In the earliest decades of Christianity, before the Bible had been written, what did Christians depend on for soul formation and ideas about the person of Jesus Christ? Imagination.

The imagination was key to early Christianity, but it has slowly been smothered by the processes of dull theology, the digital sea, and false secular iconography. That is the thesis of a new book, Becoming by Beholding: The Power of the Imagination in Spiritual Formation. Author Lanta Davis, a professor of humanities and literature in the John Wesley Honors College at Indiana Wesleyan University, succeeds in opening readers’ eyes again to the essential role the imagination plays on what she calls “soul formation.” Davis lays out the case in this way:

To become Christian—to become Christlike—is a question not just of belief but of identity and, consequently, a matter not just of the mind but of the imagination. Forming the soul means forming the imagination. Consequently, developing a distinctively Christian character requires “stamping” the wax of the soul with distinctively Christian forms. This process of intentionally cultivating the imagination became known as “the art of fashioning the soul.”

With the bread and wine of the Eucharist held high, Augustine reminds us, “Behold what you are and become what you receive.” His words capture the way our eyes, too, “eat” what they see, and how we are therefore called to behold Christ so that we may become like Christ. We are called to fix our gaze on Christ (Heb. 12:2) and to “clothe [our]selves” with him (Rom. 13:14). In Christianity, we look to live. We look to learn. We stamp our souls with the seal of God.

Before the canonical books of Scripture were set, before the first ecclesial creeds were formalized, the first generations of Christians began creating a distinctively Christian imagination. The essential truths of Christianity were communicated by intertwining symbols, stories, and beliefs. The fish symbol, for instance, is a very early profession of faith: ichthys, the Greek word for fish, became an anagram for Jesus (i) Christ (ch), God’s (th) Son (y), Savior (s). Early Christians also used anchors, phoenixes, palm branches, and a number of other symbols as ways of professing their beliefs, and the faith grew because of the stories of its martyrs and other heroes who inspired others to follow their example.

Indeed, the majority of Christians have relied chiefly on the imagination as the vehicle for encountering the gospel message. Through much of Christian history, low literacy rates, limitations on access to Scripture, and Latin-language worship services meant the average Christian largely relied on works of the imagination—such as stained-glass windows, frescoes, morality plays, mosaics, saints’ stories, and sculptures—to communicate theological truths.

How did we lose this colorful tradition? According to Davis, a few things are responsible. One explanation is the Reformation. While Davis notes that John Calvin and other reformers were justifiably appalled at some of the abuses in the Catholic Church, in their zeal to make things right too many reformers ended up tearing down the iconography that fed the Christian imagination.

A more recent and harmful phenomenon is the social media firehose of everyday life, which tends to drown the imagination. Related is the issue of politics substituting for faith and the imagination. In losing our ability to engage the imagination because of these developments, Davis argues, Christians have allowed ourselves to become “more vulnerable than ever to alternative imaginative influences contrary to the spirit of the gospel.”

We listen to scabrous rock music and bland, overly sexual pop songs. We see bad horror movies. We worship politicians.

What has been lost is what Davis refers to as the “weird and wonderful” iconography, art, and symbolism of Christianity. Christianity is a strange religion, and I mean that, as Davis does, in the best possible way. It is unsettling and odd—a Jewish peasant is put to death and rises again three days later and his followers are so convinced of this reality that they willingly accept their own martyrdom. St. Paul did not come to Christ studying the Bible. He had a vision that literally knocked him over. 

In each chapter of Becoming by Beholding, the author uses unusual Christian art or iconography to help us see with new eyes. There is a new appreciation for an early and unconventional rendering of the face of Christ. Another piece that captures Davis’s imagination is a bestiary, showing unicorns, phoenixes, and rainbow-colored panthers. “By envisioning creation as a mirror of its creator,” Davis writes, “the strange creatures of the bestiaries train us to see our everyday world with a sense of wonder and gratitude.” Another chapter finds inspiration in Chartres Cathedral. Taken together these pieces form a “mosaic of the imagination” that is vital to “fashioning the soul by becoming what we behold.”

One of the most powerful influences in the formation of my own Christian soul—along with The Lord of the Rings, director Terence Malick, Billy Graham, Thomas Merton, and Van Morrison—is The Last Battle, the great novel by C.S. Lewis. The Last Battle is the final book in The Chronicles of Narnia series. At the end of the book, the four Pevensie kids discover that heaven is real. Whenever I recall that book, I can instantly bring myself back to that summer in 1976 when, as a 12-year-old I first encountered it. I sat on my bed weeping with utter amazement and joy at its conclusion. I had been stamped with the love of Christ via the imagination of C.S. Lewis. Since then, I have been able to see the face of Christ at modern museums, in movies, in novels, and even on skateboards.

Of course, the final source and authority on God’s existence is the Bible. Yet there is nothing in scripture or tradition that forbids the use of the imagination to connect with Jesus. Indeed, as Lanta Davis has shown, to ignore the imagination is to turn our backs on the thing that can make Christianity most real to people. Neglecting to do this in favor of pushing a bland and boring faith risks causing too many to lose it.