Battle

I recently watched the Lord of the Rings series. It was sooo good! So inspiring.

I drew comparisons to my own life. Every time someone stood up in courage, I thought of the events in my life that required courage. I watched those who stepped out in the face of utter terror. Whether the elves, or men, dwarfs, or hobits. Whether small or strong. Whether fighting in a literal battle field, or fighting the thoughts of the mind and heart, again and again, the screen splashed of those painfully stepping out to do what they knew was right, in the face of all odds against them.

In the third of the trilogy, Aragon must go into the haunted mountain to call the dead to help him. As horses and men shook in fear just outside the passageway to the mountain, Aragon states with slow force, “I do not fear death,” and marches through into the darkness. His faithful few follow. The King of the Dead with his legions surrounds Aragon, mocking in defiance: “I do not suffer the living to pass.” Though fear shows in his eyes, Aragon does not miss a beat, “you will suffer me.” He pulls out the sword he knows has strength . . . and the dead submit to this king of man.

Later, Aragon lines up his men outside of the evil Mordor. The all-seeing Eye has been focused on the hobbits sent within its gates to be rid of the evil ring of power. Aragon knew that a distraction, a diversion, would take the Eye’s attention off of the hobbits, so he lines his men up to fight against Mordor. The numbers are against him: one to hundreds. But at this moment Aragon does not see his life or the lives around him as the greatest value. He sees purpose. He sees good and evil. He foresees. He sees legacy. Generations to come. He sees that if most good men die in order to let a few good men rule, it is worth it. If he dies, in order that Frodo destroy the evil, he has fought a battle worth fighting. “Today we fight!” he declares to his troops. And at the face of death, he rushes ahead of all the rest . . . his sword drawn straight out toward the enemy.

His courage makes me ask what I am willing to suffer for, to sacrifice. And I think of the times that I have endured. The bravest moments that I have fought the voice of evil that plays in my head: “you are mine.” I have fought it, refused to identify with it. I have stood in the face of evil, and though shaking in my own weakness and fear, declared with authority that good will win, that a King does reign, and that evil will bow its knee. I look back to those moments with reverence. I think of the fellowship of the few that stood by me, not able to carry my load, but able to cry with me and then look me in the eyes and say that I will make it. I think of the King that fought ahead of me.

But then I also remember the times I have not been so brave. I have seen the battle and it overwhelmed me. I went part of the way, but not all. I listened to the truth of those close to me, but then I stopped. In the weakest moment . . . the moment of tears and exhaustion . . . the moment I’m so tired of fighting . . . the moment I start to wonder . . . the moment the other side begins to look more attractive than this battlefield . . . no. No, I shake my head. I am afraid. That is way too much. And I am way too little. No . . . I don’t need to fight for something greater than myself. The moments I’ve turned inward to fear or the ugliness of wanting power for myself. I think of the friends that stood by me, even while I gave in to self-pleasing desires . . .

At the same time Aragon is fighting for Frodo, the hobbit Frodo is taking the evil ring of power to the top of Mordor to throw it into the lava-flowing river below. To be rid of both its evil effects and power. He has traveled hundreds of miles. He has fought a multitude of evil forces. He has gone without sleep and food. He has been stabbed by sword, thrown about, strangled, poisoned and spun into a web by a giant spider. He has climbed mountains and hid from and outrun screeching Orks on giant flying birds. And here he is now. On the edge of the cliff. About to throw the evil ring of power into the lava . . . about to be finished with his mission. But he stops. He looks at the ring and turns inward. While others fight for this greater good just outside of Mordor, while his best friend Sam is fighting off the evil Gollum, Frodo has the opportunity to be rid of the evil ring forever . . . and yet, he decides at that moment that the ring is his. That his desire for power, that his love of self, that the voice calling out to him, are all greater than his courage to do what must be done. He gives in. He gives up. He does not fight the battle.

I look back at those moments with sadness. With shame. While so many are fighting the battle around me, I decide to turn inward. I take my eyes off of the King calling us to courage. The One with His outdrawn sword, and I look at the gold glittering in front of me. I listen to the voice that seems sometimes enchanting, yet other times terrifying. It is easier to give in. I lose my courage.

But . . . I am not alone.

I cannot count how many times each of the characters in The Lord of the Rings was rescued by another fighting alongside them. It was never any one person that was a picture of strength on their own, and none of them could ever do it alone. When one character was in the very hands of death, no hope around him, another somehow manages to be at the scene at that pivotal moment of rescue. When the hobbits return to the Shire they were from, no one knew of the heroes they were, of the kingdoms of men that bowed down to them. No one knew of the battles they had fought, the death they had encountered. And yet, they four, as they sat at a table surrounded by friends and family laughing and dancing around them, they four knew. They knew the fellowship of those who fought one alongside the other. They knew the greater purpose. They knew the battle. I think of friends of whom I have that deep fellowship with. Often, words cannot tell of closeness found in fighting the battle together.

But The Lord of the Rings can only be a shadow of reality . . . really, only a type, of sorts. One great message it misses. Yes, my king fights ahead of me. But my King also fights for me. And His victory is sure. I fight too. But oh, that great battle is not mine to win. How relieving it is to know that in those darkest moments, He is there fighting. Not merely alongside me, but for me.

But this time . . . this time . . . let me fight too! Let me take up that Sword. Let me be brave. Let me have courage!

But Lord God, in the darkest moment, be my King of the battle. Rescue me. Take me up on Your horse when death has me gripped in its hands. Be gentle with me in my weakness, but teach me courage.