By employing the word “emerging,” I’m referring to me, not any church or movement.

Into whatever hole I had fallen over the last several months, starting back in August with the post Losing My Way and then having my descent exacerbated or accelerated by my mother’s death in October, I’m believe I am at last free from both the fall and the abyss. Not surprisingly, I don’t seem to be altogether the same person that fell into the hole.

In a later post, I had likened my situation to that of Gandalf who, in battle with a balrog, fell into Khazad-Dûm, a seemingly bottomless darkness. I was not comparing myself to Gandalf – he is, after all, an angelic figure in The Lord of the Rings – but was rather identifying with the sense of falling into a deep, dark spaceless and timeless void. But, even as Gandalf emerged, so I now think that I have come out of the feelings of hopelessness and despair that pulled me down so deeply.

Gandalf emerged as Gandalf the White, the head of his order, more powerful than previously. I certainly have not fared so well: I’m hardly angelic these days; but then, that is no different than previously. The truth is, I am not totally convinced to whom I might liken myself these days.

There is much about me, I am told, that reminds people of Aragorn. It is a flattering comparison, no doubt, and one that I supposed I chased after for a long time: the unrecognized one who would some day be revealed and granted the opportunity to serve in a position of high responsibility and privilege. Unlike Aragorn in the movie – but much like him in the book and cds – I had few doubts about my destiny, purpose, and ability. It was something I sought and for which I believed myself to be prepared and equipped.

I sought it in vain, as has been shown by my history, which does not lie; I sought it vainly as well, perhaps, which might explain the history. But who among us can claim to have an ego so pure that it does not seek recognition or the acclaim of our peers?

I no longer aspire to Aragorn. I would like to think of myself – again in a most flattering and favorable comparison – to Faramir, the faithful captain of Gondor and short-lived Steward of Gondor. When the king appeared, he stepped aside and yielded to one better than himself. Faramir, in the book, was a pure and noble man. The line of the Númenoreans was strong in him, as it had been in his father but not Boromir, his brother.

Of late, I have been drawn to identify with Tom Bombadil. Those of you who have only seen the wonderful movies are unfamiliar with this intriguing character from the books and cds. The hobbits are rescued by him early in their journey and stay with him at his home. Tom lives with his wife, Goldberry, and cares little about the cares of the world. He is a powerful man, similar to but greater than Beorn in The Hobbit, and over him the ring has no power. Indeed, when Frodo slips on the ring while in Tom’s presence, Bombadil looks right at him and scolds him for putting it on: Frodo was invisible to all others, but not to Tom. When Tom asks to see the ring, Frodo easily gives it to him; when Tom puts the ring on his own finger, a remarkable thing happens: nothing! Tom does not become invisible; the ring does not appeal to him nor have power over him. He is free.

At one point during the council of Elrond, several in attendance discuss Tom. Elrond is speaking as we pick up the dialogue:

‘He [Bombadil] is a strange creature, but maybe I should have summoned him to our Council.’

“‘ He would not have come,’ said Gandalf.

“‘Could we not still send messages to him and obtain his help?’ asked Erestor. ‘It seems that he has a power even over the Ring.’

“‘ No, I should not put it so,’ said Gandalf. ‘Say rather that the Ring has no power over him. He is his own master. But he cannot alter the Ring itself, nor break its power over others. And now he is withdrawn into a little land, within bounds that he has set, though none can see them, waiting perhaps for a change of days, and he will not step beyond them.’

“‘But within those bounds nothing seems to dismay him,’ said Erestor. ‘Would he not take the Ring and keep it there, for ever harmless?’

“‘No,’ said Gandalf, ‘not willingly. He might do so, if all the free folk of the world begged him, but he would not understand the need. And if he were given the Ring, he would soon forget it, or most likely throw it away. Such things have no hold on his mind. He would be a most unsafe guardian; and that alone is answer enough.’

“‘But in any case,’ said Glorfindel, ‘to send the Ring to him would only postpone the day of evil . . . soon or late the Lord of the Rings would learn of its hiding place and would bend all his power towards it. Could that power be defied by Bombadil alone? I think not. I think that in the end, if all else is conquered, Bombadil will fall.’” – pp. 258-259, Book Two, The Lord of the Rings

There is something about Tom Bombadil that feels familiar to me. Not the power or invulnerability to the Ring, but the detachment and lack of desire for things once pursued. Tom cares about the world about him – he rescues the hobbits not once but twice, after all – but somehow does not feel compelled to engage it directly. He does what he was created to do, it seems, and when opportunity to do good or to help comes to his attention, he does so. He epitomizes Pr 30.8-9 and Ps 131.1:

Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is my portion, that I not be full and deny You and say, ‘Who is the LORD?’ or that I not be in want and steal, and profane the name of my God.”

“O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty; nor do I involve myself in great matters, or in things too difficult for me.”

Tom is content, it seems, to be a simple man who lives out his life in relative – and peaceful – obscurity. He knows what goes on in the world but stays in his place, doing the work before him, enjoying God’s creation, and delighting in the wife of his youth. It is an appealing image and one to which it is tempting to aspire.

But closer to the mark, I think, is Bilbo. He played his part in the great saga – as recorded in The Hobbit – but now his time for active duty has passed. He is a caring, concerned spectator and historian of that which goes on about him. But he is grown old and the time for battle is beyond both his desire and ability. His wisdom, if it may be called that, is not without value, but he diminishes as Frodo becomes greater. The most famous of all the hobbits, as Sam rightly predicts, is not Bilbo but Frodo.

My fifty-sixth birthday is upon me in a few weeks and – while hardly as respectable an age as eleventy-one! – it feels as though it is time to go to Rivendell. To heed the advice of Paul: “to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life and attend to your own business and work with your hands” (1 Thes 4.11). It sounds quite appealing and right.


2 Cor 1:13