Both C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien are towering figures of mid-20th-century literature whose legacy on pop culture—and on discourse around the “Christian imagination”—is felt powerfully today. But neither author would’ve become who he was without the influence of the other. Their decades-long friendship unfolded in college rooms, pubs, and garden paths in Oxford—but its ripple effects have been felt around the world, for over half a century. On one level, these were just two tweedy blokes who geeked out over Norse mythology while sipping pints at The Eagle and Child. But history has shown their friendship was hugely consequential for the faith, art-making, and amusement of scores worldwide. Lewis and Tolkien’s decades-long friendship unfolded in college rooms, pubs, and garden paths in Oxford—but its ripple effects have been felt around the world, for over a half century. The Lewis-Tolkien relationship has been told in many books before, but never like it is in The Mythmakers, a just-released graphic novel by the acclaimed illustrator John Hendrix (who’s a believer). Geared toward young-adult audiences but rewarding for older readers too, The Mythmakers combines artistic whimsy, theological reflection, and flourishes of Sehnsucht in a way that feels totally appropriate for a book on the Lewis-Tolkien story. In a real sense, the medium is the message of this book. I highly recommend it to anyone with an interest in the Inklings or a general desire to think more Christianly about art and the creative community. I recently chatted with Hendrix about his inspiration and process for The Mythmakers, what most surprised him in the research, and what the church can learn about Christian art-making from Lewis and Tolkien. Where did you first get inspired to tell Lewis and Tolkien’s friendship story? What most people need to know about this book is that it’s basically fan art. At the core, I just owe so much to these two men and their works, and the permission it gave me as a young person to not just take my imagination seriously, but also my faith really seriously too. The book is about an exploration of their dual biography, but it’s using their friendship story as a lens to ask some larger questions about storytelling and fairy and the history of myth in general. © 2024 John Hendrix Do you remember how old you were when you first encountered Lewis and Tolkien? For both of them, I have very vivid young memories. Someone gave me an illustrated copy of The Hobbit. It had a very vivid drawing of Smaug on the cover, and I carried it around, even after I had finished the book, like it was a Bible. I would travel with it, and it was very important to me, the illustrations particularly. Then I read Narnia. I think I had even read them out of order initially. I did not really clock the allegory, at least in terms of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. They were just great stories—portal fantasy to me. Then later, I’m like, “OK, I see what he’s doing there.” What did the research look like? Was it hard to get to a point where you felt comfortable telling the story with accuracy and fidelity to what actually transpired? It is such an act of humility to try this at all. David French said this thing recently, and I’ve been thinking about it: humility should be indexed to complexity. The more complex something gets, the more humble your mindset should be. And this is what happens anytime I learn about anything. I think I know the most at the beginning, and then the more I read—somehow—the less I feel like I know. I read a lot of books. I went to Oxford. I drew all night at The Kilns, and I tried to just load my brain up with as much as possible. But, for me, the real act is stepping away and asking, “What is the metatext? What is the metanarrative?” And then finding ways to cite that idea throughout the book in a form that a Young Adult (YA) audience can really understand and maybe internalize. That’s the goal for me. © 2024 John Hendrix Do you illustrate simultaneously with the research, or do you research on the front end before you even illustrate? How does that process work for you? I start the book with images that I really want to make, and then I write a little bit. And then writing is honestly so abstract for me that it is really hard for me to write without the imagery alongside it. The framing device in this book of a lion and wizard came along because I’m making a graphic novel about the Inklings, and most of what they do is sit around and talk. You can’t have 300 pages of that. I needed a narrative frame that allowed us to go on some of the adventures, and that allowed young readers to latch on to these ideas. The lion and wizard framing developed very early on out of a drawing, and that gave me a place to write from. I’m making a graphic novel about the Inklings, and most of what they do is sit around and talk. You can’t have 300 pages of that. For Tolkien, I considered maybe king or elf, but wizard seemed to fit his personality too. And lion fits Lewis so well, because he was such a boisterous, big personality. I have to test everything out, and in this case, when I started writing with that framing, it worked. It was one of those things where I’m like, “Oh, this is happening.” And then it was a matter of convincing my editor this was the right choice. Was there anything in the research about Lewis and Tolkien that came as a surprise to you? I had known the basic beats of their story together. But I think the depth of their estrangement and the pain they felt from that was really heavy. I really remember thinking, What does this do to this story? And ultimately, I realized it was so necessary to tell the tale. In some ways, it made it more poignant, and it pointed toward the ending of the story, where I give them a chance to recapitulate the losses we all feel on this earth before we enter the new creation. I’ve heard from several readers who had to put the book down when they got to that because it was such a bummer, but I do think it offers us lessons about friendship and fellowship and creative community. Consider any friendship you’ve had in the last 30 years. We all change. How do you support one another as you change? How do you not grow bitter or jealous—or the thing that happens in old age where your ideas start to calcify and you’re less flexible? © 2024 John Hendrix The book is about how important relationships are for forming our creative imagination and process. So I’m curious about you as a creator: What does this look like for you? Do you have any long-term relationships with fellow creatives who really spur you on? I tell my students that our work always gets better in community. And for some reason the world tends to tell artists the opposite, right? The book is dedicated to two of my friends at Washington University: Abram Van Engen and John Inazu—both professors and people that I trust—that have now been in my life for over 10 years, and I hope are here long after that time. To have a collaborative community—especially people who share your faith and share your aims for what your work can do in the world—is so valuable. All three of us had books come out this year, and I was able to illustrate both Abram’s and Inazu’s books. It was a really sweet celebration of collaborative and shared mission. I don’t think everyone has that, and maybe not everyone has it for every season of their life, because I certainly couldn’t have said that 15 years ago. But when we come into these moments of creative community and collaboration, it’s really wonderful. A half century later, we’re still pointing to Lewis and Tolkien as some of the best examples of Christian art-making. What can Christian institutions, churches, and communities do to create fertile soil for the next Lewis or Tolkien to emerge? What can we do better as the church to inspire creative excellence? It’s such a good question. First, you have to have the desire for artists to participate in that storytelling. If you had told me when I was 18 that I would be making a literal picture book about Jesus, that would have struck me as “Surely that cannot be good.” Because what I saw in Christian bookstores was uninteresting kitsch. It’s not that it was bad. It was boring. The church should try to support things that are weird. We should try to relax our reflex for fear. Maybe churches could regularly give out studio spaces for artists and not police what goes on there—maybe just invite in people from the community. This could be a way for the church to become a vessel where people see the church as wanting interesting things to be made, as opposed to “Let’s have you sign this faith statement before we let you make some canvases in our basement.” There needs to be discernment, sure. But in general, fear has tended to run the show. Do you think there’s anything in Tolkien’s idea of sub-creation that Protestants can learn from? Protestants threw out all the art in the cathedrals. I get why we did that, but we are honestly still dealing with the repercussions. Lewis and Tolkien are these perfect little avatars for their little Protestant-Catholic differences. Tolkien’s world is adorned with baroque things. There are things everywhere, and he made them for the goodness of making. But I think you could actually argue that The Lord of the Rings’ Middle-earth is almost more infused with gospel ideas than Narnia, if you had to truly count them up. Protestants should be OK with the idea of myth being something that points to the deepest, truest things. We are telling certain stories over and over again for a reason, and there is a certain mystery there. © 2024 John Hendrix For a young person who’s a Christian and cares about the arts, and maybe has artistic ambition, what do you hope he or she takes away from The Mythmakers, especially regarding creativity and faith? My favorite thing inside of this research was reading some of Tolkien’s letters. It’s the thing I tell people to read if they want to really digest something of his they haven’t encountered yet. One thing that’s clear from the letters is that great art is made on a Tuesday afternoon. We look back at them as these geniuses, but they did not know they were the C. S. Lewis and the J. R. R. Tolkien. They were two guys who were meeting in between curriculum committees. There’s this one passage I cited in the author’s note where Tolkien talks about how in the morning, he took Frodo and Sam to the gates of Mordor. In the afternoon, he cleaned the chicken coops and worked on the plumbing. He was Tolkien, but he was plumbing his own toilet. The thing he wants to do is write The Lord of the Rings, but he’s got life happening around him. Lewis and Tolkien were just extremely normal people who were not corrupted by fame or the sort of genius-tag that happens in our world today. So for young people reading this: Make your art. Be faithful to it. Find friends who can share the journey with you, and enjoy the act of creating. Tolkien’s whole idea was sub-creating. We honor God when we create like him, and that’s such a beautiful idea.

By all reports, Ray and Jani Ortlund are really nice people. Who’d have thought they had a secret vision to take over the world? Their secret is out now in the form of a book: To the Tenth Generation: God’s Heart for Your Family, Far into the Future. In it, the Ortlunds give their plan for world domination. But they don’t call for domination in a worldly way, using methods of modern kingdoms. Instead, they present a plan to reach the world for Jesus through godly families over the long haul. It’s a beautiful vision. You may be thinking, Another book about raising godly families? So what? And that’s understandable. In my quick survey from Goodreads alone, I counted 128 of them. Many are helpful and contain wise counsel. So hasn’t everything been said that needs to be said? No. This book shows us why with surprising and garden-fresh takes on God’s big picture. The Ortlunds call it “generational devotion to Christ” (ix). It’s the idea that if we raise faithful generations of godly families “unto the 10th generation,” we can see worldwide effects for the cause of Jesus. Hence the book’s title. This thought springs from Jani’s devotional reading of Deuteronomy (no less). She and Ray argue that God desires to bless individual families well beyond the typical myopic focus of two generations—parents and their children. Biblical Vision Jani, an author and conference speaker, points out after some quick, unscientific math that 10 generations would be approximately 200 years. In that time frame, taking the natural growth of their own family as an example, they’ll have 55,000 descendants—equivalent to “a city the size of Sarasota, Florida” (12). Ray, president of Renewal Ministries and a canon theologian in the Anglican Church in North America, joins his wife to pray an audacious prayer: that “the whole world will hear about Jesus through [their] family.” They go on to say, “We’re not asking God for an ideal family. . . . We’re just asking him for a saved family” (13, emphasis original). What a refreshing take on family and missions. It’s nothing new; family and missions have long been rooted in God’s plan to bless the peoples of the world throughout biblical history. Yet it’s a countercultural perspective. And it’s a selfless perspective. I’ve never thought much past five generations: grandparents, parents, my generation, children, and grandchildren. But the expansive view of 10 generations is a call to serve those you’ll never meet: for example, your great-great-grandchildren. This big vision is captivating. Yet the authors make few promises about what will happen. I approached this book with some trepidation. Books on child-rearing remind me of diet books: promises of success, strict regimens, and dramatic anecdotes, but in the end? Mixed results. In contrast, the Ortlunds’ recommendations for child-rearing are the ordinary means of grace and godly wisdom, bounded by Scripture. Consistent Vision A few things set this book apart and put it at the top of my child-rearing book list. The Ortlunds’ recommendations for child-rearing are the ordinary means of grace and godly wisdom, bounded by Scripture. The book is an easy read. It’s peppered with pithy quotes from others (beyond the obligatory quotes from C. S. Lewis). But some of the most memorable lines come from the authors. For example, they write, “Nominal Christianity would be a curse to our children. But a real, rugged faith in Christ is a blessing to our children” (150). Amen to that. Much of what’s good in this book is expected, but it’s presented with captivating sparkle. They include a chapter on the importance of a strong marriage, for example. Yet such calls bear repeating in our day. And though the book advocates a big-picture view of family, it’s also chock-full of down-to-earth, practical ideas for raising a godly family. Comments from their grown children give credibility to their advice—the Ortlunds practiced what they preach. Unique Vision Unlike many Christian books on parenting that focus only on the nuclear family, the Ortlunds include wisdom about making church central to child-rearing. It’s beyond a mere “go to church.” They provide clear help on what kind of church you should attend: a humble, gospel-centered, healthy church that feels like family. They offer advice about creating a gospel culture in the home: “A truly Christian family is one in which the gospel culture they share makes it almost feel like Jesus lives there too” (50). That requires treasuring God’s Word and treasuring one another. I often feel alone in making my way with my seven grandchildren without much published wisdom from others. Thankfully, the Ortlunds have a chapter for grandparents, and the prayers they write for a grandparent’s family are priceless. Those made it into my prayer journal. The Ortlunds offer grace and encouragement to those who feel their families are failures. This section is so good, and they write with such tenderness. I wondered why it was tucked away in the book’s second-to-last chapter, but perhaps the lesson here is to read the whole book. The book concludes with 10 biblical insights that form an expanded summary of the book. My English teacher was a stickler that “conclusions must conclude”—the Ortlunds didn’t have my English teacher. These insights contain new material, so don’t skip the conclusion because you think it’s only a summary. Renewing Vision As I read the book, I couldn’t help feeling it wasn’t for everyone. It won’t be relevant for some: The single mom struggling to get by while holding down a job and trying to raise her kids. A family with a member struggling with addiction. Or, in a more extreme example, the refugee family living in a tent who attended the church I pastored in Iraq. They offer grace and encouragement to those who feel their families are failures. Yet two things came to mind as I read. First, the Ortlunds never claim this is a book for everyone; they regularly say, in effect, “You don’t have to do it our way.” Their focus is on intact Christian families with humble parents who have an abiding faith in our risen Lord. And good for them—the world sometimes derides those who aspire to raise godly families with traditional structures. Second, throughout the book, the Ortlunds maintain a biblical vision rooted in Scripture that’s applicable, in principle, even to refugees living in tents. Does it take some contextualization? Sure, but the wisdom is relevant. To the Tenth Generation is a book for those who long to strengthen Christian families, including their own. It’s worthy of being front and center in your family library. Will their vision win the world for Jesus? Maybe. But we should never forget Psalm 110. One day, God the Father will give to his beloved Son, Jesus, the world for his footstool.

The Advent season offers unique opportunities for family and personal discipleship. So how can we prepare well? In this episode, The Gospel Coalition staff Kendra Dahl, Melissa Kruger, Jared Kennedy, and Bill Kynes share their experiences navigating the Christmas season as individuals, as families, and within church communities. They suggest resources, reflect on memorable traditions, and consider opportunities for outreach, connection, and celebration. Recommended Resources: Unto Us: 25 Advent Devotions About the Messiah Jared Kennedy, “Why Advent Is a Time to Build on Family Traditions” Melissa Kruger, “Celebrating Advent: Looking Back and Looking Forward” Jared Kennedy, “Countdown to Christmas with These 6 Resources for Advent” Jared Kennedy, “The Good News That Jesus Came for You” GoodKind Advent Blocks

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In the realm of late-night television, hosts like Jimmy Kimmel and Stephen Colbert have long abandoned any pretense of neutrality, openly catering to left-leaning audiences with their brand of political satire. However, the melodramatic reactions to Donald Trump’s recent electoral victory reveal just how disconnected they are from the broader American electorate and how ineffective their efforts have been in swaying public opinion. Jimmy Kimmel—the same host who once choked up over a dentist killing a lion—found himself nearly in tears yet again. Describing the election night as “terrible” for a laundry list of societal groups, Kimmel failed to see the irony of his position. A host who has built his career on speaking to the everyman seemed bewildered by the idea that the same everyman might not share his views. Meanwhile, Stephen Colbert didn’t hold back in his post-election monologue, describing the event as both a “tragedy” and a “joke.” His profanity-laced tirade, while perhaps cathartic for him and his loyal viewers, underscored a fundamental misunderstanding of the diverse motivations behind Trump’s support. For a comedian who prides himself on being in touch with the pulse of America, Colbert’s rant demonstrated more of a disconnect than he might like to admit. These late-night personalities have long positioned themselves as counterweights to Trump and the Right, using their platforms to ridicule and criticize their policies. Yet, their inability to sway the election results suggests that their influence is not as significant as they might believe. Their smugness, derived from an echo chamber of like-minded voices, renders them incapable of understanding why millions of Americans voted the way they did. The 2024 election was not just a referendum on Kamala Harris or the Democratic Party’s policies but also a stark reminder that the mainstream media—including its comedic branches—does not hold the sway it once did. The Democrats lost big, and in many ways, so did the late-night hosts who have spent years rallying against Trump. For viewers who once enjoyed late-night TV as a source of light-hearted entertainment, it’s long been disappointing to see these platforms descend into vehicles for political expression that so often miss the mark. It’s long past time for Kimmel, Colbert, and their peers to step back and reassess their roles. Perhaps they ought to remember that their primary function should be to entertain, not to dictate political beliefs. However, that seems unlikely. Ultimately, this election should serve as a wake-up call—not just for the politicians but for those who use their platforms to shape public opinion. The referendum extends beyond policies; it challenges the arrogance of media figures who think they know better than the average voter. They don’t matter nearly as much as they think they do, and their continued dismissal of opposing viewpoints only further alienates a significant segment of their potential audience.The post Kimmel, Colbert: The Sad Clowns of Late Night’s Meltdown Over Trump’s Win first appeared on Worth it or Woke.