Bearing the Burden of Light: “The Way of Kings” by Brandon Sanderson (The Stormlight Archive #1)

Brandon Sanderson’s The Way of Kings is more than an epic fantasy novel—it is a crucible for theological reflection. As a Lutheran pastor, I find this first volume of The Stormlight Archive profoundly resonant with Christian themes of vocation, brokenness, justice, sacrificial love, and the weight of divine calling. Though Sanderson writes from a Latter-day Saints background, the novel presents fertile ground for confessional Lutherans and other Christians to engage imaginatively with concepts of redemption, duty, and what it means to walk in the light while the world is still shrouded in storm.

This is your spoiler warning.

The Storm Within: Suffering, Providence, and Broken Men

Sanderson’s world of Roshar is racked by literal and spiritual highstorms. In this, it mirrors the tumult of a fallen creation groaning under the weight of sin’s corruption (Romans 8:22). The characters are not mythic demigods untouched by pain but deeply broken human beings. Kaladin, the central protagonist, begins the novel as a slave—betrayed, despairing, and suicidal. His arc powerfully illustrates the Lutheran understanding of Anfechtung—the deep spiritual trials that tear at the soul, driving one to the brink of despair but also, paradoxically, closer to grace.

Kaladin’s journey is not one of personal empowerment but of being given strength he does not possess. He is chosen by Sylphrena (aka, Syl), a spren of honor, not because he is strong, but because he chooses to protect even when it costs him everything. This echoes the theology of the cross, in which the Christian life is not a triumphal march but a daily struggle—a daily dying and rising in Christ (Luke 9:23).

Kaladins’ oath, “I will protect those who cannot protect themselves,” is not unlike the Christian call to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). It is sacrificial and vocational. Like the Office of Holy Ministry or the calling of any vocation, it is not undertaken for prestige, but for service. Dietrich Bonhoeffer expertly summarizes this crucial aspect of the Christian life:

[The Christian] must suffer and endure the brother. It is only when he is a burden that another person is really a brother and not merely an object to be manipulated. The burden of men was so heavy for God Himself that He had to endure the Cross… But He bore them as a mother carries her child, as a shepherd enfolds the lost lamb that has been found… In bearing with men God maintained fellowship with them. It is the law of Christ that was fulfilled in the Cross. And Christians must share in this law… what is more important, now that the law of Christ has been fulfilled, they can bear with their brethren.

Bonhoeffer, 100-101

Oaths, Vows, and Vocation

Each of the ten Orders of Knights Radiant in Sanderson’s cosmere universe take oaths that bind them to specific Ideals. These are not mere moral platitudes for them but deeply incarnational responsibilities. They are promises lived out under pressure. In Lutheran theology, the idea of Beruf (Latin: vocatio)—that God places each person in a vocation for the neighbor’s sake—is richly illustrated in the lives of Sanderson’s characters.

Dalinar Kholin, another central character, embodies the burden of vocation most clearly throughout the series. Once a warlord soaked in blood, he receives visions that call him to unite the divided nations of the world and to lead with righteousness. The call is not convenient by any means. It tears at his pride, costs him political power, and alienates him from his peers. But like a prophet of old, he cannot refuse it. In the third book, Oathbringer, he says, “The most important words a man can say are, ‘I will do better.'” In these words, we hear an echo of repentance—not mere regret, but a reorientation of the will in the direction of righteousness. Not perfection, but struggle toward the good.

Dalinar’s transformation is not self-generated. The voice that speaks to him in every highstorm is beyond him. His visions echo divine revelation—mysterious, veiled, and often confusing. Like Scripture itself, they come not to affirm him but to correct and shape him. Here, we see a portrait of the sinner-saint (simul iustus et peccator), who walks in humility, all too cognizant of his past, but pressing toward a future guided by grace.

Light in Darkness: The Gospel According to Bridge Four

Perhaps the most explicitly Christological element in the novel is Kaladin’s leadership of Bridge Four, a team of slaves consigned to near-certain death. Through his sacrifice, integrity, and refusal to let go of the dignity of others, Kaladin transforms these broken men into brothers.

He does not do this by appealing to their ambition but by laying down his life repeatedly for them. In one of the most powerful scenes in the book, Kaladin defies his masters and takes the front of the bridge himself. “Kaladin raised his spear and walked to the front of the bridge. He didn’t look back. He just walked. One step. Then another. The most important step a man can take.” He bears their burden, literally and spiritually.

Here, we see a clear Christ-figure. Like Christ who bore our sins on His shoulders, Kaladin stands in the breach with the bridge on his shoulders. Like the Good Shepherd, he refuses to let the wolves of Sadeas’ army devour his flock. His leadership is cruciform—shaped by sacrifice, not domination.

Bridge Four becomes a picture of the Church: a community of the discarded, gathered and made whole by one who suffers with them and for them. This is a deeply Lutheran vision of the Church as the fellowship of the forgiven, not the gathering of the great.

The Weight of Words and the Coming Storm

Throughout the novel, Sanderson explores the idea that words have power. The oaths spoken by the Knights Radiant are binding realities. This reflects the Lutheran sacramental understanding of God’s Word as performative. God’s Word does not merely describe—it is efficacious. It does what it says it does. “Let there be light” was not a wish—it was a command that brought about reality (Genesis 1:3). Further, “For as the rain comes down, and the snow from Heaven, and do not return there, but water the Earth, and make it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall My Word be that goes forth from My mouth; it shall not return to Me void, but it shall accomplish what I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it” (Isaiah 55:10-11).

In Roshar, the ancient enemy of mankind is returning: the Voidbringers. The heralds who once bore divine truth have broken under the weight of endless war and vanished. In this impending eschatological crisis, Sanderson invites readers to imagine what it means to stand firm when institutions crumble, when faith is mocked, and when truth is costly.

As St. Paul wrote, “Take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day” (Ephesians 6:13). Just as the Radiants bore Shardplates and Blades, the Christian bears truth, righteousness, faith, and the Word of God.

A Lutheran Reader’s Benediction

The Way of Kings invites us to wrestle with profound religious truths under the guise of fantasy. It confronts us with the burdens of leadership, the tragedy of suffering, and the costly glory of redemption. Christians who read this novel will find not merely entertainment but echoes of the deeper story—the true Story—in which Christ bears our burdens, walks us through the storm, and calls us to bear His light in the darkness (Matthew 5:14-16).

Though Sanderson writes with a different theological lens, his narrative powerfully aligns with the Lutheran view of the Christian life as one of cross-bearing, service to neighbor, and hope grounded not in self but in the Word that comes extros nos (outside us). It is a story where broken men find purpose, outcasts find community and redemption, and oaths are not burdens but gifts that bind us in love.

So, I encourage you to read The Way of Kings. Not just for it storms and swords, but for its broken heroes, who remind us that even in fantasy, the shape of the cross still shines through.

Works Cited

Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Life Together. Translated by John W. Doberstein. New York: HarperOne, 1954.