What About Bombadil?

A good friend I frequently meet for coffee on Friday mornings always brings up stimulating topics for discussion. He and I are often drawn to the same kind of books, and J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic fantasy The Lord of the Rings offers plenty of material for our conversations.

The last time we met we happened onto the subject (I forget how or why) of that funny, surprising, enigmatic character named Tom Bombadil.

Of course, in the wondrous made-up world of Middle Earth, Tolkien has placed a host of fascinating, imaginative, complex persons: hobbits, wizards, goblins, elves, dwarves, trolls, giant tree-people...even humans! Names such as Gandalf, Frodo, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn...just to name a few of the important ones...poplulate the story’s pages. In the course of this lengthy tale, Frodo Baggins and his friends meet up with surprising secondary characters such as the Gaffer, Farmer Maggot, Barliman Butterbur, Bill Ferny, Elrond, Treebeard, King Theoden...and the list goes on.

Tom Bombadil, however, stands totally alone. His very existence presents a unique puzzle to every Tolkien fan you might chance to speak to. Ask a LOTR reader, “What do you make of Bombadil?” and you are bound to get one of any number of answers and opinions.

For the uninitiated, Bombadil is a man (apparently), fairly short by human standards, who lives in the midst of the Old Forest bordering the Shire where most of the hobbits live. He is heavy and brown bearded with a weathered red face, and spends his time hopping and dancing through the hills and the woods, making paths along the river valley, gathering water lilies for his pretty lady who lives with him, and singing nonsensical songs about himself and his little land. A brief example of his singing:

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket is and his boots are yellow.
None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the Master;
His songs are stronger songs and his feet are faster!

It’s interesting to note that, while Tom often sings or chants verses to communicate--to others and to himself--pretty much everything he has to say follows the same metrical, poetic pattern! Obviously, there is a kind of rhythmic flow to his thoughts and speech that wells up from deep inside him.

Bombadil displays an awesome, elemental kind of power over both the natural world and the spirit world. For example, when an enormous willow tree tries to engulf or devour two of the hobbits, Tom rescues them by shouting at the tree, beating it with a branch and singing into the crack in the tree’s trunk. The old willow obeys Tom’s command like an angry, wayward child. Later, when a ghostly barrow-wight captures Frodo and the other hobbits, Bombadil arrives to save them once again after Frodo remembers a call for help that Tom taught him to recite earlier.

Tom Bombadil’s pretty lady, Goldberry, also a kind of elemental being--described by Tom as the “river daughter”--had some things to say about Tom as well. When Frodo asked whether Tom was the owner of the surrounding woods where their house was situated, Goldberry replied, “No, indeed! That would indeed be a burden...But Tom Bombadil is master! No one has ever caught Tom yet. Tom Bombadil is master!”

I recall an illuminating interview with Ian McKellan, the excellent actor who portrayed Gandalf the wizard in Peter Jackson’s LOTR movies. An admittedly gay man, McKellan obviously rejected the idea of finding any Christian symbolism in the writings of Tolkien. He pointed out that, in the idealistic realm of Middle Earth, there is no such thing as a church, clearly implying that, in a utopian society, Christianity would be an unnecessary commodity.

It is clear to me, however, that J.R.R. Tolkien’s Christian understandings of creation and of God Himself permeate the fictional world that flowed from his pen.

Tom Bombadil is, to me, a clear example of this fact.

Attributes of Christianity’s God characterize this jolly, wise, powerful, untroubled being, whose presence in the story provides a restful haven for the four hobbits who are being pursued by the evil forces of Mordor’s dark lord. In the house of Tom Bombadil, the travelers spend several days of peace and renewal, while the old man tells them marvelous tales about the natural world, the history of bygone kingdoms, and indeed, pre-history stretching back to the dawn of time. Tom’s memory and wisdom are awesome and profound. And when Frodo lends him the magical ring of power that all the free peoples consider such a terrifying threat, Bombadil merely laughs, tosses it in the air and makes it vanish and reappear like he’s playing with a trivial trinket.

In short, Tom Bombadil seems to represent the joyful, free, sovereign, omnipotent, all-wise nature of our Heavenly Father. A Being who has no fear, who can treat the weighty troubles of this world as the trifles they truly are, when compared to Him.

When the Black Riders of this age of the “real world” are hunting us down to destroy or devour me, when I weary of the journey and the dark forests and forbidding mountains along the path, when I get lost and bewildered and the enemies of my soul threaten to enchant and entrap me...

...it is at those times that I am invited to repair to the home up, down, underhill...a quiet, safe haven that is untroubled and free of care...a realm where a joyful Master can chase away all attackers with a song that seems like nonsense...and then can turn about and teach me the secrets of the universe as I sit at His feet.

It’s truly a shame that this peculiar character didn’t make the cut when Peter Jackson and his team wrote the screenplay for their films...perhaps they just didn’t know what to make of him.

But to me, Tom Bombadil will always inspire me to find in my untroubled God a sweet haven of peace along the dangerous road of life’s journey

MNA
7/3/15

A Man Called "Bill"

A boy who loved his mom and worked the land,

Who made his friends with ease and lent a hand

In times when scarcity made living hard;

He grew up loving peace and standing guard.

This child who heard of conflicts far away

He went to shore up freedom in his day...

Returning with his patriot heart still warm,

He chose to stand guard in another form.

And, marrying well, he drove his brave patrol

With children watching him fulfill his role.

So, whether daughter's eyes, or wife's, or sons',

All saw in him a peace not forged by guns.

Indeed, I well remember Father's claim

That suspects don't deserve a crippling shame.

He taught me that all men deserve respect--

To try hard in the bad, good to detect.

In fact, I find it rare that Dad would speed

To judge a fellow man of careless deed.

Yes, many lessons he has left behind...

And, as he mounts in years, we children find

That Father's shoes become harder to fill.

And that we'll always love a man called "Bill."

The Argument

We often hear the old saw: "There are two sides to every argument." I think the reason this proverb exists is that, for all our accumulated wisdom, truth is often hard to come by or to clearly discern.

This past week we all heard the horrifying news of yet another seemingly mindless shooting incident that rocked a church in South Carolina--a congregation peacefully gathered to offer up prayers and praises to God. The perpetrator of this murderous outrage snuffed out the lives of nine men and women, ostensibly because of their skin color. He is a young man in his twenties, obviously racist, whose father had given him a gun for his birthday.

Today, on the other hand, I have the privilege of delivering a brief address at another young man's graduation ceremony. This one is the oldest of eight children, home-schooled his entire life, who now plans to attend a Christian college in Florida. As far as I know, he is a loving, obedient son, a loyal and exemplary brother, a sharp, insightful student, and an honest, hard worker.

I asked my daughter on the phone yesterday what she thought I should say to this eager young graduate...what encouragement she would have appreciated at his age when she anticipated the beginning of "life on one's own" in an uncertain world. After marveling that this youngster she and I had known for so long had so suddenly arrived at this juncture in his life, she suggested that I counsel him to take time to get to know people. Resist the urge to isolate himself and bury himself in his studies, shutting out the world at large. Good advice, I thought, and told her so.

There often appears to be a two-sided argument when it comes to people. There always seems to develop among groups large and small a definite "pecking order," to use the old barnyard metaphor. Often, we are tempted to fall into this pattern of evaluating and categorizing the other homo sapiens we know personally, encounter casually, or view from a distance. Some rise to the top of the heap, others sink to the bottom, based on talent, appearance, economics, intelligence, physical prowess, religion, philosophy, upbringing, personal hygiene...the list of value factors goes on.

But the argument in its basic form is one of worthiness, it seems to me. That young man in South Carolina had come to the shocking conclusion that some of the people around him weren't worthy enough to go on living. Whatever hateful, fanatical, twisted thoughts or propaganda had led him to that conclusion are not really the issue. The type of weapon he used or its availability doesn't really matter much either. What truly matters is that the worthiness of one human life ought never to be an argument with two sides.

People die every day all over the world. People have been dying for thousands of years ever since Adam and Eve. Some have given back the life-gift God gave them in a willing, noble fashion, many even choosing to sacrifice it for the lives of others. Many...too many...have had that gift stripped or ripped from them by the two-sided argument of someone who counted them unworthy.

The young man graduating today has been taught faithfully by a loving mom and dad over the last eighteen years, taught that a gracious God has given life as a free gift--the most precious gift of all. He counts every person alive to be worthy of this gift, no matter where, what, who, and how they are.

And God expects every person alive to cherish and protect this gift--for oneself, and for all others.

Fantasy Lost

I dreamed of children soaring
to isles beyond the blue...
but the dust of fairies faltered
once they’d aged a year or two.

Sweet pixies used to sparkle
and flit a merry dance...
until love’s cool rejection
rained a mire upon romance.

Unicorns often galloped
through meadows of my mind...
their twisted horns were bloodied
when I left boyhood behind.

My playmates once took pleasure
in simple jest and sport...
now, "play" means a casino
or an overpriced resort.

Bright eyes reflected wonder,
adventure, friendship, fun...
then, lust and greed and boredom
rose like tow’rs to block the sun.

Remembering the treasure
we gathered without cost...
I long to flee and vanish,
following that which was lost.


MNA  6.3.2015

Crying Out in the Darkness

“Count your blessings, name them one by one, and it will surprise you what the Lord has done...”

If you are like me, you can echo the words of that cheerful song most of the days of your life, and you can list blessing after blessing given to you by our gracious God. As Ethan the Ezrahite says in Psalm 89, “The heavens are yours, and yours also the earth; you founded the world and all that is in it.” Every breath I take, every beat of my heart, every wonder of nature I behold, is a good gift from my heavenly Father. And the greatest gift of all is the gift of forgiveness and eternal life through the Lord Jesus Christ who gave His life for me on the cross!

But, likewise, if you are like me, there are days of sadness, fear, doubt, and discouragement--times when our heavenly Father seems to be far away, seems to have turned his back on me, even seems to be afflicting me with severe punishment! This is the kind of experience that Heman the Ezrahite is writing about in Psalm 88.

Someone has said that this is the only Psalm in our Bible that doesn’t contain words of praise, joy or thanksgiving. Apparently, Heman the Ezrahite was referring to a time in his life that was so dark and dreadful, all the blessings and benefits of knowing God seemed blotted out. What kind of trouble could account for this?

Perhaps it was a time of terrible sickness: an illness that threatened his life. He refers several times to being near the grave. Of being like one who is without strength. If you have ever been sick with a severe fever or bedridden with a wasting disease, then you know what it’s like, perhaps, to lose any hope of recovery: you cry out in your soul for God to deliver you. Or, you might even imagine that you are so close to death that not even He could help you. We must remember that God “knows our frame, he remembers that we are but dust.” The Lord created us and he knows that when we are weak and sick and played out physically, those are the times we find it hard to trust him and go on “counting our blessings.”

Maybe the darkness and trouble Heman refers to has to do with his relationships. There are times in all our lives when the people around us are difficult to deal with. People are fallible, sinful, unreliable, often careless. They make us promises and fail to keep them. They claim to be our friends but then betray or abandon us. They are greedy and ambitious, so they tend to manipulate or attack those who stand in their way. Heman complains to the Lord that He has taken away his closest friends and made him repulsive to them. Heman understands that God is in control of all things, even the relationships in his life that have gone wrong and become hurtful.

Do you and I cry out to the Lord when people in our lives let us down? Do we give God the credit He deserves for the friends and loved ones we treasure and rely on? We must remember that God declared “It is not good for man to be alone.” He created us to desire and to need companionship. And that is one important reason God became a man--the Lord Jesus Christ--to be our closest companion, even when all other friends and loved ones fail and abandon us.

It is clear that Heman the Ezrahite felt himself to be in real, immediate danger. Time and again in his Psalm he mentions being close to death, pleading with God on the basis of soon facing his own grave and the oblivion death represented to him. He even says that the closeness of death has plagued him even from his youth. There may have been an episode in his boyhood days in which the death of a parent or a friend affected Heman deeply and permanently. It became a scar on his heart and in his mind that tortured him throughout his life. Indeed, the Bible speaks of death as a great enemy--a terrifying force to be reckoned with as long as we live in this sinful world. Once again, Heman lays the complaint at the feet of God, telling the Lord “Your wrath has swept over me; your terrors have destroyed me.”

I sincerely doubt that Heman is referring to God’s wrath against his own sin. Nowhere in the psalm does he mention his own need for repentance because of some wrongdoing. I rather believe he’s referring to the fiery intensity of the trials he is going through, seemingly an angry outpouring of punishment that could only be coming from the hand of his Creator. Does a God of perfect love really cause fiery affliction to fall upon his children, so that they begin to despair and lose hope? If we are honest and read the scriptures faithfully, we will see that the answer is often “yes.”

Joseph faced afflictions and trials at the hands of his own brothers, as well as those who owned him as a slave in Egypt, and he spent years in prison unjustly, before God cause him to be raised to the office where he could save his own people. Later, God caused his people the Israelites to be oppressed as slaves in Egypt for four hundred years, before He brought them out in the Exodus and made them a nation.

Finally, the ultimate affliction God dealt out was upon His own beloved Son, in whom He was “well pleased.” One of the lessons we must learn again and again is that God has a good purpose in everything He does and everything He allows in our lives. The suffering and death of Jesus was the most terrible and unjust thing that ever took place on earth. And yet it was part of God’s perfect plan to atone for the sins of His beloved people.

I believe that this is a lesson that Heman the Ezrahite had learned. For even in the darkness of the terrifying pit, the place of fierce affliction where darkness was his closest friend, Heman cried out to the right person. “O Lord (Jehovah, the covenant God of Israel, the God and Father of the Lord Jesus Christ), the God who saves me, day and night I cry out to you. May my prayer come before you; turn your ear to my cry.” Yes, he complained and expressed his fear and grief and pain and loneliness. But he knew who to complain to and he knew where his only hope of salvation lay.

When I wake up and find myself in total darkness, one of the first things I probably do is to feel around for a light switch. Even though the God of our salvation may lead us into a dungeon of darkness for a time to teach us to trust in him alone, this God has assured us that His light “shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

When you and I face our darkest days of affliction, it can be a comforting and reassuring thing that we know whom to cry out to. And He has promised that His light will conquer the darkness one day, forever.

Maytime Musings

It arrives...the merrie month of May. We find ourselves surrounded by sweet springtime and the greenery for which our frozen souls have been longing.

Even the most stay-at-home layabouts appear on the trails and the lawns and the verdant avenues where newly pupated insects begin to buzz. Buds adorn more than beer cans and leaves of bound paper give way to those burgeoning on branches of beeches, briers and bushes.

Life emerges from stasis to rub crusty eyes and once more reveal its Author’s genius. A drive through the countryside harbors no fear of impassible lanes or invisible ice, and friendly regiments of Sta-puft clouds stand at attention on a vermilion parade ground as their brilliant, blazing commander lazily swaggers by.

Threats of April’s forgetful frosts at last lie buried. Bulbs are in the showered ground, seedlings rescued from their hothouse dungeons. Hats on passersby provide decoration rather than defense from the elements.

And I...I want to move about in May. I want to breathe in the pollens and the mown grass and the cookout coal-smoke from neighbors' fires two blocks away. I want to get to know the unleashed animals who go about marking their turf, and the elderly gent on the corner who lost his missus last year. I want to taste snow-cones and hotdogs in their natural habitats again and forget that all this lovely life was ever swallowed by winter.

At long last the atmosphere feels perfect for a night at the drive-in and there’s a new blockbuster being cast on an open-air screen. Outside beckons with its wandering, wayward, wistful, wicked wiles. Possibilities scattered like Hansel’s crumbs, leading my senses out of a dark, lonely wood.

Children used to dance around a pole with streamers. Nowadays they hop about a hoop on the playground with a big orange ball. Or shuck off their spring jackets to hang on bars like monkeys. Pretty soon trucks full of treats will come around chiming their annoying jingles.

I imagine youngsters still get antsy in May...school days seem so much longer when sunshine smiles through the windows and the growl of lawnmowers leaks into their classrooms. I used to wander into daydreams of Roseland amusement park’s opening scant weeks away, and the reward of free rides earned by respectable report card grades. They called it the “Sunshine Special.”

But now that I’m knocking on seniority’s door and Roseland has been paved over by time, I ride the carousel of colors, odors, flavors and cadences created anew every sudden spring...

...by the arrival of merrie May.

The Good of Goodness

What makes it good to be good?
Whence does morality come?
Who says life must at all costs be preserved
Even though this one counts less than some?
What makes it bad to be bad?
Why not just serve “number one”?
When did self-centeredness score such a loss
And self-sacrifice hit a home-run?

What makes it good to be kind?
Nature devours all the weak!
Mercy and peace are unknown in the wild:
Only sharpness of tooth, claw and beak.
Power and swiftness are prime.
Prowess and ruthlessness reign.
How did we humans escape jungle law,
Far more “civilized” rules to sustain?

What makes a virtue so fair?
Even when vice offers thrills...
Even when I welcome temptation’s lure,
It’s tough virtue deep pleasure instills.
Why do such heroes inspire
When “giving in” would cost less?
What makes self-serving excuses seem vain
Every time good is put to the test?

Is good a matter of choice?
Did we all simply “count heads”?
Was it a sociological poll
Or a weaving of DNA threads?
Is good a meaningless mist?
Is moral outrage a joke?
Are peace and genocide equally just--
No more crucial than “Pepsi or Coke?”

Is good a practical truth?
Simply the best way to thrive?
Is then “pragmatic” the highest of heights?
Then, why should the weak be kept alive?
Or why make beautiful things?
Why waste our time on such frills?
Such window dressing serves no basic need--
Only practical stuff “pays the bills”!

The good of goodness is God.
His is the law in our hearts.
Yes we might doubt or deny it is so,
But the whole beats the sum of its parts.
For God’s own image was breathed
Into His first Garden pair...
And though that likeness is fallen and scarred,
That law’s echo and voice are still there.


MNA  5.17.15