A time of apparent magic
‘Then the LORD answered Job from the whirlwind’ — Job 38:1
‘A time of apparent magic’ — opening screen, The Odyssey
Have you watched Christopher Nolan’s ‘The Odyssey’ yet?
Whether you’ve seen it or not—and whether you loved it or loathed it—the online debate about the film has been relentless (and a bit exhausting).
Fear not, I’m not about to add to that discourse—nor would I be qualified to do so.
Neither am I about to reveal any spoilers—as possible as it would be for me to ‘spoil’ a three-millennia-old myth.
What interested me was how Nolan chose to open his cinematic spectacle—with the on-screen words, ‘A time of apparent magic.’
Not ‘A time of magic.’
A time of apparent magic.
That says a lot about Nolan’s approach to Homer’s story—and it also says a lot about the modern, post-enlightenment, post-Christian world we live in.
A disclaimer—I haven’t read The Odyssey. It’s on my reading list. But what I do know is that Homer’s epic is very much full of magic.
There are gods and goddesses. There are strange monsters and supernatural interventions. Magic—not just apparent magic.
In Nolan’s reworking of the story, the supernatural takes a back seat. The goddess Athena is more akin to a voice in the protagonist Odysseus’ head than an actual supernatural figure. There are monsters and a touch of magic—but their screen time is limited.
For the record, I loved the film. But I think Nolan’s deconstruction of the supernatural, magic elements of Homer’s myth says a lot about the world we live in—and it also challenges us, as followers of Jesus, to reflect on our own worldview.
How?
Are you disenchanted?
As Christians, I think we can risk diminishing the supernatural—the spiritual—dimension at the heart of our faith and reality itself.
Some theologians call this ‘disenchantment’—a loss of wonder that is a symptom of living in a secular, cynical, materialist world.
Consider Paul’s words to the church in Ephesus: ‘For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places’ (Ephesians 6:12).
Paul lifts our post-enlightenment eyes to remind us that the material, visible world isn’t all there is.
We are engaged in a spiritual battle—and we must be ready, standing in the strength of Christ who is victorious and seated above the unseen powers (Ephesians 1:20-21).
But our scepticism can also extend to our view of God Himself.
We find ourselves believing in a God of apparent, and not real, power—a God whose majestic deeds are relegated to ancient history, but can’t happen today.
Of course, we reject any form of pagan religion. We are monotheists—we worship the one true God—not polytheists like the Ancient Greeks who worshipped a pantheon of gods.
The God we worship—the Triune God—is not mean and capricious like the Greek gods. He is constant, faithful, loving, and utterly sovereign above all things.
We must be clear—belief in this God is rational and logical—because He is the author of reason and logic. He is the author of reality itself.
But have we lost the majesty and the mystery—the sheer wonder—at the heart of our faith?
Have we domesticated and tamed our great and glorious God?
Do we worship a God of apparent—and not real—power?
Reclaiming our wonder
He is the author of reality and the Ancient of Days (Daniel 7:9) who spoke creation into existence by the power of His word (Genesis 1).
He is a God who, out of His abundant love, caused the world to exist where there was nothing before.
He is the warrior God who led His people out of slavery with ‘a strong hand and powerful arm, with overwhelming terror, and with miraculous signs and wonders’ (Deuteronomy 26:8).
He is the great “I am” whose blazing glory Moses was only granted to see a glimpse of (Exodus 33).
He is the God who, in the verse that opened this email, spoke to Job out of a whirlwind (Job 38:1)—His immense power cannot be contained or boxed in.
Here is a God who raises up kings, who causes nations to rise and fall, who orders and sustains all things—a God who is above and beyond all things, and yet intimately close to us.
He is the God who became man—who delighted to descend into our ordinary, flesh-and-blood existence to save and deliver us from our sin.
This is the beautiful mystery at the heart of the gospel—that God the Son took our human nature, humbled Himself on the cross, and rose again three days later so that we could be forgiven and reconciled to the Father.
He is the God who poured out His Spirit at Pentecost with the sound of violent wind and tongues as of fire, saving three thousand people in one day (Acts 2).
He is the God who now, wondrously, dwells in us by His Holy Spirit and speaks to us through His powerful Word—who continues to save, heal and deliver today.
His majesty is revealed through His extraordinary deeds—and it is displayed in His ongoing work of sustaining and upholding the whole of creation.
Is this the God we believe in—not just giving Him our intellectual assent, but trusting that He can move powerfully in our lives and in the world around us?
Do we believe in an apparently powerful God, while living and praying as if He is functionally powerless?
Today, marvel again at our marvellous God. Be captivated by His transcendent beauty, by His majesty, by His glory and His grace. Wonder again at the awesome reality of who He is.
And pray boldly, confident that He can move again in our own day. Pray for breakthrough. Pray for salvation. Pray for healing. Pray for revival!
Don’t just settle for a God of apparent power—but trust that He is actually powerful.
“Safe?” said Mr Beaver ... “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn't safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” — C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
With love,
Mike