What motivates an orc? I wonder about it. Not that it keeps me up much at night, but then hardly anything will keep me awake for long.
Wife: “There’s a tornado coming!”
Me: “Wake me up if it hits us.”
Anyway, back to the orcs who, granted, look upon humans as a high-protein food source, yet I tend to think that if a few hundred cows armed themselves and took over a fort somewhere I’d forget about them and find one that wouldn’t put up a fight for my burger, or have some bacon. It’s more than that with the orcs. There’s something about people that just rubs an orc the wrong way.
Orcs are creatures born of grievance and hatred. They were not original creations; they were a perfected creation perverted. The orc is a derivative being, not able to be true and genuine, for to be true it would have turn into something else. The story goes that Melkor took his noble elf captives deep underground, away from their beloved starlight, tortured, twisted, and manipulated them until their shining beauty was a dark hideousness.
You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and has nothing to do with the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies. But because I tell the truth, you do not believe me. -- John 8:44-45
It’s enough to make one wonder if there be orcs among us still. You see it in the suicide-vest Muslims, certainly, but you also see it in the liberation-theology Christian, the wacky militant atheist, in the abortion-loving feminist, the America-hating left, and the self-loathing Jew. Anything that reminds them of what they should have been must be destroyed.
Orcs were repulsed by light and cleanliness and beauty because it recalled to that tiny point of light in their darkened minds what they had once been. The twisting begins with hating, and the hatred may even be justified. Who can blame me for hating one who is abusing and torturing me, who is unjust and cruel to me. But hatred, like fire, is never satisfied. Once hatred and bitterness take root, the poison spreads and defiles everything it touches. Soon, my grievance is not so much with the devil that torments me as with God who delivered me into the devil’s hand. In fact, if He is that kind of a God, why should I not willing serve my tormentor and get back at the One who abandoned me?
The blackness of the abyss looks inviting. I want to dive into the darkness. I would do anything to extinguish that one flickering speck of light that just refuses to go out. If someone speaks of God to me, I want to silence them. It feeds that horrible spark. If they speak righteously, I will expose the darkness and filth within them and call them “hypocrites”. They are no better than I am. If they speak by their lives and their values, I will mock them and seek to make them ashamed of their very goodness. Why should they have righteousness, peace and joy when others do not? Do they not care about others?
And yet I have a dread, a sickening dread that is as cold and certain as death. Even at the bottom, the very blackest bottom of that pit into which I gaze so longingly, I know even there, especially there, this spark will not go out. The fire will burn on to torture me forever.
This abominable little speck of light will be indeed a lake of fire.
7 comments:
I like this post and will share it.
Your tornado anecdote reminds me of me-
Wifey, in the middle of the night, wakes up to the house shaking: Justin, wake up! What's going on?
Me: It's just an earthquake. *Rolls over and goes back to sleep*
:-)
Thanks, Justin. I've lived in Tornado Alley all my life in Missouri and Texas. I'm not sure I'd be so easy going on earthquakes. All we usually have here are fairly minor tremors, but if that New Madrid fault ever slips ...
I attended an Orthodox Church for a while, and one Sunday, in the short homily, the priest talked about a similar idea. That the lake of fire was caused by a sinners inability to repent. Their anger at God making it impossible to accept His love.
This made me wonder if there might be a chance at redemption even after death.
Good question, Roger.
Certainly people like George MacDonald believed that hell could be somewhat like purgatory. The American Quaker, Hannah Whitall Smith, held a similar position.
That's a fairly radical concept for most of us who were raised in Protestant denominations. However, we do know that even Christians face a judgment after death -- and Paul talks about our works being tried as by fire in 1 Corinthians chapter 3.
I guess the question would be whether someone who had rejected grace during his physical life could turn and accept it afterward. I think someone who had never heard or understood the gospel message might be able to pass through the fire and enter God's presence.
On the other hand, someone like the late, great Christopher Hitchens who held such a horrible grudge against God or someone totally given over to evil would have to burn for a long, long, long time. Might not be anything left.
Somebody like Hitchens would be unable to accept God's grace and so would be consumed by it.
It was an interesting idea. I was raised various protestant, too, but with 10x10^10 protestant churches to chose from, I thought I'd try something else.
There's nothing wrong with that. I have really liked the last couple of Popes. They seem to be true men of God. The Orthodox Church is a worthy one as well.
By the way, if you aren't already familiar with it, be sure to check out Gagdad Bob's One Cosmos in the sidebar. Bob's the defining point of our Raccoon-0-sphere.
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