An idyllic Spanish mission collapses atop the supernatural evidence of a shocking crime. Twelve generations later the ground is opened up, the forgotten ruins are disturbed, and rich and poor alike confront the onslaught of resurging hell on earth. Caught up in the catastrophe are: A humble shopkeeper compelled to leave her tiny village deep in Mexico to preach in America; A minister wracked with guilt for loving the wrong woman; An unimaginably wealthy man, blinded to the consequences of his grand plans; A devoted father and husband driven to a horrible discovery that changes everything.

Will the evil that destroyed the MisiÓn de Santa Dolores rise to overwhelm them, or will they beat back the terrible desires that left the mission’s good Franciscan founder standing in the midst of flames ignited by his enemies and friends alike more than two centuries ago? From the high Sierra Madres to the harsh Sonoran desert, from the privileged world of millionaire moguls to the impoverished immigrants who serve them, Athol Dickson once again weaves a gripping story of suspense that spans centuries and cultures to explore the abiding possibility of miracles.

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“I’m amazed. Amazed at Athol Dickson’s talent. His talent to write about history at the same time as writing about modern times and intertwining them in a magnificent way to lead us to the conclusion of this novel is, again, amazing…. Definitely 5 star, two thumbs up…” Good Reads:

More Recommendations for Lost Mission

After he spent five years attending Chever Torah, Athol Dickson found his faith radically changed-the result being a deeper relationship with God. In beautiful and simple language, The Gospel according to Moses illustrates Dickson’s journey of faith exploring some of the primary theological differences and similarities between Christianity and Judaism. He draws generously on both Old and New Testament scriptures, looking at Christian and Jewish perspectives on topics such as suffering, grace vs. works, and the place of Jesus in the Hebrew Scriptures.

 

“Dickson is endearing in his enthusiasm for learning, and he encourages Christians to explore their Jewish roots as a way to grow in their faith.” – Christianity Today

“So what has Dickson taken away from his studies at Chever Torah? ‘Strange as it may seem,’ he writes, ‘the Jewish perspective of Chever Torah had given me a richer, more solid foundation for my own faith.’ That’s a perspective evangelicals who’ve had any contact with Judaism or Israel can resonate with.” – Books and Culture

 

More Recommendations for The Gospel According to Moses

At a museum recently I saw early paintings by Mondrian done in a representational style. Then in another room were the works he is known for: blocks of color confined by black grids on a stark white ground, a style called “neo-plasticism.” In one of the earlier representational paintings I saw him already experimenting with the use of line to confine color in the way he painted tree branches against a sunset. It was interesting to see seeds of his later abstractions in his earlier expressionism.

Painters who stretched and grew to the extent of creating new genres as Mondrian did usually began with highly representational technique, then became less and less concerned with showing the world as it appears on the surface and more and more concerned with how they perceive the world beneath the surface, or perhaps is it more accurate to say how they perceive the world within themselves. Some people malign their work because the result may not be “pretty,” but they misunderstand the goal of art, which is to communicate the ineffable.

I respect Mondrian and artists like him for their willingness to look foolish as they break the rules to try to reach that end. People stand in front of Mondrian’s abstract compositions and say, “My kid could do that,” and in the strictest sense, they are right. Mondrian endured such criticism from those who said he had no talent and could do no better. It may be true that he could do no better, but that was not because he had no talent. Mondrian did beautiful early work that proves he knew the rules and could paint brilliantly according to them, yet he chose to risk ridicule in pursuit of the ineffable.

I believe that kind of unconcern for convention is one of the prerequisites of faith. Like Mondrian, most of us must begin with complex rules and slowly weed them out one by one until we arrive at a place of simple understanding, while a few begin with that simplicity as children and never lose it. However we get there, the deepest faith can be compared to a drawing by a child who did not follow rules.

As a Christian writer, I pursue the One whose face cannot be seen, much less described with words. And to the extent that we are made in the image of that Ineffable One, I also strive to express the inexpressible about humanity. I am working on a novel now in hopes of drawing the reader into the mind of a character who is losing her sanity because she has turned away from God. It is something like Mondrian’s neo-plasticism in that I hope to use the senses to explore and communicate things that lie beyond the senses, and I fear the result may seem simplistic or childish to some, especially because this character experiences life in ways beyond a sane person’s understanding.

It’s the first time I have been frightened of writing. Rules are definitely being broken, with deliberation, and for specific reasons, and as I break the rules I feel small and foolish for daring to set foot on the vast creative landscape lying beyond them. I wonder if Abraham felt something like this as he took Isaac up Mariah, commanded to sacrifice morality on the altar of the Source of all morality. The limits and boundaries of rules can give comfort, but they can also cause stagnation in your faith (or art) unless you are willing to weed them out and get back to a childlike, trusting place.

Occupying the moral high ground at the wide bottom of the mountain, the Pharisees said, “Don’t do this, don’t do that, don’t do the other thing.”

In a narrow place at the top, Jesus just said, “Love.”

Yet like Mondrian’s early work, before Abraham could break the rules in pursuit of the Ineffable he had to know them very well, otherwise he would have been nothing but another silly man, justifying his own sin. Similarly, this business of breaking rules to communicate the ineffable is at once a burden and an advantage for the Christian novelist: a burden, because we have seen the face of the Ineffable and therefore will be held to a higher standard in terms of expressing Him to the best of our ability, and an advantage because, while other writers merely have a suspicion there is something more beyond the words, we know exactly what it is our words can never quite express.

Athol Dickson will soon be releasing a collection of new editions of four of his novels under his own imprint. These titles include Christy Award winners River Rising and The Cure. Along with corrections and improvements to the first editions, the novels will include new introductions. Are you interested in providing a review of one or more of these new editions, and/or the possibility of an interview with Athol? If so, please forward the best email address for us to use so we can add you to our update list.