Yesterday, on the long drive from New Orleans to Louisville, my family finished listening to The Hobbit audiobook, the version read by Andy Serkis. It was masterfully done. Serkis deserves his reputation as one of the best voice actors out there. If you’ve ever struggled to get into Tolkien’s books of Middle-earth, give this audiobook version another try and see if, like my own wife and daughter, you’re finally hooked.
While listening, I was reminded of just how long Bilbo Baggins’ story has been a part of my life. My parents brought a record player with them to Melanesia in the late 80s. And one of the records they brought with them was the soundtrack for the 1977 Hobbit cartoon. Somehow, this had made it into my dad’s record collection even before he had met my mom. Those songs, along with the cartoon itself, were an early and constant part of my and my brothers’ childhood soundtrack and imagination.
Growing up with this 1977 cartoon adaptation, I never realized just how strange it was. In this project, the fiction of a British professor who was shaped by Norse languages and mythology, as well as the trenches of WWI, meets the music of the hippie singer-songwriters of the 1970s and the odd animation of a group that would go on to become the anime Studio Ghibli. Sadly, my wife finds the whole thing unbearably creepy and, after watching it once with me, has sworn ‘never again.’ Alas, for the sake of marital harmony, I will have to listen to the stirring strains of The Greatest Adventure in my earbuds for the foreseeable future – not to mention much livelier numbers such as Down, Down to Goblin Town.
But I digress. The main point of this post was to tell you how Bilbo Baggins made me brave. Or, at least, how he was one of several good ingredients that made me want to be brave, should I ever be given the chance.
This is exactly what good stories should do. G.K. Chesterton says, “Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.” Similarly, CS Lewis says, “Since it is so likely that they will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage.” We live in a fallen world, so we desperately need good stories where the heroes stand up and defy evil, even risking their lives doing so. The advantage of being exposed to stories like this in childhood is the time they have to marinate and shape the young heart.
One of the major themes of The Hobbit is how an unlikely little hobbit like Bilbo Baggins ends up saving his friends (and many others) through being courageous, even though he is very small and afraid. At many points throughout the book, Bilbo is faced with dangerous choices, but each time he opts to do the right thing, which is also the risky thing. Perhaps his greatest test is towards the end of the book when he is going, alone, down the long tunnel to where the sleeping dragon, Smaug, awaits. Tolkien writes,
It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterward were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait.
-The Hobbit, chapter 12
In this passage, Tolkien says that Bilbo fought the true battle in the tunnel alone, before he really knew what facing the dragon would entail, and that his decision to press forward was the bravest thing he ever did. I heard and read this passage over and over again as I was growing up. And every time I did, in my heart, I wanted to be like Bilbo. I hoped that if I were to ever find myself alone in a dark tunnel leading to danger for the sake of good, for the sake of my friends, that I would also choose to keep going.
It makes me wonder, when exactly is the real battle fought for young boys who will one day face their own ‘dragons’? Reflecting on my own childhood, and now observing my own boys, I think it’s less one big decision made in a moment of crisis. More likely, it is countless small desires and resolutions made while listening to stories like The Hobbit, tales where biblical virtues, such as courage unto death, are held up as good and right and worthy of emulation. One small layer at a time, one tiny steeling of the will at a time, and a hard core of courage eventually forms in a boy’s chest – one that will only be revealed in moments of crisis.
They say you can’t know how you will respond in a crisis until you’re in it. Will you move away from danger or toward it? Will your instinct be self-preservation or the safety of others? This may partially be true, but I would contend that one very good sign of what you will do can be discerned from the kinds of stories you have been listening to – and what has been happening in your heart, will, and prayers as you listen.
Of course, Bilbo was only one part of a balanced narrative diet. My childhood and adolescence were also shaped by other good stories, including Narnia, the Rocky movies, and films like Gettysburg. Most importantly, I grew up immersed in those true stories in the Bible that form the substance of which hobbits are only the shadow. I grew up hearing of David defying Goliath, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego defying Nebuchadnezzar and his furnace, Stephen being stoned, and Jesus Christ himself willingly passing through death and hell for the sake of his friends.
Along with this, I also saw courage modeled as Melanesians defied the spirits and witch doctors to follow Jesus, as my dad gave up his own life on the mission field, and as my mom later bravely returned as a single mom. I saw these real-life risky decisions made by followers of Jesus, and I wanted to be like them.
Years later, when a friend in high school was attacked by a mugger, I was put to the test. Would my instinct be to wrestle the mugger off of her? In that moment, there was no time for cost analysis. I sprung. And I did my best to fight the guy off my friend. She and I ended up safe in the end, and the mugger in police custody. Where does that kind of an impulse come from? Looking back, I think, in part, from little Bilbo Baggins in the tunnel. The decision to act and help had been made a long time ago. And it had been reaffirmed over and over again.
Courage, I believe, is ultimately a gift from God. It is a gift many are given in a common grace sense, a merciful inheritance still from the first Adam. But it must also be given in a special way to those who have new hearts, to those who know the second Adam. In us, the very courage of the Son of God slowly grows, layer upon layer, and will go on growing forever. This is the kind of courage that can lead to faithful believers from the past like Hugh Latimer, who not only faithfully endured being burned at the stake, but even called out in encouragement to his friend, Nicholas Ridley, also in the flames, “Be of good comfort, Mr. Ridley, and play the man: We shall this day light such a candle, by God’s grace, in England, as I trust never shall be put out.”
How can we encourage the growth of courage in our lives, and in our own kids’ hearts? The word of God must take primary place here, and after it, the example of the faithful we have in the Church Universal and in our own local assemblies.
But along with this, let’s not neglect the power of good stories. God used many means to make me brave. Not least of these was the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.
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Entrusted to the Dirt 