The final pages of an epic tale are often my favorite, holding bittersweetness that touches me deeply. The full impact of the hero’s choices are revealed, and layered beneath victory’s halo is a sense of loss. 

 

Sacrifice sets apart the heroes from the villains, after all. Frodo Baggins accepts the quest to destroy the One Ring, unwittingly forfeiting his peaceful existence in Middle-Earth—not to mention one of his fingers. Harry Potter makes a mortal bid to finally defeat the dark lord Voldemort. Captain America seizes control of a plane and nosedives with it (leaving behind his love interest, Peggy Carter) to protect New York City. And the list goes on.

 

Heroes change their worlds by undergoing personal transformation that impels them to risk their own safety for the sake of others. Sometimes this is encapsulated in a singular act, and other times in a recurring pattern, but both reflect the same theme.

 

Over the past few years, however, I’ve noticed an influx of stories that define heroism differently. Instead of revolving around the principle that virtue develops inwardly before manifesting outwardly, this new version focuses on moral judgment. At the climax, the hero either confronts the misuse of power or undermines and overthrows a corrupt leader. Think of Disney’s Encanto and Netflix’s Sea Beast. Mirabel accuses Abuela of causing the cracks in Casita, their enchanted home, and Maisie Bramble publicly exposes the monarchs’ duplicity and manipulation, eroding their reputation to the point that they abandon their positions. 

 

In each case, the protagonist justifiably addresses harmful people and attitudes. But since the problem is disconnected from Mirabel and Maisie, they cannot offer an example of growth, implement a solution, or pay a cost to achieve the goal. All that’s required of them is the courage to speak up. Although the words of these ordinary people are treated as significant, concealed within this representation is the belief that a flawed system must be overturned at the top, which reduces heroism to the ability to influence or discredit an authority figure.

 

Muddied is the message to “be the change you wish to see.” Gone is the emphasis on sacrificial love. Hushed to a ghostly whisper is the Tolkienian idea that even the lowest of the low can be catalysts.  

 

Faulty Foundations Are Doomed to Collapse

Now, don’t misunderstand why I’m criticizing these stories. Abuela allowed her trauma to dictate how she led the Madrigal family, and the king and queen in Sea Beast deceived their subjects to sate their own greed. They more than deserved to be called out and condemned.

 

The weakness in these portrayals is that the moment of crisis and the entire process of transformation overlap. The revolution the heroines trigger is so swift and painless that it can’t compare to reality. And that sets impossible expectations for readers who long to fix the brokenness around them.

 

In Encanto, a magical knob allows Mirabel to reopen the door to all of the Madrigal powers—and a hollow, unearned wealth of happiness. A better outcome would have been for the family to learn how to function more healthily as they rebuilt their lives, home, and relationships without the advantage of fantastical gifts. Even in a montage, this could have been communicated in a short amount of screen time. 

 

During the showdown with the crown in Sea Beast, a single speech washes away generations of lies and an economy reliant upon monster-hunting. A better outcome would have been to display a mixed reception to the truth and then indicate that reform would require hard work: replacing propaganda with honest histories and devising a financially viable alternative to the kingdom’s former source of income. 

 

Countering error and evil can have a far-reaching effect on both the speaker and the world. But it’s only the first stage, not the time to celebrate and lounge on the laurels of wisdom. An entire culture may have to be demolished and reconstructed at the expense of blood, sweat, and tears. The gap between revelation and fruition may feel like wandering in the desert. But when the characters take up their crosses and continually give of themselves, the change they’ll usher in will be unstoppable.

 

The True Cost of Heroism

While change can’t happen without introducing truth, it won’t last or be effective without personal transformation that results in selfless behavior. Scripture’s events culminate in Christ’s unimaginable decision to experience an agonizing death and separation from His Father to rescue undeserving sinners. Although such a climax is not obligatory for every hero, both of the stories I mentioned above cast only a partial reflection of heroism because the losses behind and the challenges ahead are vastly understated.

 

Heroes may wake up the world with a megaphone, but the pursuit of a vision for a better future demands daily commitment coupled with faith in the divine. Skipping to the easy, pretty conclusion may be tempting. But don’t shy away from the grittiness of rebuilding. It will refine your characters again and again into a stronger likeness to Jesus Christ, the hero of heroes who has forever altered the world through His life—and act—of self-sacrifice.