SHOULD YOU SHARE

THE GOSPEL IN YOUR

NOVEL?

By Daeus Lamb
Have you ever heard that gospel presentations ruin
novels? Or that entertaining stories with good
morals but no references to the Bible are
humanistic?
 
I’m familiar with both these convincing arguments. I
don’t want to waste my life by not advancing Christ’s
kingdom, but neither do I want to spoil art with
pragmatism.
 
However, I believe we can unravel the dilemma
through a deeper understanding of Scripture,
humanity, and literature. First, we need to examine
both positions, then we can determine which one
aligns with our convictions and meets the needs of
our works-in-progress.
 
The Case for Abstinence
In our inaugural article for the site, editor-in-chief
Josiah DeGraaf offered a moderate view of fiction
that omits the gospel:
 
“Explicitly Christian stories explore what it means to
live as a Christian… Although you don’t want to
discourage unbelievers from reading Christian
novels, I don’t believe it’s efficacious for Christians
to turn storytelling into evangelism. While our works
may (and hopefully will) drive others to Christ,
evangelism is usually accomplished through
personal relationships and the preached Word of
God.”
 
Why is evangelistic fiction ineffective?
 
Proponents of evangelistic abstinence often point
out that storytelling should follow the “show, don’t
tell” rule. Messages ought to be conveyed through
plot and character arcs, not a sermon.
 
While this is true, astute observers will notice that
most novels do mention a moral, usually through a
character’s dialogue. For instance, Dalinar from The
Stormlight Archives says he’s learned that “the most
important step a man can take is the next one.” Yet
no one accuses Dalinar of preachiness. Rather,
readers recognize the wisdom of that line.
 
However, we can draw two major distinctions
between Dalinar’s epiphany and the gospel:
 
1. The gospel is not a moral. It’s a set of historical
and spiritual facts that flow together to provide a
stunning answer to how God can pronounce
sinners righteous and accept them as sons and
daughters.
2. The gospel cannot be completely expressed
through a pithy statement.
Someone raised in a churchgoing family might (or
might not) understand the full extent of the phrase
“Jesus died for your sins,” but to unbelievers, it’s
mumbo jumbo. A secular audience needs more
detail. For those of us who don’t eat theology cereal
for breakfast, let’s refresh our minds: How much
explanation is required for the gospel to make sense?
 
I’ll take a stab at being succinct:
 
We were born with rebellious hearts, and we disobey
God daily. We can’t undo or cancel out our sins—not
even with good works—because God is holy and
infinite. He’s self-compelled to right all wrongs.
Jesus, the second person of the Godhead, became a
man to accept our punishment for us. During His
crucifixion, He suffered the wrath that should have
been directed at us. But He rose again, conquering
death, the penalty for sin. Because He’s an infinite
being, He was able to pay our debt in full. To all who
believe in and serve Him, He gives His own
righteousness so they can one day live with God in
everlasting bliss.
 
That’s 114 words—102 more than Dalinar’s epiphany
—and I wouldn’t dare cut any or the summary would
be insufficient. Also, my paragraph sounds ten times
as technical and info-dumpy as Dalinar’s epiphany.
 
When an author drops a text bomb on readers, they
tend to misconstrue it as an attack launched through
the speaking character. Though we’re called to share
the gospel, we should think twice about provoking
readers to have a negative reaction to it. Since they
buy books expecting to be entertained, if we pause a
story to preach, they’ll see us as turncoats instead of
crazy but sincere people.
 
In Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus, Nabeel Qureshi, a
former Muslim, confesses, “There is a simple reason
I never listened to street preachers: they didn’t seem
to care about me. It wasn’t that they were annoying…
It was that they treated me like an object of their
agenda.”
 
We include the gospel in our fiction because we’re
hoping to introduce readers to God’s grace. But no
matter how pure our motives are, if we come across
as obnoxious or cheesy, readers will suspect we’re
just looking for converts to add to our list of wins.
When we obsess over readers’ souls but neglect
to create an enjoyable experience, we hamper our
chances of reaching anyone.
 
Some writers view the fiction market as a field ripe
for harvest, since readers open their minds to new
perspectives when they step into characters’ shoes.
That’s a genuine advantage. But if a horde of
evangelists treat storytelling heavy-handedly,
audiences will tune out any remotely Christian
component faster than you can blurt WWJD.
 
Conversely, others might insist that the more
Christian approach to storytelling is, by nature,
artistic. Since art reflects beauty—which stems from
God—a story that forces the gospel into the narrative
fails to accurately exude truth.
 
The Case for Bravado
Perhaps the best defense for sharing the gospel in
fiction is the novels that have succeeded at
employing sermon excerpts. The Promise of Jesse
Woods is a prime example. The protagonist, Matt, is
a pastor’s kid, and we get glimpses of his father’s
sermons. Those moments feel natural because of five
factors:
 
1. Matt is an attentive listener and draws lessons
from the text himself. He’s more the expositor
than his pastor father.
2. The lessons apply to his situation.
3. The lessons, though important, aren’t hot-button
issues, reducing the likelihood that readers will
think they’re being lectured.
4. My impression is that the sermons belong in the
story rather than being tacked on.
5. The excerpts are brief.
Note, however, that these sermons are not gospel
presentations, which would have broken the third
and fifth criteria. Can a gospel presentation flow
organically from a novel? I’m not sure, but I’ve never
seen it done to the degree of the gospel summary I
drafted above.
 
Has any book come close? Yes—The Death of Ivan
Ilych is about a man who is brought face-to-face with
his mortality when he discovers he has a terminal
illness. Leo Tolstoy’s delightful and witty style never
feels preachy (at least to my tastes), yet his portrayal
of the gospel is sound. However, he limits the story’s
focus to man’s need for divine grace rather than
works, presumably because many readers would
already be versed in the events of the cross.
Similarly, Crime and Punishment handles the
gospel’s message of mercy explicitly and naturally. If
certain characters are intended to represent
Dostoevsky’s personal ideology, though, I have
concerns about his orthodoxy.
 
Even if no novel has ever artistically and
comprehensively unloaded the gospel, I can imagine
it. This inspires hope that it might be achievable—
with two caveats:
 
1. We still can’t point to a novel that presents the
gospel in its entirety without seeming intrusive.
(If you know of one, please mention it in the
comments below.)
2. The books I’ve cited above may appeal only to
Christians. However, I’m not convinced that an
author’s religious stance is a huge deterrent,
since many of those titles are popular classics.
Also, Christians are able to appreciate stories
containing deep and complex theories from
opposing worldviews. Unbelievers can tolerate
fiction with a Christian slant too.
Are these considerations strong enough to warrant
excluding the gospel from fiction when it supersedes
any other message in the history of the world? We’ll
explore that question next.
 
How Shall We Then Write?
Both sides are armed for battle. Can gospel
presentations survive artistic scrutiny?
 
The answer depends on how we define “sharing the
gospel.”
 
Gospel shorthand (e.g., “Jesus died for your sins”) is
less likely to faze readers than lengthy exposition.
However, shorthand poses two problems:
 
1. If unclear, it may encourage a form of religiosity
rather than true faith. For instance, secularists
or cultural Christians might interpret “Jesus
died for your sins” as “some Jewish guy got
martyred for his ideals” or “God overlooks my
sins because of Jesus.”
2. It simply isn’t thorough. The Death of Ivan
Ilych proposes the unequivocally orthodox view
that we can only stand before God through His
personal forgiveness. But the story does not, that
I recall, directly address Christ’s atonement.
That would have dragged the story out and
 probably become too didactic. Even so, the story
still clearly promotes the gospel.
For those who hold their artistic integrity dearly,
sharing the gospel in fiction appears to be possible
but risky. However, we didn’t set out to debate
whether or not we can insert the gospel into our
stories. We asked whether we should.
 
As Christian storytellers, we don’t have to resort to
witnessing on a page corner. We can use other
methods, such as highlighting concepts that are
central to the gospel—human depravity, God’s
holiness, self-sacrifice, and the power of forgiveness.
A story can explore these themes without touching
on the gospel, all while showing instead of telling.
Yes, technically this isn’t sharing the gospel, but it
can “prepare the soil,” softening hearts and digging
ruts in readers’ minds for the gospel to grow in later.
 
When Christianity is depicted authentically in
fiction, it will stand out. Why is a soldier at peace
even when grenades are landing around him? A
Christian character’s responses to situations will
prompt spiritual questions from readers, nudging
them toward God. Phantastes and Cry, the Beloved
Country are two books that never broadcast the
gospel but radiate holiness and joy and the triumph
of God.
 
Another option is to craft stories that will comfort
and convict fellow Christians. While such fiction
won’t make disciples, it can strengthen disciples! For
example, we could write about a congregation that
splits over personal offenses and eventually seeks
reconciliation.
 
Lastly, Christians have the freedom to write fun
stories. Though Jesus commanded all His followers
to preach the gospel, He did not mandate that they
do so in every conversation. Christians should live
with the goal of glorifying God, but even lighthearted
stories honor Him if they’re high quality, and (from a
more eternal perspective) such pieces can be
stepping stones to greater opportunities. After
all, Esther threw two banquets before begging the
king to save her people. As worldly as those banquets
might seem, they weren’t wasted! The way to a man’s
heart is through his belly.
 
Before we start typing “God sent His Son” in the
middle of a chapter, we need to ponder why we
aren’t writing nonfiction. The gospel can always be
expounded in much more depth in that genre than in
fiction.
 
Go Forth
With all the avenues available to us, need we assume
that we must take readers down the path with neon
gospel signs? I think not. However, neither is that
road closed if God leads us to it.
 
Regardless of which side we fall on, let us not view
one as being courageous and the other as being wise
and artistic. God is calling all of us to do both in one
way or another.
 
What types of stories are you going to write?