Back Again Into the Wasteland

17 Wednesday Feb 2021

Posted by Neo in Church/State, Lent, poetry, Tolkien

Tags

Christianity, Church & State, church politics, Faith, history, T.S. Eliot

A note from Neo

Well, I’m back again, not that I really left, I’ve been posting on the Neo blog, as many of you know, because that has been more appropriate to my thoughts lately. I have been thinking of you though, there are a fair number of us here, but we tend to be, I suspect a good bit alike, and if you’re like me, you feel very much like a sojourner in a strange land.

Today is, of course, Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent, when we traditionally give up things by which we commemorate Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness, as we prepare ourselves for Easter.

I first republished this article of Jessica’s on Ash Wednesday in 2015, it is from 10 March 2013 originally on NEO and is quite similar to the one here also on 10 March 2013 called Mere Anarchy. I found the NEO version a bit more understandable, but I link them both because you may well differ. At the time I reblogged this well, it was a troubled time in my life, you who knew Jessica then will know that this was while she was at the Convent recovering from cancer, and our contact was severely limited. But God be praised that worked out. Here is Jessica’s post.

Into the Wasteland

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

The opening lines of T.S. Eliot’s 1925 poem speak with eloquence to any age and people who feel disconnected from what they feel is a calamitous and collapsing socio-political world.

Eliot was writing in the aftermath of the most catastrophic war in the history of the Western world. It was the war when hope died. How could one believe in progress after the Somme and the horrors of the Western Front? And what had all of that slaughter been for? A settlement at Versailles which few believed would really bring peace to the world. Men like Wilson and Hoover, or MacDonald and Baldwin, seemed small men facing giant problems, and sure enough, within fifteen years the world had once more descended into the abyss.

Does the fault lie in our leaders? They do, indeed, seem to be hollow men, with heads stuffed with straw. The words of Yeats’ Second Coming seem apposite to our times:

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Writing in 1919, Yeats wondered:

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand

But it was not so. In Lord of the Rings, Frodo tells Gandalf that he wishes he did not live in the time he did, when such dreadful things were happening. Gandalf’s reply is for all of us:

So do I,’ said Gandalf, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’

It is not for us to decide such things. All each of us can do in the end is to decide how we live our lives and by what star we steer. Those of us with a Christian faith, like Tolkien himself, know we are strangers in this world, and we know by whose star we steer. We can rage all we like against the way the world seems to be going, so did our forefathers, and so will our descendants. Eliot ends with a dying fall:

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

But Yeats, in best prophetic mode wondered:

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

For me, Eliot’s words in Ash Wednesday ring truest:

Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

That’s pretty much what the world feels like, increasingly to me, at least, it seems that we may have to simply burn it down and try to rebuild in the ruins. but I continue to hope not, so we will see.

In many ways, Kipling asked the question I think our political, and a fair share of church, as well, leadership should have to answer

I could not dig; I dared not rob:
Therefore I lied to please the mob.
Now all my lies are proved untrue
And I must face the men I slew.
What tale shall serve me here among
Mine angry and defrauded young?

But as Jess said above, we don’t get to pick the era in which we live, we are simply called to do the best we can. And so we shall, God willing. NEO

Heidelberg and Hobbiton: Theology of the Cross in Middle-earth

16 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by Neo in Faith, Lutheranism, Persecution, Tolkien

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Christ, Christian theology, Christianity, First Epistle to the Corinthians, Gospel, Jesus, Jr., Martin Luther, Martin Luther King, Protestant Reformation

hobbits-lotr-640wide Jess’ last paragraph Saturday caught my attention when she said this.

“The search for respectability often becomes a search for being accepted by a society whose values are not ours – and as, for example, the development of views on homosexuality shows, what was once not only respectable but mandatory under law, can become the opposite very quickly. Best build on Christ, who is love, and leave society to its ever-changing ways.”

It reminded me of something I had read recently, this

HEIDELBERG AND HOBBITON:

THEOLOGY OF THE CROSS IN MIDDLE-EARTH

God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise;

God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.

1 Corinthians 1:27

What does Martin Luther have in common with Frodo, and Samwise? I assure you, it’s more than enjoying the company of friends and family, joyous hospitality, and of course, a good ale.

On April 26^th, 1518 Martin Luther delivered his famous Heidelberg Disputation before the General Chapter of the Augustinian order.

On December 25^th, 3018 (Shire reckoning) four hobbits, two men, one elf, one dwarf, and one wizard left Rivendell to destroy the Ring of Power in the fire of Mt. Doom.

To be sure, these are two different events from two different worlds, one history and the other epic fantasy. Yet, something fundamental to the Christian faith ties both stories together.

[snip]

“And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.” (1 Cor 2:1-5)

Like St. Paul, Luther learned to rejoice in weakness rather than boast the confidence of human works. For in our weakness we see the great strength of God displayed in Jesus who though he was strong, yet for our sakes became weak. Jesus entered Jerusalem, not on a conquering warhorse like the Caesars of Rome, but on a humble donkey as a suffering servant. For Luther, the theology of glory and the theology of the cross was as different as death and life, blindness and sight, boasting in man’s glory and boasting in the glory of Christ Crucified for sinners.

Like Luther, Frodo and Samwise were also on a journey. Their departure from Rivendell (and the Shire before) marked the beginning of the long road to Mordor, a journey in which we see the hobbits grow in wisdom and stature before men and elves.

As the story unfolds we see Luther’s Heidelberg theses on display, even before the Fellowship leaves Rivendell. Gimli’s axe cannot destroy the One Ring. And Boromir’s desire to wield it against the dark lord, Sauron is foolish and ruinous. Tolkien’s point is clear. The brute strength of dwarfs and the stout hearts of men are no match for evil. Something smaller and unexpected is needed, a humble hobbit.

“I will take the Ring, Frodo said, “though I do not know the way.”

Here Heidelberg meets Hobbiton. A theology of glory is turned aside by a hobbit, small in stature, and unnoticed by the men of Middle-earth and even Sauron himself. Frodo reveals himself to be a theologian of the cross, choosing to bear the One Ring with all its seething, restless evil, and take it to its destruction at great cost to himself and his companions.

via Heidelberg and Hobbiton: Theology of the Cross in Middle-earth | BLOG | 1517. The Legacy Project

I don’t have much to add to this, except that perhaps we should listen a bit better to Christ. He said it often enough. Here, for example, in Mathew 5, He says:

⁵Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.

⁶Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

⁷Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

⁸Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

⁹Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Saturday Jess: Frodo & the mystery of suffering

21 Saturday Nov 2015

Posted by Neo in Faith, Tolkien

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, Gandalf, J. R. R. Tolkien, Leadership, Middle-earth, Part 1), Peter Jackson, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Fellowship of the Ring (The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

As I read through our posts and comments this week, I was struck by how much of the content was driven by leadership (or its lack), and doing our duty, including our duty to defend our citizens, to the point that we recalled that St. Augustine said not doing so is a sin.

As the war of terrorism on us all is seeming to heat up, it is time to ponder what our duty is. No one will be surprised to know that Jessica joins us in mourning the victims in Paris last week. But is our duty to them more than mourning? Jess is exceptional at drawing lessons from diverse sources, an example of what a proper liberal arts education can be and do. And here she draws lessons for us all from the Lord of the Rings. Neo

Frodo and the mystery of suffering

I have been enjoying Nicholas’ Tolkien related posts, so much so that I am tempted into one of my own. As these are no more than my own witterings, I offer any apology necessary in advance – but here goes.

A friend, who had never read the books commented that she found Frodo an unsatisfactory sort of ‘hero’. I know what she meant, but it seemed to me she missed the point. Frodo is in many ways an innocent victim who ends by sacrificing himself and all his hopes for the sake of others.

A the start of the Fellowship of the Ring no one knows the secret of the Ring. It seems almost an innocent trinket, which can be used to amuse others and to disappear oneself. Had it not been for the curiosity of Gandalf, then the Ring might well have fallen into the hands of the Enemy. When its secret is revealed, Frodo’s first reaction is to: ‘wish it need not have happened in my time’. Gandalf’s comment is worth meditating upon: ‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’

That is the key to what will happen to Frodo. His first reaction is one which tests Gandalf more than Frodo can realise, as it is to offer the Ring to him freely; with it, Gandalf could become the master of Middle Earth, but he is not tempted, and so the journey to Rivendell begins. That, perilous as it turned out to be, with Frodo suffering an assault which, but for the skill of the elves would have been mortal, should have been the end of it for the Hobbit. He had endured fire and sword to deliver the burden to those wise enough to make a decision about what to do with it; yet, as is the way of this world too, the Wise turn out to have no idea what to do. It is left to Frodo’s sense of duty to produce an answer which, however unlikely, is one upon which all can agree; he says he will take it – even though he does not know the way.

This is the central decision of Frodo’s life. He takes upon himself a burden which he feels unfit to carry, but it is precisely that pity (which he had once criticised in Bilbo’s sparing of Gollum, but now feels himself) which moves men to self-sacrifice, which pushes him forward where wise men fear to tread. Elrond the wise agrees, not because his reason tells him so, but because ‘I think this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will.’ He is right, but his intuition is proven right in a way no man could have predicted, and which was hidden even from the wise.

Frodo is sustained through the early stage of the journey by the courage and leadership of Gandalf, in whom he has infinite faith. Thus it is that the loss (as it seems) of Gandalf in the Mines of Moria is another almost mortal blow. Worse was to come. Boromir’s fall into temptation shows Frodo that he must leave the others and find his way to Mordor – alone. But Frodo’s wish to spare others the fate he feels is his alone is alleviated by the love of Sam, who will not leave his master.

One of the defects of the film for me was that it failed to capture the complexity of this relationship, preferring instead the cheap trick of having Frodo reject Sam because of Gollum’s mischief, so that there can be a reconciliation which tugs at the heartstrings. Tolkien was too subtle for Hollywood. In the book we see the trials wearing away at Frodo, as the suffering and the power of the Ring increase and his own energies and optimism fail; but we also see Sam suffer. Their suffering unites them, and even though Sam cannot enter fully into the suffering of Frodo, he can elect to share it. It is only when Frodo appears to be dead that Sam is willing to desert him – and he almost immediately realises he should have listened to his heart and not his head – before going on to heroically rescue his master. As Tolkien puts it: “His love for Frodo rose above all other thoughts, and forgetting his peril he cried aloud: ‘I’m coming, Mr. Frodo!’”

Sam, we see, is in many sense, earthy, he is less sensitive, less spiritual, if you will, than Frodo; and this is Sam’s salvation. Sam, of course, is not tried as sorely as Frodo. His worst moment is when Frodo expresses his anger at Sam having the Ring, but Frodo is shocked into realising how bad things have become: ‘O Sam! cried Frodo. ‘What have I said? What have I done? Forgive me! After all you have done. It is the horrible power of the Ring. I wish it had never, never, been found. But don’t mind me, Sam. I must carry the burden to the end. It can’t be altered. You can’t come between me and this doom.’ Nor will Sam, that never was his aim; he just loves his master and will do what duty is set for him to whatever end may be in store. Sam’s lack of imagination and peasant stoicism is, in many ways, Frodo’s salvation.

But as the trudge to Mt Doom begins, Frodo is now all but consumed by the Ring, which is like a great wheel of fire on which he is being sacrificed. As he confesses his utter weariness and defeat, it is only Sam’s artless offer from love, to carry the thing, which rouses Frodo from his utter weariness:

A wild light came into Frodo’s eyes. ‘Stand away! Don’t touch me!’ he cried. ‘It is mine, I say. Be off!’ His hand strayed to his sword-hilt. But then quickly his voice changed. ‘No, no, Sam,’ he said sadly. ‘But you must understand. It is my burden, and no one else can bear it. It is too late now, Sam dear. You can’t help me in that way again. I am almost in its power now. I could not give it up, and if you tried to take it I should go mad.’

But if the reader is imagining that Frodo will now be given the strength to do what needs to be done, Tolkien has another ending in mind. The Ring was, as Frodo had feared, too powerful for him. His sense of duty, and the love of Sam. brought him to Mt Doom, but as he stands by the great fires he shows he has fallen: “‘I have come,’ he said. ‘But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine.”

Only now are the words spoken by Gandalf shown to be prophetic:

‘Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.’

Gollum, consumed as he has been by evil, proves the unexpected source of salvation for Middle Earth – and for Frodo – biting off the finger on which the ring is set, and falling into the fires, to the ruin of the work of the Enemy. Grace and mercy, not the will of Frodo, not all their works, bring salvation.

Sam, of course, after their rescue, looks forward to Frodo being able to resume his old life. One of the main problems with the famous film is that it misses out the whole ‘Scouring of the Shire’ which reveals how Pippin and Merry (and did he but know it, Sam) have grown in stature; it also shows that Frodo knows he will not come into his inheritance. This leads to one of the exchanges which still makes me cry:

‘Are you in pain, Frodo?’ said Gandalf quietly as he rode by Frodo’s side.

‘Well, yes I am,’ said Frodo. ‘It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.’

‘Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,’ said Gandalf.

‘I fear it may be so with mine,’ said Frodo. ‘There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?‘

And at the end, as Sam realises that Frodo is, once again, planning to slip away, there is this:

Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening.

‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.

‘And I can’t come.’

‘No, Sam. Not yet, anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot always be torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.’

‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done.’

‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them. But you are my heir: all that I had and might have had I leave to you.

Frodo knows that what he has done is not for him; his suffering has been an offering to others, not least to Sam.

We cannot know why we are called to suffer, and like Frodo, we can only wish that whatever burden we bear had not come to us. But if we are faithful, we will find from somewhere strength to carry it, though in the process, and in this world, we may ultimately be worn down by it. Without the sacrifice which Jesus made for us, it would indeed be in vain; but He has died not for Himself, but for us, that we might, at the last, be inheritors of the Kingdom.

Church of the Dragonslayers

01 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by Neo in Anglicanism, Church/State, Faith, Tolkien

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Churches of England, Edward the Confessor, J. R. R. Tolkien, Mark Twain, Westminster

I was wandering around in the files of A Clerk of Oxford, which is likely the fairest site of all for general medieval information. Anyway I was struck by how as Mark Twain told us, “History doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes.” And it struck me that can be true even over whole millennia as it is here.

We’re going to talk about church history today but, instead of doctrine, dogma, and all that we’re going to talk about one specific church, and yes, we may take a detour and even refer to J.R.R. Tolkien once or twice. Here is The Clerk to set the scene

The story of Siward.

But first just one or two facts, because Siward, hero of our tale, was a real historical figure. He was born in Denmark, probably a little before the year 1000, and probably came to England during the reign of Cnut, when England was the best place for a young Dane to make a career for himself. By 1042 he was earl of Northumbria, a huge, complicated earldom stretching from the River Humber up north to the borders of Scotland. During Edward the Confessor’s reign Siward also held a southern earldom in the area around Huntingdon/Cambridge/Northampton. He died in 1055 and was buried at York, in a church he had founded and dedicated to the brand-new Norwegian saint Olaf. This suggests he retained a sense of loyalty to his Scandinavian roots, and in English sources he was known as Siward digri, an Old Norse nickname which means ‘big, large’.

And this would be all we knew about Siward, were it not for the fact that his son Waltheof was executed in 1076 for rebellion against William the Conqueror, and was considered to be a martyr and saint by the monks of Crowland Abbey in Lincolnshire, where he was buried.

Right there in the part that we know to be true, we have a pretty interesting story don’t we? But it gets better.

That story is the one we’re concerned with – it’s pure legend, and it’s awesome. It starts like this:

The stories of the ancients say that a certain nobleman, Ursus – whom the Lord permitted, contrary to the normal manner of human procreation, to be created from a white bear as father and a noblewoman as mother – begot Spratlingus; Spratlingus begot Ulsius; Ulsius begot Beorn, nicknamed Beresune, that is, ‘Bear’s Son’. This Beorn was a Dane by race, an excellent earl and famous soldier. However, as a sign of the difference of species between his parents, nature had given him the ears of his father, that is, of a bear. In everything else he was like his mother’s species. And after many deeds of courage and military experiences, he had a son, very brave and a noble imitator of his father’s military skill. His name was Siward.

She add a lot of detail here which is very interesting, and you should read it (link above) including how it parallels parts of The Hobbit, but not overly relevant to my story, anyway, continuing

To return to Siward, the bear’s grandson: filled with youthful ambition, he leaves his father’s house in search of adventure, with fifty companions and a well-stocked ship. He sails from Denmark to the Orkneys, where he lands on an island and is told that its inhabitants are being terrorised by a dragon. When Siward learns this he decides to fight the dragon, and put it to flight from the island. (In doing this he is following in the footsteps of his famous namesake, the most glorious dragon-fighter of Germanic legend, Sigurðr the Völsung). Triumphant, he sets sail again, south to Northumbria, where he has heard there’s another dragon to fight. But when he lands in Northumbria, instead of meeting a dragon, he meets an old man sitting on a mound. Siward asks the old man if he knows where to find the dragon. But the man greets him by name, and says, “Siward, I know well for what reason you have undertaken this journey, to test your strength against a dragon; but you labour in vain, for you will not find it. Go back to your companions, and I will tell you what your fate will be. When you set out on your journey you will have favourable winds, and they will bring you to a river which is called the Thames. There you will find a city called London, and the king there will take you into his favour, and grant you great lands.”

(It’s not quite ‘turn again Whittington, Lord Mayor of London’, but that’s the general idea!)

Siward says he doesn’t believe him, and that if he goes back to his companions and tells them this they will say it’s nonsense. But as a token of his trustworthiness the old man presents him with a banner, and says its name is ‘Ravenlandeye’ – a name which is interpreted as ‘Raven, terror of the land’. Siward takes the banner and goes back to his ship, and all the old man’s words come true: he is guided to London, and goes to find King Edward. The king has heard of his coming, and accepts Siward into his service. Siward stays with the king and distinguishes himself so much that King Edward promises that the first high honour which becomes available in the land will be given to him.

Okey-Dokey, no epic battles with dragons but poor boy makes good is not bad is it?

Then one day it happens that Siward is travelling from Westminster to London when he encounters an enemy of the king, a Danish man named Tostig, earl of Huntingdon. The king hates Tostig because he’s married to the queen’s sister, a daughter of Earl Godwine. (This figure gets his name from the half-Danish Tostig Godwineson, who was in fact King Edward’s brother-in-law, but this really has no basis in history). Siward and Tostig meet at a bridge over the river, which is so narrow that as haughty Tostig passes he splashes Siward’s cloak with mud. (In those days, adds the monk of Crowland, men wore long animal-fur cloaks.) Siward takes Tostig’s behaviour as an insult, and decides to get revenge. He lies in wait for Tostig, and as the earl returns across the bridge, Siward draws his sword and cuts off his head. Concealing the head beneath his cloak, he goes to the court and asks the king to make him earl of Huntingdon, because that earldom is vacant. The king says he must be joking – the earldom isn’t vacant, the earl’s only just left him! But Siward produces Tostig’s head from beneath his cloak and throws it at the king’s feet. King Edward, remembering his promise, has no choice but to grant the vacant earldom to Siward.

Siward leaves the court and seeks out his companions, and finds them fighting against Tostig’s men. They kill them all and bury them near London, at a place which becomes known as the ‘Danes’ Church’ – ‘and so it is to this day’, says the Crowland monk in the thirteenth century (and so it is to this day).

Pretty neat story, all in all, and I enjoyed it, but I wondered what happened to that church, so I looked it up (link above)

William the Conqueror rebuilt it first and it was rebuilt again in the Middle Ages. By the end of the seventeenth century is was such bad repair that it was demolished and rebuilt by Sir Christopher Wren, its organ was installed in 1690. And it continued on until on 10 May 1940 it was gutted by the German Luftwaffe, pretty much only the shell and the steeple survived.

As we all know, things were tough in the UK after World War II, and so the shell just sat there until in 1958, it was restored by, and was reconsecrated as the central church of the Royal Air Force, as it is today.

As part of the rebuilding, the following Latin inscription was added under the restored Royal coat of arms:

AEDIFICAVIT CHR WREN
AD MDCLXXII
DIRUERUNT AERII BELLI
FULMINA AD MCMXLI
RESTITUIT REGINAE CLASSIS
AERONAUTICA AD MCMLVIII

which translates as: “Built by Christopher Wren 1682. Destroyed by the thunderbolts of air warfare 1941. Restored by the Royal Air Force 1958 (from Wikipedia, as is the following)

The Polish memorial

The floor of the church, of Welsh slate, is inscribed with the badges of over 800 RAF commands, groups, stations, squadrons and other formations. Near the entrance door is a ring of the badges of Commonwealth air forces, surrounding the badge of the RAF.

A memorial to the Polish airmen and squadrons who fought in the defence of the United Kingdom and the liberation of Europe in World War II is positioned on the floor of the north aisle.

Books of Remembrance listing the names of all the RAF personnel who have died in service, as well as those American airmen based in the United Kingdom who died during World War Two.

Near the altar are plaques listing the names of RAF, Royal Flying Corps and Royal Naval Air Service personnel awarded the Victoria Cross and the George Cross.

Most of the furniture in the church are donations from various people and nations, including the organ donated (and installed in a replica of the 1690 case) by the US Air Force.

Altogether a fitting thing, I think, a church founded by warriors who started out on a quest to fight dragons, now is home to those few who clipped the wings of the Nazi Dragon and began the destruction of its lair.

But there is one more chapter to the story. For at the end of the Second World War there was one dragon left in Europe, and like Siward’s grandfather it was a were-bear, the Soviet Union. But eventually by that same triumvirate of Poles, British, and Americans destroyed it as well. And here at the church of the dragonslayers, the very last dragonslayer of the twentieth century would pause.

But this one would be different, not the son of a Danish nobleman out to make a career, but the smart and pretty daughter of a British grocer, but like those Danes long ago, she was not for turning.

And perhaps that is why Margaret, the Baroness Thatcher’s, funeral paused here, at St. Clement Danes, where Siward claimed the earldom of Huntingdon, long ago, and where modern men remember the dragonslayers of three nations, her casket was transfered to the gun carriage for the trip to St. Pauls.

Frodo and the mystery of suffering

02 Sunday Feb 2014

Posted by JessicaHoff in Faith, Tolkien

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

Christianity, Faith, fiction, Frodo, Marian Devotion

But as the trudge to Mt Doom, Frodo is now all but consumed by the Ring, which is like a great wheel of fire on which he is being sacrificed. As he confesses his utter weariness and defeat, it is only Sam’s artless offer from love, to carry the thing, which rouses Frodo from his utter weariness:

Only now are the words spoken by Gandalf shown to be prophetic:

‘Are you in pain, Frodo?’ said Gandalf quietly as he rode by Frodo’s side.

‘Well, yes I am,’ said Frodo. ‘It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.’

‘Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,’ said Gandalf.

And at the end, as Sam realises that Frodo is, once again, planning to slip away, there is this:

Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening.

‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.

‘And I can’t come.’

‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done.’

Frodo knows that what he has done is not for him; his suffering has been an offering to others, not least to Sam.

Tolkien and Biblical Cosmology

22 Wednesday Jan 2014

Posted by Nicholas in Bible, Blogging, Tolkien

≈ 16 Comments

My recent phase in Christian reading has involved the supernatural. I recently read Francis Frangipane’s The Three Battlegrounds, which is about spiritual warfare, and Bill Johnson’s When Heaven Invades Earth and The Supernatural Power of a Transformed Mind, which are on the relationship between miracles and preaching the Kingdom of Heaven. Needless to say, this sort of reading reminds one of angels and demons, the unseen spiritual world that has a very real impact on the seen world. Readers of my posts will know that I enjoy fantasy books and games and that I am a fan of JRR Tolkien. Being a devout Catholic, intentionally or not, he imbued his created world (Middle-Earth is only part of it) with a cosmology that in many ways parallels our own. He was, of course, deeply interested in fairytales, mythology and folklore from many ethnicities, not only the Germanic groups; the ideas from this realm were also worked into his creation, so the result is a fusion, rather than a pure mirroring.

A wonderful place to observe this is the Ainulindale, which is the story of Eru Iluvatar, the one god, creating his children, the Ainur (singular Ainu), and through them the world (Arda, *ard* being a stem that means earth in Germanic languages). The Ainur are often referred to as ‘gods’ and are known among the elves and humans as the Valar (singular Vala), which means “Powers”. Students of the Bible and mythology will see something interesting in this choice of name. On the one hand, this pantheon of gods who are the powers of the world resembles the pantheons of pagan mythology. Manwe, Tolkien’s sky-god, bears a resemblance to Zeus or Odin as the chief-god among the Valar. On the other hand, Christians know that “Powers” (according to some translations) is an angelic rank, found in Ephesians 6:12 and Colossians 1:16. Eru Iluvatar is in this scheme the one god, and the Valar, although co-laborourers in Creation, from this angle resemble angels rather than gods.

The Creation itself is accomplished through song, and each of the Ainur contributes a part to the theme and melody, even those who will later be manifested as wicked. This theme in the Ainulindale is worth noting. Needless to say, it mirrors how the Father spoke Creation into being through the Word, His Son Jesus Christ. Just as Iluvatar’s children, the Ainur, are co-labourers, so Adam was with God in that God permitted him to name the animals (Genesis 2:19-20) – for more on this co-labouring theme (which incidently is a strong point of Catholic and charismatic theology as applied to the Church), see Bill Johnson’s book, The Supernatural Power of a Transformed Mind. I struggle to explain it (except to say that I enjoy music and it stirs the soul), but there is something about this Creation through music theme that I find very moving. In pagan thought and witchcraft spells and music are inseparable (the Greek word for spell also means a song and our Latin word incantation has the *can* root, which means to sing) – evidently they thought music had a creative power.

As in our own world, so in Tolkien’s there is corruption and evil. Tolkien’s theology of evil as expressed in The Silmarillion and other works is excellent. He notes that Melkor, his Satan-figure, had no creative power of his own. Although in a sense this evil god is a father of various races (Orcs, Dragons etc), in reality all he is doing is corrupting things that already exist. Orcs are a corruption of Elves, just as Werewolves and Vampires are a manifestion of the demonic in flesh, a corruption of wolves and bats.

Melkor’s sin, like Satan’s, is essentially pride and violence. Just as Satan says, ‘I will exalt myself above the stars [read angels] of God”, so Melkor tries to assert his control over the Ainur. In the song of Creation, while the rest of the Ainur are manking harmonious, united music, he inserts his own arrogant, discordant themes, like the braying of a trumpet amidst the beauty of the strings. He seeks out empty places where he can be by himself, and there his pride, his self-centredness grows, separated from the harmony and the community of the Ainur. Like Satan, he receives a name change. “Satan” is a Hebrew word, and means Accuser or Enemy; this title refers to Satan’s function: he is the enemy of God, seeking ruin everything that God has created, and he is the accuser of Man, especially the Saints; Revelation 12:10 says that Satan accuses the Saints before God day and night. We are not sure what Satan’s name was before his fall; Christians commonly call him Lucifer in this context, a name which is taken from St Jerome’s Vulgate translation of Isaiah 14:12. The Hebrew of this verse says heylel ben shahar”, which means something like “shining one, son of the dawn”. Melkor is, if you like, the “original name”, but he is given a new name by the Elves when he assaults them and steals their creation, the Silmarils. They give him the name Morgoth, which means “dark enemy” a name that clearly parallels Satan in meaning. Just as Satan has his kingdom of darkness, the fallen angels who serve under him, so Melkor has his spirit servants, the chief of whom is Sauron. Sauron is, like Satan/Morgoth, a name given by the Elves and Men to this spirit and means “the abhorred”.

Side note, the Greek word daimon, from which the word demon comes, is used of unclean spirits in the New Testament as cast out by Jesus and Christians, often in the diminutive form daimonion. What people may not know is that this word comes from Greek theology and cosmology and religious practice. While we are used to thinking of the Greek word theos as being applied to “gods” like Zeus, Athene etc, the reader may be surprised to know that the term daimon was also used of the gods as well as lesser spirits and minor gods. For further information, see the entry in Liddel and Scott’s Greek Lexicon: http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/morph?l=daimwn&la=greek#lexicon .

I shall leave it here as this post has gotten long, but I’d be happy to write a follow-up on Elves, Men, and the Istari if requested.