Becoming a Treebeard Christian

When faithfulness matters more than taking a side

In the Lord of the Rings (books and films), the character Treebeard is from a race of Ents, or tree-herders. Charged with protecting trees and forests, Treebeard grows out of touch with the outside world, and unbeknownst to him, the world is being drawn toward a final cataclysmic face-off between good and evil. When he finally learns of the fast-approaching war, he also faces the question, “Whose side are you on?”

His answer has long resonated with me:

“Side? I am on no one’s side, because no one is on my side.”

Of course, ultimately Treebeard joins the side of good, but only when the stakes of good losing to evil become personal, entangled with his own charge to guard and protect the trees.

But—

What if neither side had been pure good or pure evil?
What if there was no side clearly in the right?
What if both sides had committed the cardinal sin of idolizing power?

What would Treebeard have chosen then?

This question isn’t theoretical or distant for me. In fact, in the last three months, a general pattern I’d been observing confronted me shockingly, personally. Each of three separate incidents stunned me, but when the realization hit me that I was seeing a trend—different people in different settings following the same pattern—it felt impossible to stay silent. In all three cases:

1. The discussion didn’t stay with ideas; it turned toward character or intelligence. In two cases, I was the target; in the third, a close relative was. One person framed his comments as “concern” for me, but the effect was still deeply personal.

2. The emotion was intense—fear or defensiveness thinly veiled as anger or frustration.

3. Each conversation veered off-topic, as if the other person was arguing with an imagined version of me, assigning opinions and motives I’ve never expressed publicly or to them privately.

None of this is new in politics, religion, or other charged topics.

What unsettled me, however, was that none of these people were Internet trolls or casual acquaintances taking potshots from a safe distance. No, these were people I’ve long respected as humble, thoughtful, able to see nuance, two of them very dear to me. Yet in those ranting moments, they became people I almost didn’t recognize. (Another detail bothered me: all three fit a similar demographic. This isn’t an accusation, but I wonder: what shared pressures might be shaping this particular fear? Good question for another post.)

What would Treebeard do in such an instance?

I believe he would still fulfill his purpose to care for the trees, to fight for them, to speak up for his family. It is what all believers should strive for: faithfulness to calling and to Christ should always trump political allegiance.

That is how I feel as a Christian these days, in the U.S., in the West, even. Morality has polarized. One side claims divine sanction but has become obsessed with power, willing to overlook blatant violations of the very morality it claims to defend, to excuse words and behaviors it would once have condemned. On the other side, many rightly denounce this, yet some are tempted into the same unloving words and postures, or into a different kind of compromise with truth in the name of compassion or progress.

I’m not speaking of everyone on either side. As I’ve worked to overcome my fear of speaking up, I’ve encountered many—across the spectrum—who are uneasy with the extremism at each end. But are those the voices we hear dominating microphones, algorithms, or headlines? No, they’re are the ones who often stay quiet, caught between conscience and belonging.

And so, as distress for my family has grown—to use the Treebeard analogy, when the trees themselves are taking sides—as families, friendships, churches, and communities divide along lines that never used to define them—I feel called to engage, to point out that no one is on our side. Not really.

Because another line from Tolkien haunts me, from Haldir of Lothlórien: “Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him.”

This observation, along with Treebeard’s declaration, resonates deep in my soul. As a Christian who escaped a high‑control religious environment, wrestled through existential doubt and faith, is learning to integrate her neurodivergence with Christian community, and struggles to hold truth and love in tension, I know well the ache of spiritual homelessness.

I imagine many of you know it, too, though your reasons may differ.

To preserve my sanity and keep my conscience clear, I will keep this public journal: a journal of seeking and of longing to belong. A place where faith and imagination meet, where myth and story illuminate meaning, where questions are welcome even when answers remain as elusive as the Entwives. A place to deconstruct and reframe in a relentless pursuit of truth, while remembering that mercy triumphs over judgment.¹ For as we squabble and allow ourselves to be distracted by daily disasters and polemics, another ring is being forged. The Dark Lord’s power grows.

Shall we band together instead?

If you’re willing to lean into uncertainty, to value faithfulness over allegiance and truth over victory, I hope this space offers companionship for the journey.

James 2:13

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