The Lord or The Ring?
The weather was unusually brisk that night in November of 1979. A cold front, the first of the season, was moving in from the northwest, announcing its arrival in the early evening with strong gusts of cool wind, followed by a cold, stinging rain.
I had just turned 12 a couple of weeks earlier and decided to start reading my prized gift that year, a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien. I settled into my favorite reading spot in the overstuffed yellow La-Z-Boy chair next to the picture window in our den.
The pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the window immediately relaxed me with their rhythmic beat. The light from the orange 70’s-style lamp hanging from a chain above my head lit the pages as I plunged into one of the strangest and most beautiful worlds I had ever explored.
This mystical world, full of wizards, elves, dwarves, and hobbits, immediately captivated my imagination. I pictured myself as a silent member of the Fellowship, a diverse group coming together to help Frodo in his quest to destroy the ring in the fires of Mount Doom, where it was forged by the evil Sauron.
It was around 7:00 in the evening when I turned to the first page. I turned the last page at 8:00 AM, the morning light streaming through the window confirming that I had indeed stayed up all night. My only thought then was how I was going to get my hands on the next book of the trilogy so I could continue the journey.
Looking back, my twelve-year-old self was entranced by the surface-level magic of Tolkien’s world. It took me years to grasp the profound symbolism woven into the characters and lore of Middle-earth.
In Tolkien’s work, there is a recurring, tragic pattern: the desire to use the One Ring for “good.”
Boromir, the valiant captain of Gondor, believes he can wield the Ring to defend his people against the encroaching darkness.
Galadriel, the powerful Lady of Lothlórien, is tempted by the possibility of using it to establish a righteous, enduring peace. The scene in the 2001 movie version depicts it perfectly (Lady Galadriel’s Temptation).
Even Gandalf, the wisest of the ancient wizards, refuses the temptation because he knows that if he were to take it, he would become a tyrant, however noble his intentions might be.
Tolkien, a devout Christian and good friend of C.S. Lewis, understood a truth that has been the undoing of the Church throughout history: the Ring is not a neutral tool. It is forged in the fires of Mount Doom, the fires of lust and power. He knew that to use the Ring, even for “good”, means one will be changed by it, resulting in the ultimate destruction of that which one sets out to save.
I’m not sure about this, and I can’t find anything in Tolkien’s writings or interviews to support it, but I can’t help thinking that Tolkien had in mind the biblical story of Christ’s temptation in the desert by Satan, as documented in Matthew 4:1-11.
In my blog post titled, The Evil of the Lesser Evil, I write about how Satan tempted Jesus to use evil to accomplish the holy and sacrificial mission given to Him by the Father. Jesus certainly could have justified himself in grabbing the Ring offered by Satan, but just like Gandalf and Galadriel, he knew that using the controls of power constructed by Satan in the fires of hell would ultimately destroy the world instead of saving it.
Today, many Christians look at the polarized, fractured, and hostile political landscape and feel an overwhelming urge to seize the “Ring” of state power. They believe that if they could only control the levers of government, the courts, and the culture, they could legislate righteousness, protect the vulnerable, and establish a Christian order.
But in doing so, they are repeating the ancient error of those who tried to use the Ring to “fix” Middle-earth. They fail to see that the political machinery of the kingdoms of the world is not a vessel for the Kingdom of God, but a corrosive force that will consume those who attempt to wield it.
The Great Privatization: How We Lost Our Way
To understand how the Church arrived at this temptation, we must look back to St. Augustine of Hippo.
In the early centuries of Christianity, believers lived in a state of societal alienation from the violent empire in which they lived.
They were a marginalized, persecuted minority who lived by a different set of rules.
They were known for their unconditional, non-reciprocal love.
They were considered pacifists because they would not pick up arms to harm or murder their enemies.
They cared for the sick during plagues, valued the lives of those deemed disposable, and refused to offer sacrifice to the Emperor, declaring that Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not.
This was a radical, political statement, a rejection of the state’s ultimate authority.
Theirs was not just a set of beliefs, but a way of life. Indeed, the early Christians used to refer to themselves not as “Christians”, but as followers of “The Way”.
They waded into a hostile world not with the sword of doctrine and the shield of exclusion, but as an inclusive and living example of how one is to live by modeling their lives after the one they followed.
In a world where their enemies were literally building crosses for them, they were busy helping others carry theirs.
Indeed, they did not only preach the Gospel; they were themselves a living, breathing example of it.
However, over the centuries, there has been a shift to what I call the “great privatization of sin”.
Augustine, in his attempt to diagnose the human condition, placed a heavy emphasis on his concept of Original Sin. While this provided a necessary focus on personal integrity and humility, it inadvertently changed the Church’s mission.
By focusing almost exclusively on personal sin and private salvation, the Church began to outsource its prophetic voice to the State rather than using it to stand against the State in matters of social concern.
The empire was no longer the enemy; it was the “necessary evil” that maintained order so the Church could continue its work of saving souls. Over time, the Kingdom of God, once a revolutionary vision for a transformed community, became an abstract, otherworldly destination.
This created a spiritual vacuum. If the primary problem is personal, internal sin, then systemic issues like poverty, injustice, and the marginalization of the underprivileged are seen as secondary or irrelevant to the “real” work of the Gospel.
In place of the outward and inclusive message of Jesus preached in The Sermon on the Mount, Christians began to focus on their private piety, contributing to the creation of a “gospel” of exclusion based on judgment and shame. Meanwhile, the State was allowed to act as it always has: by the sword, by force, and by the desire for domination.
The Boromir Complex: The Temptation of “Righteous” Power
Many modern Christians, feeling they have lost their cultural dominance, now view political power as a “Ring” that must be seized to protect their identity and values.
Like Boromir, they believe they can use the corrupt machinery of modern politics to advance the Kingdom of God. But just as Tolkien’s Ring corrupts those who think they can use it for “good,” the pursuit of political power corrupts the Church. When Christians seize the political Ring of power and corruption, they do not change the State; the State changes them.
The most dangerous consequence of this seizure is the abandonment of its prophetic voice. The Church was never intended to be the sword-wielder. It was intended to be the conscience of the world. By aligning so closely with partisan agendas, the Church has lost its ability to speak truth to power. It has become a part of the system it was meant to challenge.
When justice and caring for the poor are dismissed by some Christians as “woke” rather than viewed as fundamental Christian values, it is a sign that the Ring of power has already done its work. The label “woke” has become a defensive shield, a way to protect a political identity from the prophetic demand that the powerful must account for their treatment of the marginalized.
The Hobbit Way: A Return to the Fellowship
So, how do we destroy the Ring and the evil that it represents today?
In Tolkien’s tale, the victory is not won by the mighty or the powerful. It is not won by those who seek to rule. It is won by a humble Hobbit who wanted nothing to do with the Ring.
Frodo and Sam succeed because they are humble, because they are faithful to one another, and because they are willing to bear the burden of the journey without demanding the power of the prize. Indeed, Jesus reinforced this view of power in Matthew 20:16 when he said,” So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen.”
This is the path of the early Church. It is the path of the Body of Christ that exists outside the games of the Empire.
To destroy the ring today, Christians must decouple their faith from the State. We must stop looking to the government as the ultimate arbiter of morality. The State cannot save us, and it cannot legislate virtue. We must realize that the “peace” the State offers is merely the absence of chaos, not the presence of justice.
We must also reclaim the prophetic call that has been gradually lost, thereby enabling us to stand outside the system and criticize the structures that oppress our neighbors.
This means caring for the poor and the marginalized, not as a political statement, but as a fundamental act of faith, even when it is unpopular.
Furthermore, we must reject the “Us vs. Them” binary. The nationalist temptation tries to conflate the Kingdom of God with our earthly nation and culture. This is a heresy of the highest order.
The Fellowship of the Ring was composed of different races and cultures, united by a common commitment to the good. The Church must be the same in order to transcend the boundaries of the earthly kingdoms in which we live.
Finally, we must embrace the burden. It was not easy for Frodo to bear the ring, just as it is not easy for us to bear our Crosses in this world. It is the way of refusing to dominate, to coerce, and to play by the world’s rules. It is the way of the sacrificial love that Christ lived, a love that is willing to be vulnerable.
Conclusion: Whose Kingdom Are We Building?
The temptation to seize the Ring of power is as old as the Church itself. But every time the Church has succumbed to it, it has emerged weaker, more corrupt, and more distant from the one it claims to serve.
We are living in an era that demands a decision. We can continue to scramble for the Ring, convinced that we can use it to build a “Christian nation,” only to find that the very power we sought has stripped us of our witness, turning us into the white-washed tombs that Jesus described when accusing the Pharisees of their hypocrisy. Or, we can choose the way of the Fellowship. We can set aside our desire to rule and return to our call to serve.
The Kingdom of God is not a territory to be conquered or a government to be controlled. It is a reality lived out in the margins, in sacrifice, and in radical, unconditional love for our neighbor.
As we look at the political landscape today, let us remember the words of Samwise Gamgee: “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you.” That is the mission. Not to wield the power that destroys, but to carry one another through the darkness, trusting that the King who truly reigns is not the one who sits on an earthly throne, but the one who died to set us free from the need to rule.
The Ring offers us the world, but Christ offers us something far better: the freedom to love without the need to dominate. And that, in a world that is obsessed with power, is the most radical act of all and is just as much a threat to the systems of power today as it was in the time of Jesus.
