Space Enough, and Time

AS A GOLLUM-LED FRODO AND SAM leave Ithilien for Mount Doom, something catches their eyes:

Standing there for a moment filled with dread, Frodo became aware that a light was shining; he saw it glowing on Sam’s face beside him.  Turning towards it, he saw, beyond an arch of boughs, the road to Osgiliath running almost as straight as a stretched ribbon down, down, into the West.  There, far away, beyond sad Gondor now overwhelmed in shade, the Sun was sinking, finding at last the hem of the great slow-rolling pall of cloud, and falling in 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 brow as if in reverence for the fallen king, and in the crevices of his stony hair yellow stonecrop gleamed.

“They cannot conquer forever!” 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.   (From Tolkien’s The Two Towers)

This Sunday I’m preaching at a church and have been tasked with speaking on Advent.  As I reflected, this image of Frodo and Sam came to mind, connected with the story we all find ourselves in as we think of Advent: a land not just in between times but in between kings, Israel waiting for the promise God had made to David, waiting for it to be fulfilled and for real deliverance from foreign powers.   That promise and the words of the prophets were like flowers across the broken statue’s brow: a hint of what was but also what was to come.

Whatever else it is, Advent is about in-between time, the waiting.  The old burden of waiting for the Messiah and our own burden of waiting for the consummation of His kingdom.  This Advent, and throughout this year, I’ll be looking for hints, “flowers like small white stars,” that give the scent of a King and His kingdom come and coming.  Crown Him with many crowns.  World without end.  Amen.