Specifically, I became Batman, the morose and troubled crusader who has the coolest gadgets this side of the Pentagon. It was a natural career choice: I already had a foolproof alter ego. Who would ever suspect that a mild-mannered second-grader was, in fact, the Dark Knight?

My mom took my career move in stride and stitched together a cape. I pieced together my own utility belt, complete with compass, grappling hook (a shower curtain hook tethered with dental floss) and—the pièce de résistance—an old hairnet with which I could ensnare the bad guys. No matter that I was too young to drive a Batmobile, too poor to equip a Batcave. I was righteousness personified—a paragon of truth and courage who feared only one thing: asparagus.

It's been about 30 years since I've pinned on my Batcape (the human resources department here frowns on that sort of rampant individuality), but I still have a soft spot for superheroes. And apparently, I'm not alone.

Hero Worship
Since the turn of the decade, theaters have been teeming with superheroes. The first Spider-Man movie made more than $400 million, and the three-film franchise has taken in more than $1 billion. Batman Begins pocketed more than $200 million during its 2005 run, and its 2008 sequel (The Dark Knight) will undoubtedly earn hundreds of millions more. Iron Man, featuring a superhero who, until now, had been largely unknown outside his hard-core comic book fan base, banked nearly $100 million in its first three days.

Clearly, we love our superheroes—or, at least, their movies. But why? Is it because of the action? The adventure? The novelty of seeing Iron Man's Robert Downey Jr. slap on a CGI suit and go mano a mano against Jeff Bridges' equally CGI'd Iron Monger?

Well, maybe. But I think it goes deeper than that. And it's no accident that we're in the midst of a superhero resurgence in this postmodern world of ours.

Postmodernism was enflamed by the fires of Watergate and Vietnam and a dozen other events—historical milestones that tarnished our collective faith in country, science, even ourselves. Postmodernists are skeptical folks, dismissive of people who claim to have all the right answers. And, hey, that's not all bad. A little cynicism can be good inoculation against charlatans, demagogues and authoritarian excess.

But it's a pretty short walk from cynicism to relativism—an intellectual no-man's-land where absolute truth is banished and the idea of right and wrong becomes more a matter of personal preference. Instead of saying, "That's just not right," relativists might say, "Well, I wouldn't do that, but who am I to judge?"

Yet, down deep, we know. We know that right and wrong isn't relative. And we long for someone to remind us of that.

Superheroes are our reminders.

Up, Up and Awaaaaay!
It all began in 1938, during a pretty critical juncture in United States history. Most folks were still reeling from the Great Depression and Nazi Germany was making all sorts of noise across the Atlantic. The world was quite the scary place—not, perhaps, all that different from where we are now.

Enter Superman, a comic book creation dressed in a red cape, blue tights and a sterling sense of justice. He didn't lie, cheat or watch reality TV. He had few if any flaws (unless you want to take him to task for his fashion sense) and, from the very beginning, some saw Superman as a Man of Steel messiah—an invincible fellow who lives in, but is not of, this world. (Several commentators have noted that Superman's Kryptonian name, Kal-El, could be taken to mean in Hebrew the "voice of God.")

None of that was lost on the makers of the Superman movies. In 2006's Superman Returns, we learn that reporter Lois Lane wrote a piece titled, "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman," and we understand that she's really questioning whether we've outgrown the need for faith. But when Superman sacrifices himself to save our pitiful little planet, he once again proves that we really do need him.

Other superheroes don't wield quite so may spiritual parallels, but they still have plenty to teach. Consider:

Spider-Man, who took up superheroing as a hobby, spurred on by the memory of his dearly departed uncle. "With great power comes great responsibility," he teaches us—an echo of Luke 12:48.

Batman, who salvages his life and soul from ruin after the death of his parents and honors their memories with his crime-fighting work. "It's not who I am underneath but what I do that defines me," he says in Batman Begins—a statement that calls us all to walk the walk. It's as Madeleine L'Engle once said, "Evangelism is who you are."

Iron Man, with his barely concealed conversion from hedonistic sinner to straight-edged saint. "I shouldn't be alive, unless it's for a reason," he tells us. The same goes for every person reading this page.

Even Hellboy—a literal, nigh-indestructible demon bearing the Fist of Doom—illustrates something of God's boundless grace. Hellboy rejects his infernal lineage (his adopted human father was Catholic) and is now a paranormal investigator working for the greater good. It's an odd career choice for a spawn of Satan, I suppose, but it still suggests that if a fictional demon can turn away from his bad behavior, there's hope for the real rest of us, too.

It's Clobberin' Time!
These musings shouldn't be taken as carte blanche permission to trundle down to the nearest multiplex—with three or four 5-year-old in tow—to watch The Incredible Hulk or The Dark Knight. These superheroes, like the rest of us, are flawed people who live in a fallen world. Some drink, smoke or swear. Most lose their way at on time or another, only to imperfectly pick up the trail at the end. These are superheroes, not supreme role models: The only person who fits that criteria is Jesus Himself. The rest of us can—and will—stumble, fall and fail.

But for me, it's nice to know that there are characters of lore who dare show a bit of what Jesus wants to see in us, however imprecisely: A thirst for truth, a desire for justice, a willingness to sacrifice ourselves for others. They remind us that, in this relativistic world, there are still absolutes. They remind us that actions speak louder than words. They remind us that we all have a divine calling, whether we have superpowers or not.

Now, if you'll excuse me, one of my editors is headed toward my desk. I must make ready my grappling hook!