It’s almost Halloween time again, a time when children all over the US will dress as their favorite superheroes, villains,  princesses, and of course monsters. Growing up in the midwest, I’d create my costume, work on getting the thing just right and then put it on only to cover it up with my bulky overcoat to protect myself from the cold Michigan night. I lived in a conservative Christian home and was told “scary” costumes were simply not allowed. I could be anything I wanted except the monster genre. ANYTHING. I tested this my teens years and chose to dress up in high heels, one of my mom’s black dresses, and red lipstick. With purse in hand, I walked out the door while mom and dad sat idly watching television. I assumed they jump up and yell “you can’t go out like that.” But on the contrary, they laughed and wished me luck. It seems the line was drawn: crossdressing in while monsters simply had no room in the Wuerfel household.

What I find interesting about the monster literary genre is that most of these stories actually have more to with humanity than they do the spirit worlds or the demonic. Most of these stories use the metaphor of the monster to say something deeply profound about the human experience. I am hardpressed to meet a Christian that’s read these original stories; most simply assume it’s bad and place the “Christian unapproved” stamp directly over anything monstrous.

However, when I read these stories I see my own story reflected back at me; it’s what great literature does.

There’s the story of The Creature from the Black Lagoon. It starts with this creature who is essentially being hunted, not because he’s doing sinister actions toward the community but because he’s different. The creature according to the various characters hunting him is a trophy. The monster is a captured trophy to be used to prop up their egos. The Monster is a commodity that will be exploited and used to build up this hunter’s trophy case. He’s also a mystery they will pursue in order to dissect and exploit for scientific gain– all in the name of science.

So they go into the Black Lagoon searching for the creature they will exploit. They are terrified because  the creature is not like them. The creature doesn’t belong in their society, doesn’t have their worldview, doesn’t value what they value. So they begin the hunt. Through twists and turns the creature is finally captured when he chooses to defend his home– to protect life. The viewers of course celebrate and the community feels a sense of safety because the ominous other has been taken captive. The monster has been conquered and the people feel a sense of relief because anything that is different is terrifying.

A couple years back I was asked to meet with a group of people who were hosting an event in which they would bring me in as a speaker to discuss the Hebraic reading of the Bible. I had signed paperwork and they’d even sent me a check to pay for the hotel accommodations– this looked to be an exciting venue. A week before the conference I was asked to meet with a couple leaders and talk about direction so I obliged not thinking anything of it. When I got to the church we had agreed on meeting at I assumed it would be a good conversation filled with dialogue and visioning. What happened however was very different. I sat down in a chair with three other men sitting directly across from me. It felt cold and I almost had the sense that I was about to be interrogated. There were awkward handshakes and strained smiles; I looked at the three of them and wondered who the good cop was.

They started by thanking me for taking time out of my schedule and then explained the vision of the conference and where they’d like to go with the speakers. After that they looked at one another using what I could only assume was telepathy. The middle man in his business suit and red tie said, “We’ve got a couple concerns we’d like to share before we go any further.” I knew I was in for a fun ride. I placed both feet firmly to the floor and prepared for the interrogation.

They asked if I believed in hell. I said no.

They asked if I believed the Bible to be inerrant and infallible. I said no.

They asked if I beelived that homosexualty was a sin. I said no.

My responses to their questions caused them to begin asking more questions– they shot them rapidly. These theological bullets shots through the air aimed at unraveling the monster they saw slowly come out of his disguise. There was a lot of head shaking, eye rolling as their voices seemed to rise higher and higher.

Finally I stopped them; they’d completely come undone. They were sweating profusely and looking wildly at one another as if their worlds had just been flipped upside down. I calmed my nerves and said calmly, “I think it’s fairly apparent I’m not going to be a great fit for this convention. I am happy to step down and return the hotel money.”

I watched as the tension in the air quickly seeped out like a deflating hot air balloon. They seemed relieved. So we sat there for a few minutes ironing it out and then came the awkward pause. I told them I am not angry and that I hold nothing against them. I said I understood that my ideas may not be a suitably fit for their convention and they seemed to whole-heartedly agree.  I knew from their uncomfortable shifting in seats and avoidance of eye contact that they felt a sense of shame over this treatment and simply had no other words to say. So we sat for an uncomfortable couple minutes in small talk. I finally broke the silence and thanked them for their time, shook their hands, and walked away freeing them from the uncomfortable situation.

See, my thoughts, my presence was threatening to them. When they heard my views I was no longer another speaker attempting to shape the world into something beautiful, I was a heretic, blasphemer, a monster. And like most traditions today, when an ominous other is introduced their first reaction is to push them out of community.

Later that week I received a phone call from my friend that had first invited me. He started by saying, “I’m so sorry Tony. I had no idea they’d talk about you directly.” I was confused. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

He explained that during the convention one of the presenters went on a wild rampage and talked about the emergent church leaders, the heretics and went as far as to place my picture and out of context quotes on the screen. I was being exploited and misquoted and I wasn’t even there to stand up for myself. I was saddened by this but also not surprised. Because this is what insecure systems do to those who don’t see the way they see. Insecure systems are threatened by the ominous other.

In the end of the movie the creature attacks them, they attack it in return until the monster is riddled with bullets and sinks into the watery depths of the lagoon. It’s an ending worth celebrating if you’re the hunters, the threatened system. It’s a moment for them in which they will breathe out a sigh of relief; the monster is finally gone. The uncomfortable has left the room. And yet there is the monster.

The monster did nothing but live. When they came to his lagoon he didn’t immediately attack them but leaned in, watched them seeking to understand the others. The monster posed a new kind of question for the people there. The monster was actually a positive force.

The monster is necessary, the characters were simply unaware of this. Without the monster and his differences there would be no adventure, no growth, no change. The monster is what keeps this story connected and interesting. The only question of course is what will the response be to the monster? What will the response be to the ominous other?

And I think that’s a question the religious, political and economic systems should be asking today. There are voices rising right now calling out for change. They wear differing appearances and have varying platforms to which they speak. These are voices that see the world differently. Voices that speak and navigate life in ways that have never been done before. They are voices that are re-framing the way we understand existance, race, gender, equality, economy, history and religion. They appear different and even monstrously threatening to the tradition and yet they have something life-giving to offer.

They offer a new plotline, a new journey, a new mystery. And the question of course is how will the world respond?

My hope is that these systems will someday respond differently.  Maybe this could be the generation that accepts the other into our camps, into conversations and into community rather than riddling them with angry rhetoric, threatening jabs, and finger pointing until the room, the pews, and the houses are left empty again with no growth and compelling stories to share.

Let’s begin allowing the ominous other’s voices into community.