Today is the 114th birthday of J.R.R. Tolkien, the great writer and linguist who gave us such works of literary genius as The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and, of course, The Lord of the Rings, about which C.S. Lewis insightfully wrote “Here are beauties which pierce like swords or burn like cold iron”.

I first read The Hobbit when I was about ten years old, and I was enthralled. I remember being overjoyed to discover that he had written “more about Hobbits” in another, longer work – a trilogy – called The Lord of the Rings, which I read when I was around eleven or twelve.

I’ll never forget diving into it for the first time; I was immediately struck by its more mature, darker tone and the rich depth of its histories. It was like a feast!

It swept me away, gave me visions of heroism and epic grandeur, and filled my mind with the values of goodness, simplicity, simple courage, loyalty, hardship, and love. And it is no stretch to say that it spurred me on in my search for God. I began reading the Bible sometime after reading LOTR, in a search, though I didn’t know it at the time, for what Tolkien would call the “true myth”. That search, spurred on initially by Tolkien’s shining work and helped along by many other circumstances and internal longings, culminated in the discovery – or perhaps revelation is a better term – of the reality of the story of my Savior before whom even Tolkien’s brilliant works of genius pale.

Happy Birthday, Professor Tolkien. My hope and expectation is that you are even now in the presence of the One who lit your imagination.

[Hat Tip to Sherry for the reminder]