Finding God in The Lord of the Rings by Kurt Bruner;Jim Ware; & Jim Ware

Author:Kurt Bruner;Jim Ware; & Jim Ware [Bruner, Kurt & Ware, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: RELIGION / Christianity / Literature & the Arts, RELIGION / Christian Living / Spiritual Growth
Publisher: Tyndale House (eBook)
Published: 2021-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

It is the invitation to water the seed of courage found deep within your heart. It inspires the passionless dulled by comfort and ease to resist the urge to place personal safety and preservation above the call to adventure, and instead, to become a hero.

REFLECTION

We were made to be heroic.

THE LAST HOMELY HOUSE

We have reached Rivendell, but the Ring is not yet at rest.

GANDALF IN THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING,

“MANY MEETINGS”

Frodo awoke not knowing where he was. The bed was soft, the rafters above his head were richly carved—Elvin work, no doubt. There was sunlight in the room and the sound of running water outside. He stirred, sat up, and caught his breath. The wound in his shoulder was healing; he could move his arm again! And who was this at his bedside? Was it possible? It was! None other than old Gandalf himself! There he sat, watching Frodo judiciously and puffing out smoke rings that lazily wreathed his head before finding their way to the paneled ceiling.

What place was this, and how had he come there? Of this he had no recollection. All he could recall was the feeling of faintness and fear—piercing, cold, suffocating fear. Then it came back to him: the desperate flight across the Ford of Bruinen, with the bells of Glorfindel’s horse jingling furiously under him, with the Nine Riders, cold, gray, burning-eyed wraiths, hard on his trail. There had been a flood, he remembered. He could still picture the river rising in crested waves that looked like wild, angry horses with long, flowing manes. And flames of white fire. And the din of crashing foam, and a cacophony of terrible cries. And then . . . nothing.

And now? Well, it was apparent—how, he had no idea—that the danger was past, at least for the time being, and that he had indeed reached Rivendell at last. The long hoped for, but often despaired of, goal of their journey’s first leg. Rivendell. The House of Elrond Halfelven. The Last Homely House east of the Sundering Seas.

And what a house it was! As Sam said of it, “There’s something of everything here!” It was a place of many meetings, many glad reunions, many happy surprises. A place to sleep and eat and grow strong, to steep oneself in fellowship with the good, the noble, and the wise. A house of healing, refreshment, renewal, and desperately needed rest. Rivendell was a haven of light in a world that was growing darker by the day. Best of all, it was a citadel of Elven-lore, a repository of the old songs and stories, almost the last of its kind in Middle-earth.

Never afterwards would Sam or Frodo forget the night they sat in Elrond’s Hall of Fire amongst elves and elf-friends and listened to old Bilbo chant a song of his own composition about Eärendil, the father of Elrond. “Eärendil was a mariner,” the song began; an intercessor on behalf of Elves and Men, who sailed away into the West with the Silmaril on his brow to plead for help against the gathering Darkness.

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