Edited by Jim McCrory, Monday 20 April 2026 at 16:27
The Pull of Dark Things
I was standing in a small charity shop, the sort that smells faintly of old paper and second chances. I asked, gently, “Do you have any Bibles?”
In one sense, I already knew the answer. The night before, someone had left a box of them. Good study Bibles too. The kind meant to be read slowly and thoughtfully over a lifetime.
“No, we don’t have anything to do with them,” the lady replied.
There was no malice in her voice. Only a quiet dismissal, as if the question no longer mattered. As though the matter had been settled long before I arrived. I left the shop with a subdued sadness, carrying the thought that those Bibles, filled with wisdom, correction, and comfort, had likely ended up in the bin.
It made me wonder if this is not a strange and unsettled world.
Here is a book that teaches a person not to steal or betray, to honour parents, to care for the elderly, to love one’s neighbour, and above all, to love God. It calls for humility, forgiveness, and patience. These are virtues we claim to value. Yet the book itself is often treated as something awkward or suspect, something that might offend.
At the same time, we rarely pause to question what does not offend us. We give little thought to what we place before our own eyes and the eyes of our children.
I was on the Isle of Arran at the weekend, walking. I noticed people trying to hold on to the moment, capturing the quiet beauty that places like that still offer. There is something within human nature that does not sit easily. We are drawn to what is good and beautiful, yet we also feel a pull toward what is dark and unsettling.
History makes this plain. During the French Revolution, women known as tricoteuses sat knitting as executions took place before them, as though horror had become a kind of spectacle. In Roman times, Christians were thrown to lions for public amusement.
This fascination has not disappeared. It has simply changed its setting. Crowds no longer gather in public squares, but around screens. Stories filled with fear, violence, and despair are absorbed daily. Even children’s stories are reshaped. Traditional tales become darker. Characters are twisted into something grotesque. Themes that once carried innocence are often replaced with something more disturbing. Even the constant message that every child must be a princess or something exceptional can quietly encourage self-focus rather than humility.
From a Christian perspective, this points to something deeper in the human heart. Scripture teaches that we live in a fallen world where our desires have been disordered. We are not only witnesses to darkness. At times, we are drawn toward it. There is a part of us that lingers where it should turn away.
Yet there is also within us a longing for what is good and pure. This tension shapes much of our experience. We feel the pull in both directions.
The danger is not in recognising darkness, but in feeding on it. What we take in, again and again, begins to shape us. Our thoughts shift. Our expectations change. Even our sense of what is normal can become unsettled. If the mind is filled with cruelty, fear, and confusion, the heart will not remain untouched.
This is why there is such a need, perhaps now more than ever, to return to what is wholesome.
Writers, filmmakers, and creators carry a quiet influence. They do more than entertain. They help form the moral imagination of a culture. Stories stay with us. Images linger. Ideas take root. So a gentle question rests with those who create: what are we giving people to dwell on?
“Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them,” we are told in Ephesians 5:11.
There is depth in what uplifts. The beauty of the human spirit. The quiet strength found in suffering. The reality of love and forgiveness. The resilience that carries a person through hardship. These are not shallow themes. They are among the deepest truths we can explore.
To write about goodness is not to ignore evil. It is to place it where it belongs. Darkness exists, but it does not have the final word.
Perhaps that is what made the thought of those discarded Bibles so sorrowful. Not simply that books were thrown away, but that something life giving was set aside in a world already weighed down by confusion.
And still, the invitation remains.
To turn our minds toward what is good. To dwell on what is true. To seek and to create what brings light rather than shadow.
In a world that often feels unsettled, even small choices matter. What we read. What we write. What we allow our minds to rest upon. These become quiet ways of setting things, gently, the right way up again.
The Pull of Dark Things
The Pull of Dark Things
I was standing in a small charity shop, the sort that smells faintly of old paper and second chances. I asked, gently, “Do you have any Bibles?”
In one sense, I already knew the answer. The night before, someone had left a box of them. Good study Bibles too. The kind meant to be read slowly and thoughtfully over a lifetime.
“No, we don’t have anything to do with them,” the lady replied.
There was no malice in her voice. Only a quiet dismissal, as if the question no longer mattered. As though the matter had been settled long before I arrived. I left the shop with a subdued sadness, carrying the thought that those Bibles, filled with wisdom, correction, and comfort, had likely ended up in the bin.
It made me wonder if this is not a strange and unsettled world.
Here is a book that teaches a person not to steal or betray, to honour parents, to care for the elderly, to love one’s neighbour, and above all, to love God. It calls for humility, forgiveness, and patience. These are virtues we claim to value. Yet the book itself is often treated as something awkward or suspect, something that might offend.
At the same time, we rarely pause to question what does not offend us. We give little thought to what we place before our own eyes and the eyes of our children.
I was on the Isle of Arran at the weekend, walking. I noticed people trying to hold on to the moment, capturing the quiet beauty that places like that still offer. There is something within human nature that does not sit easily. We are drawn to what is good and beautiful, yet we also feel a pull toward what is dark and unsettling.
History makes this plain. During the French Revolution, women known as tricoteuses sat knitting as executions took place before them, as though horror had become a kind of spectacle. In Roman times, Christians were thrown to lions for public amusement.
This fascination has not disappeared. It has simply changed its setting. Crowds no longer gather in public squares, but around screens. Stories filled with fear, violence, and despair are absorbed daily. Even children’s stories are reshaped. Traditional tales become darker. Characters are twisted into something grotesque. Themes that once carried innocence are often replaced with something more disturbing. Even the constant message that every child must be a princess or something exceptional can quietly encourage self-focus rather than humility.
From a Christian perspective, this points to something deeper in the human heart. Scripture teaches that we live in a fallen world where our desires have been disordered. We are not only witnesses to darkness. At times, we are drawn toward it. There is a part of us that lingers where it should turn away.
Yet there is also within us a longing for what is good and pure. This tension shapes much of our experience. We feel the pull in both directions.
The danger is not in recognising darkness, but in feeding on it. What we take in, again and again, begins to shape us. Our thoughts shift. Our expectations change. Even our sense of what is normal can become unsettled. If the mind is filled with cruelty, fear, and confusion, the heart will not remain untouched.
This is why there is such a need, perhaps now more than ever, to return to what is wholesome.
Writers, filmmakers, and creators carry a quiet influence. They do more than entertain. They help form the moral imagination of a culture. Stories stay with us. Images linger. Ideas take root. So a gentle question rests with those who create: what are we giving people to dwell on?
“Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them,” we are told in Ephesians 5:11.
There is depth in what uplifts. The beauty of the human spirit. The quiet strength found in suffering. The reality of love and forgiveness. The resilience that carries a person through hardship. These are not shallow themes. They are among the deepest truths we can explore.
To write about goodness is not to ignore evil. It is to place it where it belongs. Darkness exists, but it does not have the final word.
Perhaps that is what made the thought of those discarded Bibles so sorrowful. Not simply that books were thrown away, but that something life giving was set aside in a world already weighed down by confusion.
And still, the invitation remains.
To turn our minds toward what is good.
To dwell on what is true.
To seek and to create what brings light rather than shadow.
In a world that often feels unsettled, even small choices matter. What we read. What we write. What we allow our minds to rest upon. These become quiet ways of setting things, gently, the right way up again.