Dragons Can Be Beaten — An Advent Story — Ep 1
Dragons Can Be Beaten — An Advent Story — Ep 1
A Dragon, a Knight, and a Bookstore
Note: I was about halfway through wirting this series of four story sermons when I found out about the allegations against Neil Gaiman. It was too late to change course. I am aware that he misquoted Chesterson. Nevertheless, I needed the quote to be specifically about dragons. 🤷♂️
Podcast on Spotify 👇
Sometimes the weight of the world hits you just as you’re trying to go to sleep. It was one of those days when the anxiety started to drip down into the lowest places in my soul, and the sleep I genuinely needed was far beyond my grasp. What was it, you might ask? In those moments, it would be everything. The state of the world, the state of politics, the injustice of everything around me. The hate, the anger, the tribalism. The day-to-day grind of tedious personal grudges — both my own and of others. On that particular night all my fears and anxieties welled up in my imagination and became almost real they came to me in the form of a dragon — winged, scaled and rearing up on its hind legs, ready to breathe fire and destroy everything around it. Impossible in its majesty, implacable in its power, the dragon threatened everything I loved and everything I loathed. It seemed more than just a figment of my imagination — it had a reality that could not be simply pushed aside — the vision had substance and a menace I could not ignore, and sleep eluded me.
I thought of opening the volume of George Macdonald I had sitting at the side of the bed, but that would involve disturbing my wife with my reading light. Finally, I sighed and got up from bed, dressed quickly and put on a winter coat. Down the stairs into the street. The city seemed to have an unreal quality, dusted with a light coating of early December snow, which crunched under my footfall. The street lamps were haloed in the hoary night air and added to the impression of another world. As I crossed the block into the shopping district, I came to the windows of my local bookseller — a frequent haunt of mine. Holiday displays of books were arrayed in the windows, presented for purchase as gifts or stocking stuffers. I stopped in front of a display of fantasy books and was struck by a large placard placed in the midst of a particularly fine set of Tolkien volumes. The sign had a quote from Neil Gaiman on it:
“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”
I stared at that placard for a long time, reading and re-reading it. As I did so, the rest of the display seemed to take on a gauzy tone, and the letters of the placard itself seemed to have a life of their own, shimmering and moving. Indeed, as my eyes remained locked on the quote, the rest of the world became less defined in my peripheral vision, like paint running on a canvas. I heard myself say out loud, or I thought out loud, “Dragons can be beaten.”
“Dragons can be beaten, eh, sir?” The voice came from my left. For some reason, I was loathe to remove my eyes from the sign, but the strangeness of the voice compelled me, and I slowly looked round. One would think that the sight of a knight in full plate armor on a warhorse in a deserted city street would cause one to question his sanity, but the strange appearance of the rest of the world around was even somehow more unsettling. It was as if the familiar city had somehow been merged with someones’ idea of a medieval town, and then painted by Thomas Kinkade. It seemed familiar but more fanciful and vibrant. The street lights were no longer electric but of some unusual, magical hue, and the buildings were lower but had fantastical gables and doors, with hinged signs hanging over their entryways. The bar next to the bookseller now had a hoarding over the door with a tree carved on it with the name, “The Righteous Branch.” I wasn’t as surprised or terrified as I should have been with the sudden transformation of my familiar surroundings.
“So,” you say, “forget the architecture and back to the knight.” Fair enough! His presence WOULD seem the most unusual thing, although it didn’t seem so at the time. I marveled at this. “Good Sir Knight,” I began. I wasn’t really sure how to address him, but since this worked at Renaissance faires, it seemed a good way to start. “Can you tell me — am I having a medical episode, or am I asleep.. or have I actually entered into the land of Faerie?” The knight opened his visor and looked down at me before carefully dismounting from his horse. As he came close, I could see he had a fair face, that shone with a kind of internal light, and a pleasant smile stretched from one side of his helm to the other. “Sir,” he said, “does it matter? You’re here now.” “But is this all real?” He thought for a moment, “I believe it depends on how you define ‘real.’ If you are inquiring if all this is created matter, perhaps, perhaps not, but if you are inquiring if this all really matters, then it may be more ‘real’ than anything you’ve ever encountered heretofore.” I let that sink in for a moment — not a bad piece of character dialogue! “But why am I here?” I asked, still amazed at myself for not completely freaking out. “I am unsure — your reason to have this hallucination, or dream, or desire to enter into faerie is of your motivation, not mine. For my part, I came upon you as you were saying loudly, “Dragons can be beaten.” I pointed back at the bookseller’s window and said, “I was just reading that sign there.” The knight looked at me quizzically. “The one that says, ‘Automobiles really exist, and what’s more, they can be serviced?.’” I turned my head, and indeed, the sign was now a hand-lettered placard in the midst of books on all kinds of fanciful automobiles or what you might think one looks like if you had only heard them described in stories. But, you’re not here for descriptions of volumes in fantasy bookstores, so back to the knight.
“Oh, never mind,” I said; it was just another thing my mind seemed strangely at ease with. “So back to this comfronting dragons thing,” said the knight, “I obviously have some experience with that.” “You do?” I asked hopefully, finally catching the drift that whatever was happening to me, this could be a good opportunity to work on my subconscious and save some dollars on therapy later. The knight scoffed, “I am a knight, am I not? Would I not OBVIOUSLY have experience in confronting dragons?” “Well,” I said, “Im my time in reading and role-playing, not every knight is successful in slaying dragons.” He got a strange look on his face, then said “But that’s not what you asked. Look, never mind you me. This is your quest, not mine. You are here to defeat a dragon.” I took this in for a moment. I seriously doubted my abilities in this regard — if I would classify myself in Dungeons and Dragons terms, I might have some levels in Cleric or Bard, but I knew I wasn’t leveled up enough to take on a dragon. The knight regarded me silently, then spoke, “You doubt your own ability to carry through on this quest.” I nodded my head. “Here, it is not marital ability that makes the hero, but spiritual maturity. It is simply not enough to be skillful and strong with a sword. But you will need one, nevertheless.” The knight reached up to his warhorse and pulled a longsword from a scabbard. It rang with a clear, high tone of tempered steel as it came free. He held it up, “This is Veritas, the sword of truth.” It glimmered in the streetlamps, drawing all the light on the street to itself. The knight took it in his gauntleted hands and presented it to me. I received it carefully in my palms, marveling at its lightness, brightness and keen edges. It shone with reflected light. If ever there was a sword made to slay a dragon, this was it. “It has accepted you,” said the knight, “It is yours until you have no further need of it.” The knight took the scabbard and buckled it across my back, then helped me sheathe Veritas in it.
“That’s it, that’s all I need?” I asked. The knight chuckled. “Has it ever been that easy? No, before you confront the dragon, you will need three blessings upon the blade. For while truth is powerful, it is not enough unless supplemented by further virtues.” I sighed — this was beginning to look like a long-term campaign. “Tell me what I must do.” “You will seek these three blessings on the road to the West.” He gestured down the street, and as he did so, the buildings of the city seemed to start to fade away. “You will seek great teachers of Hope, Integrity, and Perseverance and ask their blessings on the blade. Once you have those three blessings, you will indeed be ready to confront the dragon.” “Since you’re experienced, I don’t suppose you would be willing to go with me to help me fight…” I started, but it was apparent I had triggered the end-of-encounter soliloquy, and there was no stopping him now. He turned an extended palm towards me, “You have my benediction and the fabled sword Veritas” he intoned, “Go with God, and may you successfully reach the end of your quest.” After that, he remounted his warhorse and rode slowly into the east. As he did so, the city faded entirely around me, leaving me on a road stretching towards the west through a barren land, dotted with burned thatched-roof cottages. “Obviously, the dragon has been here,” I thought. “Might as well get on the move.” I took my first steps down the road.
Episode 2 of this story can be found here.
The Rev. David Simmons, ObJN is the Pastor of St. Matthias Episcopal Church and First Presbyterian Church, Waukesha. He is an Oblate of and confessor to the Order of Julian of Norwich, and was a Dungeon Master for years before he became a Christian.
Dragons Can Be Beaten — An Advent Story — Ep 1 was originally published in Preaching from the Rood Screen on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.