart is more than I will reveal here. The novels will also reveal more spiritual truths than I have in this article. Hope you will read the books when they’re finished and published! And if these books are not your cup of tea... at least pray for the many people who will develop a relationship with the living God through them. The world is a large and varied place, and God is much bigger. There is no room for fighting against those who serve Him in a little different way from you.

Good morning! I just read a great blog post that reflects the sentiments I have been trying to express. S.D. Grimm (dig the darkish fairytale name!) writes her guest commentary for Morgan Busse on Enclave Publishing's blog. I'm excited to discover Enclave, a Christian publisher of edgy speculative fiction.

Why write about evil, as a Christian? WHAT to write about evil as a Christian? What is the relationship of evil to good? Is it possible that experiencing evil can make the light show all the brighter?

Here's the link to The Dark Side of Fiction: https://www.enclavepublishing.com/dar...