Friday, January 11, 2013

On Hobbits, Spiritual Life and Works of Genius



There are types of fruit that grow from genius which leave the world stunned for a while. The person who develops the fruit may be dead for generations before the world gives the fruit a try.

When I went to see the latest Hobbit film, I had been reading the life of Einstein. As I watched, I compared the work of Tolkien and Einstein. I thought about how their work has touched the lives of common men and women in a surprisingly short time, especially given the way their imaginations so radically reorder the way people otherwise think about life.

This is not a blog about Tolkien. So I won’t waste your time pointing out his obsession with medieval culture, Nordic folk tales, and the ancient languages of Great Britain and Scandinavia. I won’t try to convince you of how weird it was for him to invent two languages for the characters in his stories, languages which he must, nonetheless, translate back into English to be of any use to his readers. But these are monumental products of study and genius and one wonders what made them seem worth it during his long hours of isolated obscurity.  After all, he didn’t know his stories would sell millions of books or become major movies.

Then there is Einstein, daydreaming about riding a beam of light through the universe, just for the fun of it evidently. While playing however, he discovered two major truths that radically overturned centuries of apparently common sense observations about how the world works.

Tolkien, daydreaming about his elves and dwarfs decided his characters would need a translator to communicate among themselves and to humans, and invented a wizard. What else? Surely the modern world needed a new wizard. 

It may be obvious to us that Einstein’s work will prove to be of more practical value than the work of Tolkien.  That was hardly evident however when Einstein was wasting away his early adult years staring out into space. We smile at how his foolish parents paced the floor; watching employer after employer dismiss their wild haired dreamer. Would he ever get a job? What would become of his, poor thing? Was he ill or just irresponsible?

Einstein is vindicated now of course. We have put his theories to work in real life applications and inventions that have utterly reordered our lives.

What do we do with the likes of Tolkien? For one thing, we entertain ourselves. We watch the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit as we munch $4.00 popcorn and drink $5.00 Cokes. We get a delightful escape from the day to day and promote the economy by paying prices that would push us into the streets with torches were the government to ask us for that kind of money to pay for parks or bombs. But since its Hollywood that needs the money and we like the taste of the $5.00 popcorn, it makes sense.

But back to Tolkien!  Do two hours at the matinee really justify Tolkien’s thousands of hours spent on inventing languages or reading old manuscripts in Anglo Saxon? What did his parents think? Or his friends?

I don’t know about his parents but I do know something about his friends. Tolkien’s friends were as weird as he. In fact, without those friends, we would have never even publishing his work. He was, after all, a respected professor. Why should he make himself the laughing stock of his world by publishing stories about elves and dwarfs? Fortunately for us, his friends that overcame his reluctance.

C. S. Lewis, Tolkien’s famous convert to Christianity, continually pushed his spiritual mentor to share his work with the rest of us. Lewis, himself a round peg in Oxford's square hole, knew genius when he saw it. He too was tinkering away at things his academic peers would have found utterly foolish.  

People who work on things we already know are needed in the world usually enjoy our respect.

Invention, as they say, is the child of necessity. If we know we need something  we are delighted for someone to try to get it for us. 

That bizarre fruit of genius, which creates something we didn't know we needed -- that is a different category of work altogether.

We didn’t need the theory of relativity, or at least we didn't know we needed it. We were doing just fine with Newton, thank you very much. We could have continued making do with Newton. But as Gandalf tells us in the Hobbit, adventure requires a toleration of, and perhaps even delight with, uncertainty. The people of the Shire will be disgusted with us unless and until we bring home the treasure. Even then they might whisper that we are a bit odd for their tastes. 


We didn’t need a grown man to resurrect fairy stories and epic tales of monsters and magical creatures or to remind us that it requires ordinary people, people willing to step out of ordinary life to confront such things.

We did need, and need still, people who will demonstrate that creativity involves taking risks, thinking about things differently, ignoring the anxieties of friends and foes as one struggles with some problem that others do not see, and, perhaps, finally, discovering a solution others will only gradually accept.

In our pathologically divided nation, in churches divided over issues so trivial as to make even the most pious wonder if we have lost the very faith itself, in the globalized, economically restructured and technologically wired world in which we find ourselves, we wonder if there are brave souls even now tinkering away at some product of imagination that will help us envision things differently than we do today.

If there are such people diligently at work – some David tending sheep, some mad mathematician trying to keep a job that bores him silly and which keeps him from thinking about riding the back of a light beam, some respected professor of linguistics who stays up late writing stories he keeps secret for fear of losing the respect of his peers – they are our hope for a way out of our madding attempts to hold back the realities of the twenty-first century.

Few of us fit in the category of an Einstein or Tolkien. But some of our children may fit there. Some of our young pastors may fit there. If we can just keep ourselves from crucifying the inventors of the future  before they bring their fruit out to the light of day where we can see it, and, perhaps, nourish ourselves with it.  

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Patrick, a Sassy Irish Woman, and A Brand New Year



While in Ireland for Christmas, I decided to climb Croagh Patrick.That's where the father of Irish Christianity fasted for forty days and nights.

So, two days after Christmas, Austin, my son-in-law, and I got up, had a small breakfast and then drove old winding roads to the holy site. We glimpsed it after an hour or so, its mighty peak towering above everything else. It was beautiful and inspiring but also a bit intimidating for a middle age American used to driving a car whenever he must go somewhere more than a few blocks away.

About a third of the way up that mountain, I discovered three important things.

One, I should have had a more substantial breakfast.

Secondly, there is a reason sensible people climb the mountain in June.

Thirdly, it was going to take more time to get to the top than I had thought.

Even a third of the way up, the scene is stunning. Streams rush down it’s face, outlined by stone walls as ancient as humanity. Small villages dot the landscape as far as the eye can see as the ocean, covered by a thin fog, meets the rocky Irish coast.

We walked back down the mountain and found a pub. The fire was hot, the food was delicious and, since we were the only customers, we enjoyed the full attention of both cook and the waitress. As we ate, we talked about the age of the pub and the memorabilia that covers the walls.

We drove into Westport then, a beautiful postcard village at the base of the mountain. We walked around the monument in the town square, reading various quotes from St. Patrick’s short book inscribed there.

Deciding we should have a cup of coffee before heading back to Galway, we went into a coffee shop near the square, called Christie's. When I ordered my coffee, the lady behind the counter asked me what had brought me to her town. I told her that my wife and I were visiting our family in Galway and that I had decided to climb the mountain before going home.

She nodded and smiled.

“I didn’t get to the top. Just about a third of the way, “ I added.

“I discovered I was older than I had thought,” chuckling at my funny self deprecating remark. 

“No!” she blurted. “That must not be said. The truth is, you have not been as active as you should be. It is a temporary situation. You can change it.”

She was smiling but rather firm.

“Also,” she continued without my encouragement, “never say ‘when I was young.’ Say instead, ‘when I was younger.”

I looked at her for a moment without replying.  

She was not finished.

“Listen more to Bob Dylan.”

Well, that was over the top. What did Dylan have to do with anything?

“Bob Dylan” I mumbled?

“My husband is a wise man. He reads his Bible faithfully. And he listens to Bob Dylan. Sometimes, when he makes a wise statement, I ask him “Is that the Holy Scripture now or is it Bob Dylan?”

 “It doesn’t matter now, does it," he always says.

“Well, he’s right you know.  So get more active. Read your Bible and listen to Bob Dylan. There it is. You have a good day now.”

The wind bit my face as I walked out of Christ’s shop. I now had a cup of great coffee that I would soon consume. I also had some words for my journey that I could savor but never consume.

I pondered the lines I had read on that old, weathered monument:

“My name is Patrick. I am a country person and the least of all believers. I am looked down upon by many. If I have achieved any success, it has been a gift.”

I tried to ignore the fact that Christie is the female version of the word Christ.

I thought about the coming year, when, God willing, I will enter my sixth decade.

I am trying to keep it all together as I walk my pilgrimage. There are days when I get tired. There are days when I get cold. There are days when I think I was a fool to ever believe there was anything to this journey than just putting one foot in front of another. There are days when I think there are no saints on this path after all. But then, in an unsuspected moment, some voice says, “you are more fit than you think.  All that can really stop you are words you speak about yourself that needlessly limit your journey.”

Or, as Dylan would say it,

Cast down your crown
On this bloodstained ground.
And take off your mask!
For he sees your deeds
And He knows your needs
Before you even ask.

Nothing can hold you back
Nothing that you are
Nothing that you lack.

Patrick once stood here, looking at a nation he hoped to win for Christ. But how? The task was like a huge mountain before him and he was but a poor, wayfaring pilgrim. But he took some time to pray, right here, where these many centuries later stands a humble coffee shop. Right here where one of his children reminds me to stop whining and to keep walking.

Another line on that monument says:

“Because there were many fish, I asked for a large net.”

Patrick climbed this mountain by putting one foot in front of him until he reached the top. He knew his flock would have a difficult time doing that sometimes. So he left them a little book and a prayer to say every morning when they awoke:

“I arise this day with a mighty power …

Christ within me
Christ around me
Christ before me
Christ behind me
Christ on my right hand
Christ on my left
Christ beneath me
Christ above me.

Christ! Be my strong defense!

I arise today with a mighty power.