The whole of the Christian life is lived in a time of Advent-like expectation for the coming of the Bridegroom. Far from a passive, sedentary waiting room, the anticipation that structures the whole of Christian existence is far more dramatic and perilous. It is more akin to the expectation of someone adrift at sea who scans the horizon for aid, or an embattled and outnumbered group of soldiers who desperately hope for the arrival of support. Simultaneously, as the poet Christina Rossetti captured in her “Advent Sunday,” the expectation of the Christian life is a yearning not only for the unveiling of the triumphant Savior King, but also the Bridegroom our souls desire to rejoice with.
Amidst such waiting, we are prone to despair when the institutions and relationships in our lives are far from what they can or should be. In marriage, in parenting, in relationships with broader family members, in friendships, in our professional lives, and in our churches, we can experience a legitimation crisis when disappointment inevitably unfolds. A creeping sentiment that a situation is hopelessly ridiculous and futile can deaden our resolve, courage, and constancy, manifested in thoughts and words along the lines of “Really? This is my marriage? This is my job? This is the relationship I have with my children and family? This disappointing, joke of a situation is my church, my home, my world, my life, etc.?” In precisely such times our character, or lack thereof, is invariably proved.
An outstanding moral exercise along these lines is to note the almost constant ways that the main characters in the Lord of the Rings respond to the seemingly hopeless, impossible, ridiculous, and absurd situations they find themselves in. A sobering, terrifying example is the last steward of Gondor, Denethor. Deceived by the enemy and corrupted by his own envy and pride, Denethor’s self-destructive habits of thought lead him to take his own life, and some of his final words were that “…even now the wind of thy hope cheats thee.” One of the most powerful tools of the dark powers in Lord of the Rings is simply dread and terror; whenever his flying servants cast shadows upon others a sense of impending doom and despair seizes the heart and weakens the will towards immobility.
By contrast, all of the heroic figures in the Lord of the Rings at some point realize their situation is utterly absurd or seemingly hopeless, yet they carry on seeking to do the right things for their own part, whatever outcome or consequences may follow. The enemy leads almost all of them at some point to believe that their separated companions have failed or died, such that each is left all alone on a futile errand without any aid — yet, in reality, they are all actually still working in concert with one another, albeit unawares. In Return of the King the messenger of Mordor feigns to Gandalf, Aragorn, and their company that Frodo is dead and the enemy has recaptured the one ring of power by producing Frodo’s mithril coat, such that “a blackness came before their eyes, and it seemed to them in a moment of silence that the world stood still, but their hearts were dead and their last hope gone.” Yet, Gandalf and his friends fought on, and ultimately did so unto victory.
Earlier, when all seemed lost and a massive army was about to besiege their city, Pippin asked Gandalf, “‘tell me,’ he said, ‘is there any hope?’ … Gandalf put his hand on Pippin's head. ‘There never was much hope,’ he answered. ‘Just a fool's hope, as I have been told.’” Treebeard, leader of the ents, tells Pippin and Merry that “it is likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve… we may help the other peoples before we pass away.” Similarly, in Two Towers, Frido is tempted to despair upon realizing the size and power of the enemy’s forces: “I am too late. All is lost. I tarried on the way. All is lost. Even if my errand is performed, no one will ever know. There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.’ Overcome with weakness he wept,” before Sam awoke Frodo from his stupor and, nevertheless, they carried on.
Perhaps the greatest exemplar of faithful endurance amidst a sense of disappointment, absurdity, and hopelessness is Samwise Gamgee. Sam is rarely in ideal situations for moral deliberation. In Two Towers, pressed between two terrible options, Sam looks back in regret “I got it all wrong!” Terrified that Frodo was now gone forever, “he felt as if the whole dark world was turning upside down. So great was the shock that he almost swooned, but even as he fought to keep a hold on his senses, deep inside him he was aware of the comment: ‘You fool, he isn’t dead, and your heart knew it. Don’t trust your head, Samwise, it is not the best part of you. The trouble with you is that you never really had any hope.’” Sam’s negative, inner-voice recurs in Return of the King amidst exhaustion and heartbreak, when all seemed utterly lost forever: “It’s all quite useless. He said so himself. You are the fool, going on hoping and toiling. You could have lain down and gone to sleep together days ago, if you hadn’t been so dogged. But you’ll die just the same, or worse. You might just as well lie down now and give it up. You’ll never get to the top anyway.”
Yet, that voice did not have the final word for Sam, who showed his quality simply by carrying on to an impossible victory, which comes from utterly unexpected sources. As Éomer declares, “twice blessed is help unlooked for,” and Frodo confided to Faramir that Elrond told him “I should find friendship upon the way, secret and unlooked for.” Without unlooked for help, it would have indeed been an ultimately hopeless and futile cause, but without their carrying on in an impossible-seeming situation, the unlooked for help would have come to no avail.
If character is who we are when no one else is looking, it is especially revealed when we find ourselves in institutional settings, relationships, vocations, and situations that become discouraging, exhausting, and our efforts feel futile and hopeless. Is the right thing worth doing, almost regardless or in spite of whatever outcomes seem likely? Surely the beginning and end point for contemplation of that question is the Incarnate Word being hit and spat upon, laying the wood upon his back, and being hung upon it for the sake of the world. If we live with Advent-like expectation, his return in glory will not be unlooked for, but awaiting the coming of our King demands a constancy that defies despair and resignation in the face of absurdity and the impossible, since “endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Rom 5:4). Along the way, the world-defying gifts, graces, friends, and messengers he sends us will prove twice-blessed, unlooked for help, if we have eyes and ears to perceive them, like Sam’s untroubled rest in the land of Mordor:
There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even his master’s, ceased to trouble him. He crawled back into the brambles and laid himself by Frodo’s side, and putting away all fear he cast himself into a deep untroubled sleep.
