The Witch King, also known as the Lord of the Nazgûl, is a powerful and feared character in J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-earth legendarium. He is often depicted as a dark and malevolent figure, symbolizing evil and corruption. His appearance is that of a tall and imposing figure, clad in black armor and a tattered cape.
This woman-owned tattoo and piercing studio on Elm Street isn’t plagued with nightmares. A new business, it has been described as a safe and comfortable environment with a tattoo artist, Joi, who “breathes life into your skin, etching stories that transcend,” the studio writes on its Instagram page.
I suppose as time went on, this new Christian started to see that his tattoo was potentially a stumbling block, because I started to see it less and less as he started to wear long sleeves to church. The Gospels consistently tell us that the preaching of Jesus drew in those who had hard stories, who had made bad decisions, or faced horrible situations that seemed to have wrecked their lives forever prostitutes, Roman collaborators, leprous outcasts, the demon-possessed, and on and on.
His appearance is that of a tall and imposing figure, clad in black armor and a tattered cape. He wears a crown, representing his status as the leader of the Nazgûl, and wields a terrifying weapon known as a mace. His face is hidden beneath a terrifying helmet, obscuring his true identity.
The church needs more tattoos
U.S. Sen. Rand Paul (R-Ky.) often tells audiences, “Republican Party events need more people with tattoos.” It struck me, as I heard him say this, that this is kind of what evangelical Christians ought to be saying about our churches. It struck me further when I read this tribute my former student Spencer Harmon wrote about his new wife and her past that this is precisely the issue facing the next generation of the Bride of Christ, the church.
What Paul (the senator, not the Apostle) means, it seems, is that his party, if it is to have a future, shouldn’t count on just doing the same thing it’s always done, and it can’t rely on people who look like what people think Republicans ought to look like. The party must expand out to people whose pictures don’t currently show up in a Google image search for “Republican.” There are people, Paul says, who agree with the Republican message, in theory, but who pay no attention to it because they assume they aren’t the kind of people the party wants to talk to.
Paul isn’t alone in this. His colleague Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.), who disagrees sharply with Paul on foreign policy and other issues, quipped recently, “They aren’t making enough angry white men for our party to have a future,” unless the party reaches new constituencies.
My interest here isn’t the Republican Party, or the Paul or Graham wings of it and their ideas for reinvigorating a political movement, or even whether their critique of the political situation is accurate. Instead, Paul’s imagery reminded me of a burden I have for the church of Jesus Christ to, as Jesus puts it, “seek and to save that which was lost.”
I don’t like tattoos, and I can’t emphasize that enough (especially if you’re one of my children, one day, reading this). But if the Spirit starts moving with velocity in this country, our churches will see more people in our pews and in our pulpits with tattoos.
Now, what I don’t mean by that is that we need to more Christians to tattoo crosses or Bible verses or Psalms in Hebrew or the Apostles’ Creed or the sinner’s prayer across their arms or necks. That’s not a sign of gospel awakening; it’s just, at best, personal fashion and, at worst, more marketing in an already over-marketed evangelical church.
Tattoos don’t mean what they used to. They don’t signify necessarily, by a long shot, the kind of “tough” image they used to. I spoke with a friend who mentioned that as he walked through an upscale resort in south Florida, almost everyone in the pool was wearing ink. But, what if the tattoos, in some cases, do signify a tough back-story? That’s what I want to see more of.
I first saw this not in a “relevant” urban church, but in the most stereotypically “hellfire and brimstone,” King James Version, gospel hymn-singing southern revivalist church you could imagine.
As a child, I remember seeing a man sitting in front of me, with his arm resting on the pew. The arm was covered with a large tattoo of a woman who was, well, let’s just say she didn’t fit what we would consider biblical standards of modesty in her attire. I couldn’t believe I was seeing this, in my church, so I nudged my grandmother and pointed, as if to say, “Can you believe this?”
My grandmother whispered, “Yes, honey. He’s doesn’t know the Lord yet, and he’s had a hard life. But his wife has been trying to get him to come to church for a long time, and we’ve all been praying for him. He’s not trying to be ugly to anybody. He just doesn’t know Jesus yet.”
I’ll never forget that “yet.”
With that one word, she put before me the possibility that this hardened ex-military man with the unclothed lady tattoo might one day be my brother-in-Christ. And, in time, he was. I suppose as time went on, this new Christian started to see that his tattoo was potentially a stumbling block, because I started to see it less and less as he started to wear long sleeves to church.
Tattoo removal wasn’t a booming technology then, but, if I had to guess, this man started to see that tattoo as emblematic of an old life he’d left behind. He didn’t need a tattooed pastor (necessarily), but he needed a church that didn’t see his tattoo as evidence of a life too far gone, of someone too rowdy to be loved with the call to repentance and faith.
I think about him often when I see people in the local coffee shop or walking down the streets with tattoos. Some of the markings are of are of blood-drenched skulls. Some of them are slogans of a hedonistic quest for pleasure. Some are threatening others, demonstrating their fearsomeness. Some are pagan, or even occult. I am chastened by how rarely my first thoughts are rooted in my grandmother’s gospel wisdom.
Not everyone with tattoos is an unbeliever or has lived a hard life, of course. But the larger point remains, how many people don’t listen to our gospel message because they assume they don’t “look” like the kind of people who would follow Jesus?
And, shamefully, how many times do we filter out our gospel preaching to people who would, upon baptism, be able to pose nicely for our Sunday school booklet illustrations? How often do we assume that the good news of Christ is a message just like a political campaign or a commercial brand, targeted toward a demographic of a certain kind of buyer?
The Gospels consistently tell us that the preaching of Jesus drew in those who had hard stories, who had made bad decisions, or faced horrible situations that seemed to have wrecked their lives forever: prostitutes, Roman collaborators, leprous outcasts, the demon-possessed, and on and on. That’s because, he tells us, the Spirit builds the kingdom not with the noble or the powerful but with the lame, the marred, the hopeless (Lk. 14:21-23; 1 Cor. 1:26-29).
If we’re really carrying the gospel to the whole world, this means there are going to be people listening, whose bodies carry messages contrary to the Word of God. So did our hearts and psyches.
That young woman with the Wicca tattoo, or the old man with the Hell’s Angels marking, they may wonder, as they feel the pull of the gospel, “How can I enter with this visible reminder on me of my past?” That question is the same we all had, regardless of how “respectable” we looked when we came to Christ: “Deep is the stain that we cannot hide? What can avail to wash it away?”
Jesus will build his church, with us or without us. But if we are going to be faithful to him, we must share his mission. This means we don’t just talk about lost people, we talk to them. And we don’t talk to them as enlightened life-coaches promising an improved future but as crucified sinners offering a new birth.
If the Spirit starts breathing this burden into us with power, we’re going to see churches filled with people who never thought they fit the image of “Christian.” We’ll see that the markings on the flesh, whatever they were, count for nothing, but that what counts is a new creation (Gal. 6:15 ).
We’ve come not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. We’ve come to call not just those who look like whatever Christians are assumed to look like, but the whole world. If the church is powered by the gospel, then sometimes the Body of Christ has tattoos.
Russell Moore is president of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC) of the Southern Baptist Convention.
Originally published at russellmoore.com.
The three people with pumpkins on their heads will not be tattooing on Friday the 13th, despite appearing in the studio’s flyer.
The Witch King's physical appearance reflects his role as the embodiment of evil and fear. His black armor serves as a visual representation of his corrupt and wicked nature, while his imposing stature adds to the aura of power and dominance surrounding him. The tattered cape further enhances his ominous presence, creating an ethereal and otherworldly effect. The crown worn by the Witch King signifies his authority and importance among the Nazgûl. As their leader, he wears this symbol of power to assert his control over his subjects and to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. The crown is often depicted as twisted and jagged, mirroring the twisted and corrupted nature of the Witch King himself. The Witch King's weapon of choice, the mace, is a heavy and brutal weapon that he wields with deadly proficiency. This choice of weapon further emphasizes his strength and ferocity in battle. The mace is often depicted as a formidable and ominous weapon, capable of causing devastating damage to his opponents. The Witch King's helmet is perhaps the most iconic and recognizable aspect of his depiction. It is typically portrayed as a fearsome and terrifying design, with dark eye slits and sharp, jagged edges. This helmet serves to hide the Witch King's true identity, adding to the mystery and menace surrounding him. The hidden face leaves his opponents guessing and instills a sense of fear and uncertainty. Overall, the depiction of the Witch King is one that is meant to inspire fear and awe. From his dark and imposing armor to his terrifying helmet and formidable weapon, everything about him is designed to instill a sense of dread in those who encounter him. He is a character shrouded in mystery and darkness, representing the very essence of evil in Tolkien's rich and sprawling mythology..
Reviews for "The Witch King's Cloak: A Closer Look at its Design and Symbolism"
1. David - 2 stars
I was highly disappointed with the depiction of the Witch King in this movie. As a big fan of the original books, I had imagined a terrifying, formidable figure that would strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest heroes. However, what I got was a watered-down, underwhelming version of the character. The CGI effects used to create the Witch King were lackluster, and the actor's performance felt wooden and unconvincing. Overall, I felt let down by the filmmakers' portrayal of such an iconic Tolkien villain.
2. Emily - 3 stars
While the Witch King depiction in this film wasn't the worst I've seen, it definitely fell short of my expectations. The costume design and makeup were well done, but the overall characterization and development of the character were lacking. There wasn't enough depth to the Witch King's motivations and backstory, and it felt like a missed opportunity to explore a more complex and interesting villain. Additionally, the special effects used to showcase the Witch King's powers seemed exaggerated and out of place. Overall, I found the character's depiction to be average at best.
3. Michael - 2.5 stars
The Witch King in this movie was a major letdown. After building up his character throughout the series, I was expecting a grand, memorable portrayal. Instead, the filmmakers gave us a weak, one-dimensional villain. The decisions made for his character's arc felt forced and contrived, and his dialogues were forgettable and lacking in depth. The battle scenes involving the Witch King were also underwhelming, with the CGI effects failing to create a sense of awe or fear. Overall, I was disappointed with how the Witch King was portrayed in this film.
4. Sarah - 2 stars
I was really looking forward to seeing the Witch King brought to life on the big screen, but unfortunately, the portrayal in this movie fell short. The actor's performance felt flat and uninspired, lacking the intensity and gravitas that I had imagined for such an iconic villain. The makeup and costume design were decent, but the lack of character development and meaningful dialogues made the Witch King feel like just another generic bad guy. In the end, I was left feeling disappointed and unsatisfied with how this character was depicted.