The subject for this month’s CW Blog Chain is “quest.” I had some qualms about this originally; after all, we did “the journey” thing back in May of last year. Isn’t this a return to territory we explored with Lewis and Clark?

After giving it some thought, however, I realized that isn’t the case. A journey isn’t much more than a trip, really. It might be an extended one—month, or even years, long—but in the end, it’s just about getting to the end. Going from A to B. Reaching where you want to go.

A quest, though . . . that’s something else. It can involve a journey, but that’s not its central purpose. A quest is a journey made in order to find or obtain something. The “something” can be real, such as the Holy Grail; or it can be an abstract, such as knowledge or some deeper purpose. But it’s the “something” that counts. Complete the journey without fulfilling the quest, and it’s marked a failure.

Yet there’s something even more fundamental and significant that distinguishes the nature of a quest from that of a straightforward journey. I personally made this discovery about fifty miles east of Hobbiton, just past the eastern border of the Shire in Middle Earth—though not while on my first trip through the Old Forest. Most folks harbor fond recollections of their original foray through Tolkien’s masterpiece, and so do I. But the memories of my second reading are far more vivid . . . in large part because of the revelation I just mentioned.

In what was perhaps Tolkien’s most brilliant stroke, he narrated his epic quest through the perspective of innocents who lived outside the influence of the greater world. As a result, during the initial excursion, the Old Forest seemed like the darkest and most perilous region imaginable—both for the hobbits and myself. When I returned to the spot a couple of years later for another visit, however, I couldn’t help but be struck by how much the place had changed. I savored it, treasured it, reveled in the familiarity of the twisted branches and bent will of every tree. It was far more than simple foreknowledge, the fact that I knew from my last reading the hobbits would make it through all right. It was a matter of relative scale. For someone who’s traversed the fathomless depths of Moria and the horrors of the Paths of the Dead and the blackest despair of Mordor, the Old Forest holds few terrors.

And that’s where the difference lies between a journey and a quest. It’s more than just a voyage. It’s the inherent expansion that occurs as a result—of perspective, of character, of depth and understanding. Just as Amy Grant used to sing that “it’s not a song ‘til it touches your heart,” it’s not a quest unless your heart is altogether changed. Tolkien understood this. The Scouring of the Shire, in which the hobbits stand against evil men who’ve taken over their homeland, may seem like an unnecessary epilogue to the story (missed entirely by those who’ve only seen the movies), but the author himself would later write that he considered it the most important part of the novel. It was the proof of the hobbits’ transformation, the fruit on the tree of their quest.

All of this goes for any pursuit—tangible, spiritual, or otherwise. For some, it’s only a journey. They want to accomplish a goal, fulfill an ambition, realize a dream. They just want to get there. Others understand that the objective is only part of the equation. If you don’t grow along the way, what’s the good in getting there at all?

I see many writers set out with the single-minded purpose of publishing a novel. They write. They edit. They submit. They wait. They read the rejection letters in confusion. Why not me? Haven’t I done my part? Didn’t I follow the road all the way to the end?

Others want to become better writers. They don’t just ply the craft; they watch it, study it, practice it, ply it, always looking to expand their gifts. They publish their first novel while working on their fourth, constantly believing their fifth will be even better. It’s the quest that drives them. They live for the adventure of the expedition—and hope, in many ways, that the journey never ends.

Even Christians get caught up in the idea of a spiritual journey. “Be perfect,” Jesus said, “as my Father in heaven is perfect.” That’s the goal they fix in their minds. They feel it should be the result of a good life morally lived. What they fail to see is that perfection can’t be reached the same way you get to New York after leaving Nebraska. It requires a quest. You have to grow into it. You have to allow God to expand you into the complete person he’s made you to be. That’s the great irony: you may not reach the final goal in this lifetime, but if you’re questing after it, that’s really all that matters. That is the goal.

For Stan, the main character in my book, one of the great tragedies is that growth is no longer an option for him, physically or spiritually. He’s pacing a slow journey toward an end he doesn’t really care to reach. One day’s the same as any other. Someday he’ll run out them. His existence is defined by the lack of change.

So how about you? Does that go for you, too? Are you simply pounding away at the keys, hoping someday the stories will get better by themselves? Do you still suffer the same temptations, fear the same devils, that you did ten years ago? Is anything changing?

Are you a Frodo . . . or a Stan?

- P.S. – Happy belated birthday, Pegg! Sorry I didn’t get this out on the 17th. . . !