Keeping it Real
Drawing the line (well, attempting to)
It’s not an easy question to answer, but I’ll quote from my article in my attempt to answer it:
So, where does one draw the line? I think I’ve come up with a counter-question that may approach the answer: Do the unsavory elements one may be debating over have a purpose? What I mean is, does it serve to illustrate a particular point? Would it do the book an injustice to gloss over it or omit it? That, I think is the key.
Though the negative things in life that come about as a result of our fallen nature are not glorified in Christian circles, it does not make it any less a part of life; whitewashing the truth in our writing simply for the sake of its being accepted in Christian circles is not being true to our work. Yet, profanity for profanity’s sake is also fallacious. We’ve all read books and seen movies, where 90 percent of the “unsavory elements” were wholly unnecessary. These elements provided no further depth and, in fact, cheapened the work. We should include what is meaningful, not what could be considered a cheap garnish in the name of "authenticity."
It is a personal judgment call, and not a flippant one.
Considering the audience
But having said the above, I have to concede that in making these kinds of judgment calls, considering the audience is very necessary. If you’re writing a story for youth Sunday School literature, for example, leaving out the gritty details might be advisable. If your purpose is to reach a specific group, a writer should be aware of that group’s sensibilities. Seriously, if a writer is hoping to get a book published through PPH containing a few F-bombs . . . come on. But if an Apostolic is not writing primarily for Apostolics, or for a conservative Christian audience at large, I think there’s a little more flexibility for judgment calls.
Drawing the line in reading
I can relate to Marjorie’s conundrum after her “beach reading”: “I would feel embarrassed to admit reading such a book to some people while I would feel embarrassed to admit to feeling embarrassed when talking to others!”
Not to say that I have a literary appetite for the salacious, but suffice it to say that I might feel a little uncomfortable reading a passage from, say, Haruki Murakami over the pulpit on a Sunday morning. But does that mean that I shouldn’t read it?
I’ll put it this way—reading and learning from another’s worldview does not mean that one accepts or endorses that worldview. I can expand my mind reading certain writers whose work may be a little gritty and starve my mind to extinction reading certain writers who make it a point to present a squeaky clean work. And vice versa, I suppose. I sure wouldn’t expand my mind or enter into intelligent discourse with anyone from reading the latest Harlequin romance featuring a bodice-ripping Fabio on the front cover. We have to balance working out our own salvation with fear and trembling with realizing that all things that are lawful are not expedient.
In the end, though, I would not feel uncomfortable recommending something to someone who knew me and where I stand and whose sensibilities I knew would not be offended.


