Watch the charge of the riders of Rohan: http://youtu.be/sdnqZcmWk8U
(Embed disabled so watch at YouTube)
Orders are given
The king explains what he expects of the Riders of Rohan in the battle, and of course ultimately their goal is to save the innocents in Minas Tirith who are being attacked and brutalized. Once actually in the battle, obviously each rider has to make a lot of decisions for themselves, but there is a general structure to it. Similarly in our lives, we are given missions or important tasks by God, although the details are up to us. We also hear the king putting people into groups—much like our relationships with each other.
Charge begins
You have a choice—is it worth it to hand over your life to someone in order to help and protect others? Riders could have stayed on the hill and not gone to assist the people in the city. But if you take the plunge and join the charge, there are consequences.
People go down
Notice in the end of the clip, the Orcs begin shooting and a fair number of riders and horses are shot down to tumble into the dust in pain and death. Eru (God) did not sit there going Mmmmmm who shall I kill today, which of the people serving me shall I maim and torture.
After the tragedy when a group of missionaries were killed by pirates, the average Christian I heard was moaning Why did God let that happen? As if he were holding every last string of our lives gleefully making an evil laugh when he doesn’t save people. I mean seriously?
Does God “let” people suffer and die?
This comes down to a little thing called free will—could He have made a bunch of beings that were perfectly obedient that hopped along a little track and jumped when He said jump? Yes. Did he? No. If God really interfered every time we made a bad decision where would it end? We’d end up automatons no better than the computer I am typing on. How could such things (not people) even have the capability of choosing to love? It would be programmed in and become meaningless, like a love potion in Harry Potter. Unfortunately, by giving us the freedom to make choices, a lot of people make bad ones, and some particularly horrific. So in a sense is God “letting” people suffer? Yes. Is God also “letting” people truly live? Yes. The two are intertwined.
Does God “let” Christians suffer?
Yes. This is the big problem I’m seeing lately—either Christians become bitter at God every time something bad happens and have an over large sense of entitlement, or they become extremely depressed and spend every moment miserably trying to see what God’s purpose was in the suffering. Okay have you not read Job? Eh? Seriously people get over it. Sometimes bad stuff happens to people because bad stuff happened. Don’t sit around blaming God, and don’t sit around wasting time trying to find deep meaning in it. Can we learn as a result of suffering? Absolutely! Was that the reason for the suffering? No, not necessarily. Put it on a shelf labeled “TBD” and don’t worry about it. Don’t cause depression by feeling like you can’t move on until finding the pain’s purpose. Stuff happens. Just because you fell down the stairs doesn’t mean it was a big cosmic event—it means you tripped and fell down the stairs. The real test is how you respond to it.
The island sloped up into vibrant green fields bending in a dance with the wind. I struggled up the low hill, only to find my shoes sinking. With horror, I realized that what had seemed like a friendly meadow was actually a bog. I whirled round to retrace my steps, but I had apparently taken the only safe route there was. Now that I examined the area closer, it was no field, but a marsh with green tentacles that looked like grass but weren’t. Terrified, I flung myself back down toward the shore. I fell onto my knees into the muck, and nothing I did seemed to free me from the bog. Crying and desperate I pulled myself inch by inch through the difficult mossy muck until I reached hard ground and dragged myself onto it.
The wind whipped through my dress, which I realized for the first time I was wearing. It was long white gauze like a turn-of-the-century summer dress, and had quickly dried in the sea breeze. The door to the building was ajar and I hesitantly opened it. Within was a dark room with slightly flickering orange light revealing a museum of some sort. Some areas were set up in scenes with cut-outs and signs explaining what they were. On one side was a row of glass cases containing artifacts, and somewhere a movie was playing about the 1840s in California.
Down at the ferry dock I expected to have to wait a long time, but just as I arrived, so did the small boat. There were a few other passengers who clambered in with me. A blonde was at the wheel, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
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