The Church as Miniature Rivendells: Rivendell As Sacred Space
The Inklings Option: The Church as Miniature Rivendells, Part One
Introduction
The majestic spires ascended towards heaven like an offering. Streams of living waters cascaded down and flowed like wine bringing merriment to the world downstream. The ethereal melodies of immortals echoed through the air, enveloping the valley and stirring hearts with glimpses of other worlds. They knew that they had come to a sacred place, a place where Black Speech had never been uttered.
As they came further up and further in, they encountered not only fabled hospitality but also the forgotten lore of an ancient world, providing rest and joy for their weary souls.
Now, let me ask you this: Am I describing Rivendell from J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings,” or am I describing the Church?
Truth be told, I'm describing both. Or, to put it more precisely, I'm capturing the essence of what one is and what the other should aspire to be.
The first time I read Tolkien’s legendarium, I couldn’t get enough of Rivendell. The thought of this sacred elvish village flowing with the living waters of the river Bruinen and with sacred songs of the immortal elves filling the valley took hold of my imagination and has yet to let go. I’ve spent many hours in the Last Homely House east of the Sea. For quite a while now, I have been saying that I think that Rivendell is a great analogy for what we should be laboring to cultivate in our churches.
In the relentless battlefield against what C.S. Lewis termed "the evil enchantment of worldliness" and what I've labeled as "That Old Morgul Magic" — the insidious allure of secular materialism weaving spells to convince us that earthly pursuits can metamorphose into heavenly bliss — we find ourselves at war. This is no metaphorical skirmish; it is a palpable, cosmic conflict that resonates with the Apostle Paul's assertion, guided by divine insight, that our struggle extends beyond mortal adversaries. We contend not merely with flesh and blood but with spiritual entities — rulers and principalities — whose malevolent influence imposes destructive patterns upon us mortals (Eph. 6:12).
Acknowledging this, I am putting forth an imaginative proposition: Envisioning the Church as Miniature Rivendells.
This is not a mere aesthetic aspiration. Rather, it is a strategic imperative in our ongoing spiritual battle. As the world succumbs to the enchantment of materialism, we, as the Church, must become fortified refuges akin to Rivendell. Our sanctuaries should not merely echo the beauty of Tolkien's creation but actively stand against the dark forces that seek to enthrall our hearts and minds. The Church as a sacred space becomes our bastion, a source of strength and wisdom amidst the cacophony of worldly spells. This conceptualization is not a passive ideal; it's a clarion call to become guardians of truth, goodness, and beauty in the face of encroaching shadows. As we embark on this imaginative journey, let us forge Miniature Rivendells that not only captivate with their beauty but radiate a spiritual potency — a counter-enchantment that dispels the illusions of a world bewitched by its own materialistic magic.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Narnian to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.