Lesson From Frodo's Wish

I was reminded of the young hobbit, Frodo, the other evening while watching a trailer of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings.  One of my favorite parts is when he was given the burden of bearing the one ring of power. It was a ring that had the potential to put all of Middle Earth under terror and shadow, and the darkness was already spreading. With a cadre of friends, Frodo determined he must start the long, dark journey to destroy the ring by throwing it into the volcano from which it was forged. It is a journey that would take him on fearful paths through enemy territory and overwhelming temptation to the ends of himself. Seeing the road ahead of him, he lamented to Gandalf the Wise that the burden of the ring should have gone to him in the first place. 

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"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."

A fan of Tolkien's epic fantasy once wrote that he preferred to read The Lord of the Rings particularly during the season of Lent. Although I don't know all this reader had in mind with such a statement, Tolkien's portrayal of a journey into darkness with the weight of a great burden and a motley crew of companions, I think, certainly holds similarities to the journey of the church toward the cross. I see this forty-day period that leads to Easter as both an invitation and a quest, if I'm willing, although difficult. I've always found the deliberate and wearisome journey with Christ to the cross a crushing burden, even with the jarring recognition that I am not the one carrying it. Over the last decade I've come to realize that this is a time to focus in detail on what it means that Jesus came into this world that he might go the fearful way of the Cross. It has become a time set apart for pilgrimage and preparation, forty days with which I, once again, commit to determining what to do with the time that is given me.

I remind myself of the Scriptures, found some years back, attach special meaning to this forty-day journey. Considered the number of days marking a devout encounter with God, I'm still finding the occurrence of forty-day journeys throughout the stories of the prophets and the people of God. For forty days Noah and his family waited on the arc as God washed away and revived the earth. Moses spent forty days on Mount Sinai, where he received the Law of God to share with the Israelites. Later, he spent forty days on the mountain prostrate before the LORD after the sin of the golden calf. Elijah was given food in the wilderness, which gave him strength for the forty day journey to Horeb, the Mount of God. Jonah reluctantly accepted forty days in Nineveh where the people, heeding his warning, repented before God with fasting, sackcloths, and ashes. For forty days the prophet Ezekiel laid on his right side to symbolize the forty years of Judah's transgression. And finally, for forty days Jesus was tempted in the wilderness. Here, in Mark's gospel, I read: "The Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him."

I may be stretching it but I'm believing that it is with this same Spirit that I think I'm also invited to take the forty day journey into the shadows and difficulties of Lent. In every forty day (or forty year) journey described in Scripture, the temptations are real, the waiting is difficult, and the call to listen or to look, to obey or deny is wearying. But each time I experience it  there is something about the journey itself to which God has moved me. Indeed, Christ himself was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness for forty days, while Moses, Ezekiel, Noah, and even Jonah were each instructed to set out on the journeys that brought them closer to the heart of God. How whether they were able to accept it or not is another matter.  Who am I to judge but of myself. 

As I sit here and write this entry, not hardly half way through these forty days that lead to Easter Sunday, I'm already burdened and finding the cost.  "The Cross of Lent," as Augustine referred to it, is one that we bear year round, but one learned to bear all the more intensely along the way to the cross during Lent. It is great consolation these morning to read Augustine's advise when he goes on to say that; it is here, we remember that we are dust, we follow Jesus to his death, we recollect the acts of God to be near us, and we let go of the things that keep us from holding the Son who saves us. He goes on to says; of course, these are burdens we will never bear alone. But each day we are given is one we decide what to do with.

Bill, Jesus has given you one option and only one: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it."

Father, God,  May Your Spirit guard and guide me through this intentional journey during these remaining days of Lent. Amen