If The Chronicles of Narnia is a series of fantasy books for children containing Christian themes, the same is true of The Lord of the Rings, written for adults by J. R. R. Tolkien. Neither series is directly religious, but both were influenced by the faith of their authors (Lewis, an Anglican, and Tolkien, a Catholic), and both contain themes of sacrifice, resurrection, repentance, redemption, and the fight of good vs. evil.
In The Fellowship of the Ring, Tolkien writes: “The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places.”
It’s not exactly an uplifting way to begin the day, and probably another quote not best suited for a coffee mug or inspirational poster.
But it is an honest observation: the world is sometimes dangerous, always complicated, and often shadowed by darkness. We all know this is true.
Some days, the news alone is enough to remind us. Other days it hits closer to home—a strained relationship, a lost friendship, grief, or anxiety for which we can’t find answers. The darkness isn’t always dramatic, but it’s real.
Tolkien doesn’t deny that. But he doesn’t stop there either. What makes his stories endure is not that they ignore darkness, but that they insist it doesn’t have the final word. In fact, here’s the full quote: “The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
That sounds suspiciously like a verse from the Gospel of John: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)
Notice the tense: shines. Not “shone at one time long ago.” Not “will shine someday in the future.” The light shines now, right in the middle of the darkness.
This is where the Kingdom of God is found. Not in the absence of trouble or difficulty, but in the presence of quiet, persistent light.
A kindness offered when bitterness would be easier. A word of hope spoken into a weary conversation. A small act of faithfulness when no one is watching.
These things seem small, not dramatic or powerful. Often, they don’t seem very important in the grand scheme of things. But they are all those things, because they’re signs—small, steady signals—that the darkness isn’t winning. They are signs of our faith that we won’t allow the darkness to win.
Lent teaches us to name the darkness honestly, but it also trains us to look for the light, to notice where God is already at work, often in ways that are easy to miss. And, more importantly, Lent also challenges us to be the light.
Because God’s Kingdom doesn’t always arrive with brightness and clarity. Sometimes it flickers. Sometimes it feels fragile. But it shines.
And it keeps shining.
Prayer: Lord of Light, when the world feels heavy or uncertain, help me to see your light. Give me the courage to reflect that light in small, faithful ways, trusting that you are at work even in the darkness. Amen.
