Hobbits Wanted
...with mouths apt to laughter, and to eating and drinking. And laugh they did, and eat, and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day (when they could get them). They were hospitable and delighted in parties, and in presents, which they gave away freely and eagerly accepted...Nonetheless, ease and peace had left this people still curiously tough. They were, if it came to it, difficult to daunt or to kill; and they were, perhaps, so unwearyingly fond of good things not least because they could, when put to it, do without them, and could survive rough handling by grief, foe, or weather in a way that astonished those who did not know them well... -J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Hobbit”
ver·ti·go | ˈvərdəɡō |
noun, Pathology.
a dizzying sensation of tilting within stable surroundings or of being in tilting or spinning surroundings
In a recent Veritas Forum, David Brooks reflected onthe Spanish Flu of 1918 as a comparison to our particular moment. He observed that the historical blight that killed 675,000 Americans left almost no cultural imprint - no books or movies and very little discussion or reflection - probably “because people were ashamed of how they behaved...” Brooks further opined that its net cultural effect, though perhaps not widely discussed, was a pervasive sense of meaninglessness.
Vertigo. Emotional dislocation. Beyond certainty.
These were among the heavy laden terms panelists used to describe our collective experience of the flu pandemic of 2020. They expressed concerns regarding the likely damage to our economy writ large - that is, our cultural, economic and social exchanges - and about the loss of our culture, our collective song. I was reminded of Israel’s lament from exile, after the Babylonian conquest threatened the continuity of its own rich culture.
How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land?
Then a Veritas panelist asked: “Was normal that great?”
And suddenly a great outflow of hope was expressed that unlike the pervasive sense of meaninglessness that followed the Spanish flu, the net result of Covid-19 could be unification and redirection toward pursuit of meaning, even faith.
The stakes feel extraordinarily high. What bridges the gap between hope and hopelessness; faith and faithlessness; silence and song?
In my reflection, something struck me about the definition of vertigo. Though the sensation is dizziness, weak knees and nausea - rough handling by grief, foe and weather; the reality is stability, that the good things - eating, drinking, laughter, gifts - have not been lost. Though we are off kilter, God’s eternal promises are no less true. We, the Church, know that “history is still unfolding as it should” and “everything sad [is] going to come untrue.”
God’s people may experience vertigo and dislocation but we are never beyond certainty.
Saints throughout history have clung to this truth and rallied in the darkest of times. The church has been at her best under duress. We have died serving the sick, added to our membership in conditions of greatest persecution, come together in grief and hardship and from little made much. The existential experience of grace in the face of all manner of evil is rooted in the deepest realities of the Biblical God.
As we celebrate the season of Lent in anticipation of Good Friday and Easter, we would do well to imagine the ultimate moment of Christian emotional dislocation and vertigo as we see our King executed outside the city like a common criminal. The hopes and dreams of the faith community crushed - overwhelming feelings of tilting or spinning. Ultimate meaninglessness knocking on the door.
The losses we are experiencing are real and should never be diminished. We have absorbed tangible losses, fractured community, emotional dislocation, severe vertigo. As my pastor observed in a recent sermon, we should be grieved and outraged at these forms of evil and pain and at death itself. But he also spoke of hope. Was normal that good?
Then it happens. Easter comes. Resurrection. A new song of the Lord.
Our certainty is that God always bridges the gap. Under the reign of this bruised King, we cling to the promises that mourning will be turned into dancing, grief will be turned into joy, the meek will inherit the earth and God will raise his own who have fallen asleep. The saints continue to march because even in our exile, He calls us to join him in this work:
But how do we do this in our current exile of isolation? I think God will open those doors if we seek Him but a few things come to mind. We should listen to those who are grieving, sit next to them on their mourning benches and point one another to the hope and truth of Christ’s redemptive and restorative work, to the house on the rock.
Tolkien only hints at the source of hobbits’ fortitude, suggesting they drink so deeply of God’s goodness that they remain sated through periods of rough handling by grief, foe, or weather. I pray that our experience of God’s goodness would be as rich and satisfying and that we would trust to hope that the song of the Lord will again pierce the silence.
Let’s sing to Him until we sense we’re singing with Him - for each other, for our friends, for our city and for our world - and maintain the march of the saints toward the ultimate resurrection.