Call me Gollum
Call me Gollum. He and I are brothers, as are all who cannot part with the very thing that destroys our lives….
It started innocently enough. Smeagol was fishing when his brother found a shiny ring in the river. Fascinated, Smeagol asked for it as a gift since, after all, it was his birthday. A fight ensued and, shockingly, he killed his brother in order to gain the ring.
That was ages ago, a distant memory. Smeagol treasured the ring, called it a birthday present, always kept it with him, and shunned all human contact for the sake of his “precious.”
It was all he could think about, and all that mattered to him. The gift rewarded him with long, albeit subhuman, life. It didn’t matter that he’d become a shell of his true self, an offensive creature called Gollum for the strange, guttural sound coming from his mouth. The ring was all the comfort he desired. He was alone and happy.
Until the day fate intervened. The ring changed hands, first to Bilbo Baggins and then to Frodo, his nephew. For precious though it had been to Smeagol, the ring carried cosmic as well as personal implications: it represented all that was wrong not only in his pathetic little life, but also in the world as a whole. It had to be destroyed.
Frodo was the new Ringbearer; it was his burden to carry it to Mount Doom. Gollum found that he could not live without it the ring. His every waking moment was consumed by it: longing for it, dreaming about it, seeking it. He must find his “precious.”
In time, he located Frodo and his companion Sam on their quest to destroy the ring. Against Sam's better judgment, Gollum became their guide.
A curious relationship developed between Frodo and Gollum. Knowing from personal experience the ring’s addictive power, Frodo sought to coax the humanity back into Gollum. He called him by his true name, Smeagol. He refused to kill him when given opportunity. He trusted him to lead them to their destination. For his own sake as well as Gollum’s, Frodo had to believe redemption was possible.
Alas, the power of the ring would not be thwarted. Frodo found himself at the precipice of Mount Doom, prepared to cast the cursed ring into the only fire which could unmake it. He paused and discovered that he, too, could not part with the ring. He would keep it for himself and join Gollum in his wretched existence.
Gollum seized the moment, wrestling Frodo for it as Sam watched in horror. When Frodo placed it on his finger, Gollum bit both the ring and Frodo’s finger from his hand. In triumph he celebrated his victory only to fall, arms outstretched, into the fires of Mount Doom. He died a happy man....
Call me Gollum. He and I are brothers, as are all who cannot part with the very thing that destroys our lives. We know full well the corrosive and addictive effects of the lust for power and magic. We see its work in the lives of people we care about, as well as in our own.
Like Frodo and Gollum, characters from Tolkien’s tale, The Lord of the Rings, we linger at the precipice. Can we surrender our "precious?" Thanks to Gollum’s pathetic obsession, Frodo lived out his days marked but free of the ring's power. Gollum, tragically, gave his life for his beloved ring.
And ourselves? The best answer comes from a biblical writer whose struggle mirrored our own. He, too, stood helpless at the precipice until someone with motives far different from Gollum’s intervened on his behalf: "What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God -- through Jesus Christ our Lord" (Romans 7:25).