Galadriel

I look back from the silver sails
into your shining eyes
And see how love and longing
are yet parted in your heart
The leaves of Lorien left behind
beckon to you still
While I, who am weary,
sail unto undying rest
Gently do I take your hand
and give you leave to go
I press it to my heart, as though
it might mend it, as it once could
And so it is that the last gift I give
to this world are tears
These, given freely and free from regret,
to the waves that bear me far
I have fulfilled my destiny as now
I pass into the West
While you, you tarry longer
in the world that is yours still.

In the house I have not seen
for ages past, I will wait
Where the spirits of my father, mother, brothers
haunt me no more
Though here the land be ever bright
I cannot see it still
Until at last I gaze
on a ship’s brow your face
Shining like a star, a star once again
coming over the Great Sea

So this, I pray, when you have tired
of all who would have you
Who, with honest shallow hearts
and open arms welcome you
Come back to one, who, for you, forever waits
til immortality wane and turn to sorrow
Be not afraid to pass into the West
for it is here that we shall be together,
once again.

Everything reminds me of The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia. At the risk of seeming irreverent, I must admit that I couldn’t help linking even my Holy Week observance to my top two fandoms.

Reflecting on Christ’s agony in Gethsemane reminded me of Gandalf troubled in the mines of Moria, of Aragorn grappling with himself before entering the Paths of the Dead, of Frodo struggling to decide to complete his quest alone. Christ’s entreaty to Peter, James, and John to pray with Him while His soul was troubled unto death� reminded me of Aslan taking comfort in Susan and Lucy’s company before he was sacrificed. Lines in a book about Christ taking on Himself the weight of all our sins reminded me of Frodo bearing the Ring up Mount Doom, of Aslan slain on the stone table to in place of a traitor. A commentary on Christ’s charity towards Judas brought to mind another commentary on Frodo’s pity towards Gollum. Simon of Cyrene helping Jesus paralleled Sam carrying Frodo. A remark by the priest during the Easter Vigil homily about Christ victorious over sin and death conjured images of a resplendent Gandalf appearing to the three hunters who thought he perished fighting the Balrog, of the cracked Stone Table and Aslan explaining “deeper magic from the dawn of time�. The choir singing the “King of Kings and Lord of Lords� part of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus during the recessional brought to mind the triumphant Aragorn crowned king in Minas Tirith.

We sci-fi and fantasy die-hards give the impression of turning our fandoms into a religion, and sometimes, we ourselves wonder if we indeed are. But we need not feel guilty about loving the stories we love (assuming, of course, that none of us actually burns incense before pictures of Frodo played by Elijah Wood; I, for one, know that I know where to draw the line.). For God Himself wired us to love sci-fi and fantasy.

There’s something in every human being identifies with heroism, that revels in cataclysmic struggles between good and evil where the good is really, really good and the evil, really, really evil. Rare is the person who won’t cheer when Luke Skywalker blows up the Death Star or when Anakin throws the Emperor down the hatch or when the Sauron’s forces self-destruct after the Ring falls into the crater of Mount Doom. Deep inside us, we want the really, really good to defeat the really, really evil.

We would be thrilled once we realize that it had in fact happened, which is what we commemorate during Holy Week. We have gotten accustomed to reciting the formula – Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again. We forget that the formula represents something as spectacular as the epic battle scenes and the kick-butt swordfights we love. Ultimate Good defeated Ultimate Evil and renewed the world.

The best part of it is, it actually happened. This, perhaps, explains why God wired us to love sci-fi and fantasy: because the stuff our fandoms are made of actually exist; the central story of all our fandoms actually happened. Our fandoms are real, and the reality intensifies the enjoyment of our fandoms even more. As J.R.R. Tolkien put it, “The Gospels contain a fairy-story, or a story of a larger kind which embraces all the essence of fairy-stories. They contain many marvels – peculiarly artistic, beautiful, and moving: “mythical� in their perfect, self-contained significance; and among the marvels is the greatest and most complete conceivable eucatastrophe. But this story has entered History and the primary world; the desire and aspiration of sub-creation has been raised to the fulfillment of Creation. xxx But in God’s kingdom, the presence of the greatest does not depress the small. Redeemed Man is still man. Story, fantasy still go on, and should go on. The Evangelium has not abrogated legends; it has hollowed them, especially the “happy ending.� The Christian still has to work, with mind as well as body, to suffer, hope, and die; but he may now perceive that all his bents and faculties have a purpose, which can be redeemed.�

I initially cringed when prompted to write an essay on how my fandom helped me survive Holy Week. What kind of a Christian am I if I need my fandom to tide me over the days my Church devotes to reflecting on the central mysteries of my faith? But then, I realized that our fandoms, indeed, enrich our appreciation of the Holy Week mysteries. And our fandoms appeal because they reveal these mysteries: evil vanquished, and the world healed.

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR: Cristina is a TPTS member, a lawyer, and big sister to two other members.