A Call To Become Loremasters and Storykeepers

Building A Church Like Rivendell

The Great Story in an Age of Amnesia

We live in an age of amnesia. In our time, truth is often commodified and novelty is prized above faithfulness, leaving the Church afflicted by a kind of historical amnesia. This amnesia, a pervasive forgetting (or even denial) of our own story and heritage, has become one of the greatest spiritual maladies of the modern Church. When Christians lose connection to the past, they become unmoored in the present. They forget who they are, what God has done, and what The Great Story of the faith really is. In such forgetfulness, identity is lost and hope shrivels.

Against this bleak backdrop, we need what I’m calling Loremasters and Storykeepers. That is, men and women of the Church dedicated to preserving and passing on the sacred memory of God’s mighty deeds. The Church is called to be a place of memory in an age of forgetfulness, a community that keeps alive The Great Story of creation, redemption, and new creation. In J.R.R. Tolkien’s legendarium, the hidden refuge of Rivendell stands as a beautiful symbol for what the Church could be: a sanctuary of memory, lore, and hope amidst a world forgetting its heritage. This essay will explore why the Church must become a kind of Rivendell, a place where tradition, creeds, catechisms, and biblical literacy are cherished so that the Great Story is passed down and not forgotten.

A Haven of Ancient Lore

In Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, Rivendell is the “Last Homely House,” a sanctuary tucked away in the wilds where weary travelers find rest. But, it is more than a shelter. As one description has it: “the house of Elrond was a refuge for the weary and the oppressed, and a treasury of good counsel and wise lore.” Rivendell is a treasury of lore.

In other words, it is a place where ancient songs are still sung, where the knowledge of past ages is kept, and where memory is long. The master of that house, Elrond, is himself called wise and venerable, with memories stretching back into the mists of history. When Frodo and his companions arrive in Rivendell, they enter a living library of history. For example, the shards of an ancient sword are preserved there, epic tales of Earendil and Beren are recited, and counsel is given by recalling the deeds (and mistakes) of prior generations.

Tolkien contrasts Rivendell’s memory-keeping with another Elven realm, Lothlórien. As one famous line puts it:

It seemed to him that he had stepped over a bridge of time into a corner of the Elder Days, and was now walking in a world that was no more. In Rivendell there was memory of ancient things; in Lórien the ancient things still lived on in the waking world.

In other words, Rivendell is a place where the ancient things are remembered, even though the wider world outside has moved on. Evil and sorrow have been known there, yet the knowledge of those evils, and of great acts of courage that answered them, is carefully preserved.

This is why Rivendell is an enchanted place. Not because of spells or magic, but because of memory. The long memory of Rivendell bestows wisdom and courage on those who dwell there. At the Council of Elrond, it is the recollection of past events (the story of the Ring’s forging and Isildur’s failure) that guides the Fellowship’s decision for the future.

The Church, likewise, is meant to be a community of long memory. Like Rivendell, the Church should be a haven of ancient lore, where the great deeds of God in history are continually remembered and celebrated. In Rivendell, the ancient tales were kept alive through song and story. In the Church, the ancient tales of Scripture and the testimonies of the saints are to be kept alive through reading, teaching, preaching, and worship. Just as Rivendell’s archives and storytellers provided counsel for the present crisis, the Church’s collective memory provides wisdom and identity to face the crises of today.

The Power of Memory for Identity and Hope

Why is memory so important? It’s actually quite simple if you think about it. Memory anchors identity.

A person with severe amnesia loses not only facts but a sense of self. Similarly, a community that forgets its story loses sight of its identity and purpose. There are few things more frightening than the loss of memory. As one observer notes, “Memory loss can be isolating and lonely. Not only are the amnesiac’s memories stolen, so are his or her identity and relationships with others in the present.” When we forget who we are and whose we are, we become disconnected from those around us and from the very truths that give life meaning. Past, present, and future go together. If the past is erased, our present identity falters and our future hope dims.

This is true on a cultural level as well. “Our world is a frightening place when we forget what God has done for us, is doing and will do in the future. This amnesia robs us of our memory, our identity, and disconnects us from our neighbor and the One who loves us.” A church that forgets its heritage in God’s story becomes prey to fear and confusion. We see this “spiritual amnesia” in many churches today. Cut off from the wisdom of the past, they chase trends, succumb to false teachings more easily, and even slip into an identity crisis. Without the stabilizing memory of sound doctrine and God’s faithfulness through the ages, every new cultural wave threatens to capsize the community.

Tragically, evidence of biblical and historical illiteracy in the Church abounds. Basic knowledge of Scripture and Christian history (once taken for granted) is now shockingly rare. For example, one recent survey found something that has left me astounded since I read it. It finds:

Already, only 6 percent of American adults hold to a Christian worldview, evangelical pollster George Barna tells us. Many struggle with basic biblical facts, familiar even to atheists in days gone by. For example, the Barna Research Group reported in recent years that only 60 percent of American adults can name even five of the 10 Commandments; 12 percent believe Joan of Arc was Noah’s wife; and 50 percent believe Sodom and Gomorrah were married.

Such jaw-dropping findings confirm that many who even identify as Christians have become disconnected from the very content of their faith. When even the most fundamental stories and teachings are forgotten or confused, the church stands on perilous ground.

The consequences of this amnesia are dire. With biblical memory lost, people do “what is right in their own eyes,” unmoored from the guiding story of God’s Word. With historical memory lost, each generation treats the Church as if it sprang up yesterday, with no lessons to learn from those who went before. Novel teachings (or old heresies dressed as novelties) find fertile soil in this forgetfulness. One priest recently pointed out, “any novelty can be clothed in biblical language and presented as authentic Christianity” when historical grounding is absent. Indeed, itching ears easily fall for fads and errors when they have no memory of “sound doctrine” to compare against (2 Tim 4:3–4).

The Apostle Paul warned of this very danger. His remedy for those who walked in a disordered way was simple. Hold them up to the standard of the tradition they had already received. He wrote:

“Now we command you, brethren, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that you withdraw yourselves from every brother that walks disorderly, and not after the tradition which he received of us” — 2 Thessalonians 3:6

If forgetting is so dangerous, remembering becomes a vital task. The Church must remember its Great Story. That is, the grand narrative of God’s work in history – and continually rehearse it. In doing so, the Church finds stability, identity, and hope. We remember that we are not the first generation of believers, that “the faith…was once for all delivered to the saints” long ago (Jude 1:3) and we are stewards of that good deposit. We remember that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Heb 13:8), and that anchors us amid cultural storms. By remembering, the Church refuses to slip into the ghost-life of mere museum and instead keeps the faith alive as a living tradition of truth and grace.

In some ways, we must first become like Rivendell to ever become like Lothlorien.