Undoer of Knots

Finding miracles in unknotted ropes

In this year of Our Lord, 2025, I have reached an important milestone in my reading life: I’m finally reading The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. I saw the Peter Jackson film adaptations years ago (yes, before reading the book… don’t judge me), but aside from reading The Hobbit as a child, I had no literary knowledge of Middle Earth. Until now.

Gallons of ink, terabytes of server space, and hours of podcasts have already been invested in discussing Tolkien and his intricately crafted universe. I, however, have only just dipped a toe in – I’m only about two-thirds of the way through The Two Towers – so I won’t sit here and lecture on lore. Yet.

Photo by DAVIDSON L U N A on Unsplash

However, I do want to highlight a moment in Book IV of The Two Towers which struck me as a lovely illustration of faith. Tolkien was a devout Catholic and described The Lord of the Rings as “a fundamentally religious and Catholic work,” though, crucially, not an allegory, or a didactic treatise on Christianity. Because the world of Middle Earth is, as Dr. Holly Ordway writes, “infused with… its author’s Christian vision of reality,” I have had many little “Aha!” moments reading this epic tale.

In this particular scene, Frodo and Sam are attempting to clamber down a steep cliff. Sam remembers he has an Elven rope, given to him at Lórien, and he and his Master Frodo both safely make their way down the sheer cliffside with its aid. At the bottom, however, Sam realizes what a “ninnyhammer” he has been – the two Hobbits are safely down the cliff, yet his “beautiful rope” is still tied to a stump at the top. Sam can’t think of a way to retrieve it and mourns the loss of his treasure from the Elf-Lands:

“‘Made by Galadriel herself, too, maybe. Galadriel,' he murmured, nodding his head mournfully. He looked up and gave one last pull to the rope as if in farewell.

To the complete surprise of both the hobbits it came loose. Sam fell over, and the long grey coils slithered silently down on top of him. Frodo laughed. ‘Who tied the rope?’ he said, 'A good thing it held as long as it did! To think that I trusted all my weight to your knot!'

Sam did not laugh. 'I may not be much good at climbing, Mr. Frodo, he said in injured tones, 'but I do know something about rope and about knots. It's in the family, as you might say. Why, my grand-dad, and my uncle Andy after him, him that was the Gaffer's eldest brother, he had a rope-walk over by Tighfield many a year. And I put as fast a hitch over the stump as any one could have done, in the Shire or out of it.'

'Then the rope must have broken – frayed on the rock-edge, I expect,' said Frodo.

'I bet it didn't!' said Sam in an even more injured voice. He stooped and examined the ends. 'Nor it hasn't neither. Not a strand!'

‘Then I'm afraid it must have been the knot,' said Frodo.

Sam shook his head and did not answer. He was passing the rope through his fingers thoughtfully. 'Have it your own way, Mr. Frodo, he said at last, 'but I think the rope came off itself-when I called.' He coiled it up and stowed it lovingly in his pack.”

In the Catholic tradition, there is a devotion to the Virgin Mary called “Our Lady Undoer of Knots,” and all I could think upon reading this passage was “Galadriel, Undoer of Knots.” As a mother of small children, I’m very accustomed to unknotting things, so asking for Our Lady’s help with untangling messes has long been a favorite devotion of mine. I am frequently called upon, amid floods of frustrated tears, to help unpick the knots in my children’s shoelaces, bathrobes or, on occasion, balloons they would like to re-use. Before my help is requested (which is a charitable way to describe the foot-stomping shrieks for aid), they usually insist on doing it “BY MYSELF!” And so I watch them struggle, with varying degrees of patience depending on how soon we need to be somewhere, waiting for them to turn to me for assistance. It’s often very apparent to me, the adult, which knots will need grown-up assistance and which are quite capable of being undone by a child. Sometimes, my kids will ask for my help right off the bat and I will then tell them to try to do it themselves. Because I’m mean, of course.

Mary Untier of Knots by Johann Georg Melchior Schmidtner

How often, I wonder, do we tie ourselves in knots, trying to work out some problem, when all we have to do is ask for help. This is why Our Lady is so wonderful. Sometimes we can get a little shy about asking Our Lord for help with those little, everyday problems. After all, doesn’t he have better things to do?

To be clear: He doesn’t. Jesus wants us to bring all of our little problems to Him. However, there’s just something innately inviting about moms that children – young and old – are drawn towards. My kids have a wonderful relationship with my husband, but they frequently bypass dad to ask me to help with some small trouble. I do not always respond patiently and charitably to these requests, but Our Lady, possessing the infinite patience and love of the residents of Heaven, is delighted to come to our aid. She is always eager for any opportunity to intercede for us, to untangle those knotty problems that bind us and keep us from running into the arms of her Son.

Mary is like the beautiful, silvery Elven rope, helping us to safety. She never blocks our way, but guides us along the treacherous byways of life, always towards Jesus. In his beautiful book The World’s First Love, Archbishop Fulton Sheen compares Mary’s loving care to a mother bringing her sick child to the doctor:

“The child may cry, but it is as vague a complaint as are our own adult cries when we are unhappy and fearful, worried and frustrated. The mother in such a circumstance carries the child to the doctor. […] And as the mother knows the needs better than the babe, so the Blessed Mother understands our cries and worries and knows them better than we know ourselves. As the baby needs the doctor, so the Blessed Mother knows we need her Divine Son. […] The mother is not the doctor, and neither is Mary the Savior. But Mary brings us to the Savior!”

I think it’s also important for us to look at this divine assistance with the childlike eyes of Sam Gamgee. While Frodo seems convinced it must have been a frayed rope or faulty knot, these explanations just don’t add up to Sam: “not a strand” of the rope is damaged and he insists his knot was secure. I think anyone with faith can relate to Sam in this moment. We can often see the supernatural assistance at work in even the smallest moments of our lives, while others chalk it up to coincidence or luck or incomplete data or who knows what else. It’s like the old joke of a man looking for a parking spot and saying, “Oh, Lord, if you help me find a spot, I’ll go to Mass every Sunday and give up smoking!” And when a spot opens up right in front of him, he says, “Oh, never mind! I found one!”

Faith, however, is knowing that God’s loving care is shown in every sunrise, every breath, and every beat of our hearts. The proof is everywhere and yet is frequently missed, perceptible, perhaps, only to the humble Hobbit-hearted.