Holding to a Purpose

When does worry turn to pessimism turn to despair?  There's so much in the world to fret over, it is essentially never-ending.  Not matter who you are, you will struggle regularly in life.  Whether you're poor and struggle to find your next meal, or you're not-as-poor and live paycheck to paycheck from a job you don't like for that meal, or you're wealthy and thought money would bring you peace but you still feel restless and unfulfilled.  Whether you're in a collapsing relationship, a collapsing house, or on a collapsing planet, there's plenty to be anxious about.  What does our text say about this?

This week we have another double portion -  "Journey to the crossroads" and "The Stairs of Cirith Ungol."  Frodo and Sam and Gollum leave Faramir's rangers and enter Mordor.  The darkest part of their journey begins, and there's little hope of success.  Frodo worries they've delayed too long and that while they may complete the Quest the others from their fellowship may already be dead.  What good is victory then?

Amidst this gloomy atmosphere, we get an interesting scene of hope.  The text says:

The Sun was sinking, finding at last the hem of the great slow-rolling pall of cloud, and falling in an ominous fire towards the yet unsullied Sea. The brief glow fell upon a huge sitting figure, still and solemn as the great stone kings of Argonath. The years had gnawed it, and violent hands had maimed it. Its head was gone, and in its place was set in mockery a round rough-hewn stone, rudely painted by savage hands in the likeness of a grinning face with one large red eye in the midst of
its forehead. Upon its knees and mighty chair, and all about the pedestal, were idle scrawls mixed with the foul symbols
that the maggot-folk of Mordor used.

Suddenly, caught by the level beams, Frodo saw the old king's head: it was lying rolled away by the
roadside. `Look, Sam!' he cried, startled into speech. `Look! The king has got a crown again!'

The eyes were hollow and the carven beard was broken, but about the high stern forehead there was a coronal of
silver and gold. A trailing plant with flowers like small white stars had bound itself across the brows as if in reverence
for the fallen king, and in the crevices of his stony hair yellow stonecrop gleamed.

'They cannot conquer for ever!' said Frodo. And then suddenly the brief glimpse was gone. The Sun dipped
and vanished, and as if at the shuttering of a lamp, black night fell.

Though I usually try to avoid referencing the movies, in typical "A picture is worth a thousand words" fashion, here's how they showed this moment in the movies.

'They cannot conquer for ever' Frodo says.  This is comforting in an abstract, kind of martyrdom way.  Frodo, who was regarded his mission as suicidal since the Fellowship dissolved, finds relief in it.  His Quest may fail, or it may be futile  for those he knows, but good will eventually win out.

But this advice isn't very useful to us.  Children died during World War I, and while the Central Powers were defeated, what comfort is that for them or their family?  The Korean War has allowed South Korea to be a successful society in stark opposition to the North's fate.  But what about for those Koreans, Chinese, Americans and even far-flung Australians who died?  What do they get?

Life can stink.  I hope it doesn't for you.  But parts of it may well.  People's fears and dangers are rooted in all sorts of things - politics, society, money, identity, sports, whatever.  And sure, "they cannot conquer forever", but if you didn't live to see the Red Sox finally win the World Series in 2004, you likely went to your grave cursing Bill Buckner.  We don't need to be conquered forever - we only need to be conquered during our lifetime.  And sometimes we are.

Climate change is coming, but our demise is not the end.  The Earth will endure, as it has before we turned up.  But that's a nihilistic point of view - to say things are bigger than ourselves and therefore we shouldn't really care because "they", whoever they are, cannot conquer forever.  That cannot be a healthy point of view.  It allows one to endure all sorts of suffering with little chance of seeing a turn of fortune.  Ultimately, it's misplaced faith.  

So what should we have faith in?  Our small selves?  Our impersonal institutions?  Those we love, who are also small?  The ideals we reach toward, which are also impersonal?  It's difficult to say.  It is possible for all those things to fail.

Recall that Frodo had despaired that everyone he knew might already be dead.  When this thought hits him he collapses in tears.  But then:

Frodo raised his head, and then stood up. Despair had not left him, but the weakness had passed.

He even smiled grimly, feeling now as clearly as a moment before he had felt the opposite,

that what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and that whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond

or Galadriel or Gandalf or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose...

This is not the first time we have seen Frodo turn despair into resolve, but that is a difficult lesson to apply to our lives.  Hopefully we do not, amidst our difficulties, find ourselves truly despairing.  But the key phrase here I want to hone in on is "Despair had not left him."  Frodo manages to focus on what must be done to alleviate his despair, rather than focusing on the despair itself.  He does not let the despair control him.  If you ever find yourself in a desperate situation, I hope you will do the same.  "If you're going through hell, keep going."

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