The Return of the King and Other Stories

On the rocky shoreline, blurred to dim outlines by the falling dusk and the sweeping fog, an old knight holds the hand of a young page boy.

“Is it over, then?” the boy asks. They watch a boat, laden with several upright figures and one lifeless one, move slowly out onto the water. Already, the sea mist shrouds their forms, turning them ghostly and unreal in the low light.

“Is what over?” The old knight looks down at the boy, whose dirty face is white and tear-streaked. He’s been through a lot this day.

“Everything. Camelot.”

Bedivere dropped to one knee and took the lad by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. There was a sudden ferocity in his manner, and the page suddenly recalled that, a few mere hours ago, this gentle knight was slaying enemies like unto a man possessed by bloodlust. Some of that energy shone now in his eyes, but it was a tempered light—no rage or berserker frenzy here. Nay, this light was pure and truthful, but ardent just the same.

“Nay, lad,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “When England has need of him most, in her darkest hour, our king will return.” He stood and raised his hand in a final salute to the fading bark that bore away the body of his fallen king. “Arthurue Rex! The once and future king!”

It’s a familiar scene. Whether we’ve encountered it in the Arthurian legends, the stories of Lewis and Tolkien, comic books, Disney movies, or merely in our own deep-seated desires to continue the adventures of our favorite heroes, the idea of a “once and future king” rings true somewhere in our beings.

Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen.

…From the ashes a fire shall be woken, / a light from the shadows shall spring, / renewed shall be blade that was broken, / and the crownless again shall be king.

We want it to continue. In our heart of hearts, we don’t want to read the words, “And they lived happily ever after, The End.” And even more so, we don’t want to read the words that Bilbo Baggins proposed for the end of his story: “And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days.”

We don’t want our heroes to die. We don’t want their stories to come to an end. That’s why the movie industry can make money off of stupid sequels, prequels, and related spin-offs. They know we will go see them, even if we already know that it’s going to be stupid. Because we want to see our heroes again. We want to be reassured that if they could save the day once, they can do it again.

It’s that tightening feeling in your throat at the end of the movie, when the Bad Guy has fallen, and the Good Guy sweeps the Girl into his arms for a tender kiss, while the music swells…You don’t want it to be over. You want more.

One of the greatest promises of all time is this: at the end of Revelation, Jesus says, “Surely, I am coming soon.”

Despite the hype generated by some misguided folks lately, we haven’t reached “The End” yet! We’re still inside the story, building to the climax. When all hope seems lost, and darkness and evil have blanketed the world, the King returns! And, just like any good story, we know how the battle ends, don’t we? The Bad Guy will fall forever, and the King will sweep his Bride off her feet and ride off into the sunset.

And the best part? There is no “The End”. Rather, like the end of C.S. Lewis’ The Last Battle, “…For them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on and on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

Can you imagine it? Can you feel that same sensation in your throat? That feeling of not being sure whether you are going to laugh or cry, but only knowing that if you don’t do something the excitement and joy and longing are going to burst out of you like a firecracker?

God has ingrained in us this longing for the “Happily Ever After,” when all things are made new and all the wrongs are forever righted by the Once and Forever King. We long for that forever victory—not one that finishes with “The End,” but one that ends with, “And So It Began.” Paul speaks in Romans about how all of creation is groaning, as in the pains of childbirth, awaiting the return of the King. We anxiously await him, and say, along with John, “Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!”

I don’t know about you, but every day I long even more to hear that final trumpet sound and know that, “The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”

And maybe there will even be some epic music playing from celestial speakers.