The Fairytale Gospel

“Momma, where are my princess heels!?” I exclaimed as I flew down the stairs, tripping over my purple dress. My hair was itching from the long, blonde wig made of yarn my mother created. I slipped my heels on and grabbed my candy bucket. My spirits were as high as a kite because I wasn't Ellie anymore—I was Princess Rapunzel.  

There was something about being a fairytale princess that made everything better. I felt magical and special because, as Rapunzel, I had a fairytale ending. I got to live out my dream and find my prince along the way; everything was perfect! Then I got home and had to get into bed because I had school the next day. “Can I just wear my princess dress to school tomorrow, please, Mommy?” I begged but it was no use. At some point, the fairytale had to end.  

I was only eight years old, but in a way, my dream was like all of us. We all absorb a narrative or story that gives us a unique sense of joy. Whether it's a group of kids defeating the upside down (Stranger Things) or a hobbit defeating all odds to destroy a Ring that would have upended the world (The Lord of the Rings), we all crave a happy ending. But what is it about these fairy stories that capture our longings?  

J.R.R. Tolkien notes four aspects of a successful fairy story: fantasy, recovery, escape, and consolation (Tolkien, Fairy Stories, 90). He describes that a good fairy story offers an appearance of a whimsical or unknown world (fantasy), a reclaiming of the world in a fresh and wonderful way (recovery), the escape of a dreary and harsh world (escape), and lastly, consolation.

Consolation is a literary idea that Tolkien coined, meaning an other-worldly joy that is found in a happy ending. But it is so much more than those words can describe.  The consolation of a fairytale is the good catastrophe or eucatastrophe: 

In its fairy-tale or otherworld-setting, it is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dycatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of joy, joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief (Tolkien, Fairy Stories, 23).

Tolkien describes an experience we all get at the end of a great story. We feel the pain of all the hero has been through, but also the relief and joy that comes with their unlikely victory. We experienced an eucatastrophe. However, with this wonderful consolation comes the reality that it was only a story. The joy and victory over evil that so deeply captured us is doesn't seem real. Naturally, we begin to mourn the story; we look at our own narratives and cringe with disdain at the reality that we will never experience what we just read.

This experience isn't restricted to Tolkien novels. We experience small eucatastrophes in our personal stories. In High school, I was an avid track runner. I spent three years training, running, drilling, and jumping hurdles because I loved it. Near the end of my eleventh-grade year, I was seeded to win State in the 100m hurdles, a goal I had been working on for what seemed like my whole life. When I choked going over the last hurdle of my race, my heart sank. No matter how upset I was in the moment, I decided not to let it ruin me but to encourage me to work harder next season.

My senior year, I trained harder than I ever had before; attending private lessons, working out over Spring Break, watching Olympic races, and analyzing their form. I did it all! My hard work began paying off. I was dropping seconds off my time and even getting scouted by college coaches. 

Finally, the day came. As I walked up to my blocks, I prayed a prayer of surrender. The gun went off, and so did I. My eyes weren't looking at anyone around me—only the finish line. I glided, almost peacefully, over the last hurdle, and flung myself over the finish line. I was beaming with joy. I gasped for air, laughing and weeping in the same breath. I did it. I won!

That moment stays with me; it is burned into my soul because I was so happy, yet all I wanted to do was weep. I had accomplished the fairytale ending; I earned the gold...and then... nothing. I felt like I was mourning the whole experience because I knew I would never get that moment back. It was only a flash of relief and fleeting happiness. I had worked so hard for so long, only to develop an unrest in my soul that would eat away the joy I experienced. Suddenly, I was back in my princess dress, wishing upon a star that I could stay in the fairytale forever. My goal had changed, but the wish stayed the same. My accomplishments, however great, left me wanting to live in a fairytale with no end.

The good news is that there is one true and unending fairytale —with a hero who came along and “changed the narrative” (Wright, “The Gospel and the Kingdom of God”) of history for all who believe. His name is Jesus. His story is a metanarrative of life, a renewing of our humanity and defeat of sin.  It is the ultimate happy ending. The Gospel story is comparable to Tolkien’s definition of fairy stories. We experience all four events if we read the gospel the way it's meant to be read. Jesus's death and resurrection is a good catastrophe that allows us to feel other-worldly joy tinged with grief. 

We are part of the New Creation people of God. The restoration project that has been going on since Genesis Three has found its ‘goal’ its ‘end’ in Jesus the King. We, the people who are in the Messiah, are those who reflect God’s continuing work in the world. Restoration and Renewal are the ends to which we point, (Wright, “The Gospel and the Kingdom of God”). 

We get to experience consolation in Christ because of his death on the cross. We will one day embody our new humanity in full, dwelling with him in eternity. Until then, we can get a glimpse of his beauty in the magic of the divine eucatastrophe. Little eight-year-old me can watch Tangled with a good sorrow knowing there is a happy ending that is coming soon. 

“Look, he is coming with the clouds,” and “every eye will see him, even those who pierced him"; and all peoples on earth “will mourn because of him” (Rev. 1:7). So shall it be! Amen.