What Matters Most
musings on the mundane and magnificent from a Christian perspective
Have you seen it yet? The new Amazon TV series, The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power is finally here! And while not everyone in the world is a Tolkien fan (for some unknown reason), for those of us who are, this is a big deal. We are seeing depictions of places in Middle-earth that we never thought we’d see on screen.
Which got me thinking – of all the varied geography, of all the distinct realms, anywhere on the map of Middle-earth – which is my favorite? If the impossible was possible and I could live anywhere in Middle-earth, where would it be?
And, like the hobbit Sam, I’m afraid I’m torn in two. There are two places, each quite different from the other, that speak to me, two places I would be equally delighted to dwell in.
The Shire
I can think of nothing better than spending summer in the Shire. That’s probably when it’s at its best. Strawberries and cream. The fragrance of flowers filling the air. And all the rich fields and quiet lanes bathed in clean, warm sunlight. From Michel Delving to the Old Forest, from the North Farthing to Longbottom, I would want to see it all.
When I think of the Shire, I think of Bilbo’s poetic description. I think “of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that were.” I think of fertile fields lined with well-ordered hedgerows. And I picture a busy night in the Green Dragon, drinks and laughter flowing.
And I think of hobbits: simple folk, simple in the best sense. The kind you want as neighbors. Friendly folk who are quick to jest. Those who remain generous, steady, and content year after year. Because, when you’re surrounded by the beauty of the Shire, how can you not be content? When you know that each summer will be as rich as the last, when each harvest will be as bountiful as before, and winter is just a reminder that spring will come again.
And in the Shire alone, of all the places in Middle-earth, is a glimpse of Lothlorien, my other would-be home. For in the newly-scoured Shire, on the foundation of the old tree in the Party Field, a new tree took root. And not just any tree – a mallorn, with silver bark and golden flowers. An Elven gift for the blessed and beloved Shire.
Lothlorien
I’m not fluent in Elvish, sadly, but I believe the translation of Lothlorien is dream flower. According to Treebeard (and he would know), the old Elvish name for it was Laurelindorenan, or Land of the Valley of Singing Gold. I would love to look out of my window and see dream flowers in a valley of singing gold.
Whatever it’s called, to me, this is the one place in all of Middle-earth most like Aman, the Blessed Realm. Heaven on earth.
Sure, I’d like to see Gondolin, but I’m too claustrophobic to go through the mountain tunnel to get there. And I’d want to walk in the woods of Doriath and feel the power that protects that realm. But I would choose to live in Lothlorien – a land where elves reside and peace reigns. “On the land of Lorien no shadow lay.”
Or as Sam so aptly put it, it’s “like being at home and on a holiday at the same time.”
To look out upon Lorien is like seeing something both new and familiar. When Frodo first opened his eyes there, he saw colors he knew but they were fresh and alive. He was seeing what he had seen his whole life, but he was seeing it anew in the light of Lorien. “A light was upon it for which his language had no name.” I want to make my home in that light.
But not just anywhere in this enchanted land: one place in particular – the hill of Cerin Amroth, a place awash with memory and meaning. For here on a Midsummer’s Eve long ago, an elf maiden and a mortal man stood together, drawn together. And a choice was made, the shadow was rejected, and hope was renewed.
Hope. The land of Lothlorien is full of it. And I would want to bask in its golden glow. To lie down in a bed of elanor and niphredil, to gaze up at the star of Earendil through the mallorn trees, to breathe the mystical air. To do “little but eat and drink and rest, and walk among the trees.” And just like it was for the Company when they went there, that would be enough for me, too.
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I may never be a resident of Middle-earth, but I can be a frequent visitor in the pages of these books I love so much. Works that speak of lost tales and far away places, of deeds of long ago, of a world that doesn’t exist but that you almost wish did.
And now I can go to Middle-earth onscreen also, thanks to Amazon. Will you tune in as well?
If so, I’ll see you there. I’ll meet you in Middle-earth, for a little while.
(All quotations from The Fellowship of the Ring, by J. R. R. Tolkien)
Is it just me? Hopefully, I’m not the only one talking about The Lord of the Rings these days! According to my Facebook feed and Google suggestions, I’m not. Because with Amazon’s new series, The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, it seems Middle-earth has gone mainstream. And I’m here for it. I’m here to momentarily press pause on my usual topics of choice in order to celebrate the works of my favorite author, J. R. R. Tolkien. (You can read Part 1 here.)
Much has been written about the magnificent mythology that is The Silmarillion, which was published after his death, and The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I could add many of my own thoughts, but what strikes me most about The Lord of the Rings, perhaps his most well-known book, is easy to miss at first glance. But it’s worth noting.
And it’s spelled out on the final two pages.
Tolkien could’ve ended the book with the hobbits saying goodbye on the shores of the sea, and with the Elves, Gandalf, and Frodo boarding the ship, which went out into the West and carried Frodo to new shores and undying lands. “And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.” (The Return of The King, J. R. R. Tolkien)
The bookends of the story are complete: Frodo’s dream in the house of Tom Bombadil and his entrance into the Blessed Realm – the dream he had at the beginning of the book now fulfilled at the end. So, the story could have ended here, and what an ending that would have been – poignant and pure.
But it didn’t, and this choice of an ending reveals much.
While Frodo and the others set sail, the remaining hobbits watched their departure, staring across the sea into the night. Long they remained there with heavy hearts until at last they turned for home. They took the long road slowly and silently, until Merry and Pippin turned off, singing as they went.
And Sam continued and “came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap. He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.” (The Return of the King, J. R. R. Tolkien)
That is where the book ends – at home, with family, in warm firelight, enjoying what was undoubtedly a very good meal (hobbits are notorious foodies).
The whole story ends with Sam simply saying “I’m back.”
I’m back. And he eats dinner, he and Rosie put the kids to bed, and they all get up the next morning – another day in the Shire.
And the story goes on. So we see that it isn’t just about grand adventures, about the high and lofty deeds of the great. It’s about everything that comes after. It’s about the daily adventure of living life with the people you love in the place you call home.
Hence, the story doesn’t end with Frodo going to Valinor – it ends with Sam going to the Shire, going home, to light and love.
It all starts and ends in the Shire, the true bookends of the story. All the adventures they undertook, the battles they fought, the miles they traveled – they did it all to protect the ones back home; they did it so they could have a place to come home to. And they did it together.
Home, family, friendship – love. This is the heartbeat of The Lord of the Rings, the steady, pulsing rhythm that beats loud and clear across the pages.
What a beautiful sound it is.
I’m standing in the back of a cemetery surrounded by a sea of grey stone. I breathe in the English air and simply stand there, content not to be cognizant of the time or the notifications on my phone. Not far from me, suburban traffic whizzes by, but I take no notice. I’m completely engrossed by what’s in front of me: a large headstone adorned with trinkets left by visitors like me.
The names listed tell who is buried here, but it’s two other names that are most striking. “Beren” and “Luthien” are written underneath the names of J. R. R. Tolkien and his wife, Edith. I am deep in Wolvercote Cemetery in Oxford, England, at my favorite author’s grave. And there is nowhere in the world I’d rather be right now.
Since that trip across the pond over a decade ago, my love for Tolkien’s works has not waned. The fictional world he created is easy to get lost in. The beauty of both his prose and poems is enchanting. Each word perfectly crafted, each tale rich and ripe. He writes about beautiful things in the most beautiful way.
I love his writing. And I love the fact that it marks his final resting place. There’s something so powerful in the fact that, of all he wrote over his whole life, it all boils down to two names on a grave: Beren, a mortal man mighty in the lineage of the kings of men, and Luthien, an immortal elf princess and the most beautiful creature ever to walk Middle-earth. The love they shared overthrew a tyrant and was more valuable than the Silmarils – the jewels they recovered from his hand.
As I understand it, the heart of all of Tolkien’s writing is The Silmarillion. He set out to write a grand mythology and dedicate it to England, constantly revising it and adding to it over the course of his life. And the heart of The Silmarillion is the tale of Beren and Luthien. He identified the character of Luthien with his wife Edith, with her dark hair, singing and dancing as they wandered in the woods together. So, at the root of all his writing – all the songs and tales, all the adventures – at the center of it all is love.
And the proof of this is carved in a grey granite slab – a testament for generations to come of love that defied the shadow.
Conquering love, defiant hope, and people and places worth protecting. These themes fill both The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings, the latter being the subject of a new TV series on Amazon. The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power is based on the book and the delightful material in the appendices but takes place in an earlier age in the chronology of Middle-earth. Perhaps the show will be the making of new Tolkien fans, sending them to the book for the first time.
It can be daunting to crack open The Lord of the Rings as a newbie. It’s a wonderful read – but not a short one. So, to sum it up, what is the meaning of this voluminous work? What’s it all about?
In a word – home. To me, that is what the book is all about. Home and the people you love who live there.
And that is a book well worth reading, whether in your favorite armchair or on a plane headed overseas, like me on that trip to England. I love traveling, and I loved that trip years ago. Walking in Tolkien’s footsteps around Oxford was worth the trek, more than worth it. But also – having tea with my mom in Harrod’s, going to the theater, walking in Jane Austen’s footsteps in Bath. And, perhaps most of all, beholding the warm, clean beauty of the English countryside, the real-life Shire.
I love seeing new places, learning new things, and making memories that last long after you’ve unpacked. I think it’s important to have a global perspective. We need to remember that we are not alone in the world, that our problems are not the only problems on the planet, that we have a shared humanity – even with those who don’t look like us or think like us.
Travel, whether to destinations near or far, has much to love about it. But what I love most is coming home. Having a place to come home to – and people who embrace you when you get there. It’s the view that beats any scenic vista: framed photographs on the mantle, pets waiting for you on the couch, and people – your people.
Like the hobbit Bilbo said, the road goes on. See where it leads. Wander through woods and wilderness. Join the company in The Prancing Pony or wherever you find yourself. Talk to those from distant lands and share tales. See the mountains. See the sights. See it all. And then head home – the one corner in all the world you call your own, to the people you’d risk everything for to protect.
Go there and back again.