The last enemy is death: What Harry Potter taught me about being Christian

1 Corinthians 15:1-26,51-57

The year was 2001 and I was a high school sophomore with a pretty good idea that what I wanted to be in life was a pastor, which is not exactly the typical thing a sophomore in high school wants to be so I wasn’t one to talk much about it. I also had many ideas about what a good Christian pastor looked like— the kind of interests he had, the kind of music he listened to, the things he should be doing and not doing. I had all these things floating around my head, and one of the particular things I believed was this idea that a person can choose either to live in reality or escape from reality, and that Christians are supposed to live in the real world. I had just read The Sun Also Rises by Hemingway and The Great Gatsby by Fitzgerald and found myself disturbed that people would choose parties and alcohol and casual relationships as an alternative to a purposeful life. As a Christian I felt not only that I should be doing the right things but also that I need not bother wasting any time reading fanciful stories or watching many movies or anything that might suggest an alternative to that good, Christian life. I believed, in short, that everything should be explicitly Christian for it to be good.

            So, here I was a sophomore in high school when my family decided to go to a movie on Thanksgiving following our family get-together, as was often our custom. And they decided we would see the newly released Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone. I knew a little about this movie. I had occasionally heard my mom and my brother reading from the Harry Potter series; it was the most popular series of books in the world at the time, but I had more or less completely ignored it to that point. My disinterest didn’t have so much to do with witchcraft, which I knew that some Christians were upset about, though maybe that was in the back of my mind too, I’m not sure. But I think I didn’t really care about it because I thought there was nothing here of redeeming Christian value. It wasn’t explicitly Christian; it wasn’t telling me about Jesus or about how to live as a person who follows Jesus, so it seemed like a distraction from reality.

            So I went to this movie expecting not very much. Well, about halfway through I found myself having an unexpected experience: I was becoming deeply affected by the characters and themes of this movie. Maybe some of you have had this experience with different things in your life. It might have been a book or a movie or a TV show or a play or a piece of music or something else—something that was like an onion, which, when peeled away, gave you a better and better understanding of life. In that theater, that day, I realized, even if I couldn’t have ever put it into words as a 15-year-old, that I was living the Christian life in the wrong way. I was trying to isolate myself from everything bad in the world in order that I might be a good Christian when a Christian is actually supposed to go toward what is rotten and point to Christ where you least expect him, because the true radicalness of the gospel is that death and life are turned upside down by Jesus.

‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’
‘Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?’

-1 Corinthians 15:55

The Payoff: Why Jesus is better with parables than J.J. Abrams

Mark 3:1-34

So, preaching on agricultural messages to a bunch of farmers is fun…

            You’re all the experts. I’m the amateur. What could possibly go wrong?

            Plus, some of Jesus’ metaphors seem counter-productive to the way those of you who farm do it. I mean, again I’m no expert, and I don’t really know about scattering seed nowadays, but I don’t see many of you walking the fields, throwing it willy-nilly all over the place in the spring. The seed companies might like that approach, just cover inch of soil with the stuff, but I’m thinking it’s probably not the most efficient way. Also, this stuff about rocky ground and paths is probably something those of you in the Red River valley have trouble understanding. There are actually these things called rocks that sometimes live in the ground in the soil.

Mind blown.

            I’m also hesitant to preach on the agricultural parables because Jesus kind of jumbles them all together, and it’s hard to know where to begin or end. There’s the seed being sowed in different places, there’s the seed sowed and forgotten, and then there’s the mustard seed. It’s like Jesus just gets on a roll and starts rambling off all the agricultural metaphors he can muster one after another. Trying to follow all of this is kind of challenging. Then, to make matters worse, there’s all this mystery and wisdom in-between, a little bit about hearing and comprehending, about secrets and an explanation of why he speaks in parables to an unbelieving world.

            And you want me to keep worship to under an hour?! Each of these demands about an hour! I hope you all brought your sleeping bags.

            So rather than interpreting the agricultural metaphors for you (after all, you’re the experts, remember!), instead I’m going to focus on Jesus’ stated purpose for all of this. He quotes from Isaiah, scripture we actually read here on Sunday morning a couple months ago (I’m sure you all remember it like it was yesterday), saying that the purpose of these parables is that we “may look, but not perceive, and my indeed listen, but not understand, so that [we] may not turn again and be forgiven.”

            Oh joy. So, outsiders are kept out, unable to understand, because—well—they’re outsiders. The Gospel of the Lord!!

The end of the world and fleeing from death: The one with Will Smith fighting aliens, Voldemort and angels pouring out bowls of wrath

Scripture: Revelation 15:1-8

In this summer of reading through Revelation, I would be remiss if I didn’t take one Sunday to talk about the end of the world. And not just new creation, which we’ll get to by the end of the book, but the actual end of the world—you know, the Will Smith, Jeff Goldblum, and Bill Pullman fighting off aliens kind of end of the world, or the Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck on an asteroid kind of end of the world. Hollywood gets these visions of the end of the world, but probably already many of you have no idea what I’m talking about, so… back to Revelation!

The book of Revelation gives us several visions of the end of the world—in fact, it probably offers too many visions to give us an accurate, unified impression of it—but there are some general themes. Firstly, there are going to be some disastrous events. This really shouldn’t come as a surprise, because whether it’s global warming, nuclear winter, meteors, aliens or angels pouring out bowls of wrath, most ways that we imagine Armageddon are not very pleasant. Secondly, these disastrous events are going to unfold in quick succession. Again, this is something Hollywood has figured out for us. Every movie about the end of the world seems to take place within a matter of days from start to finish.

And lastly, this whole end of the world business? We aren’t going to like it.

Martyrs, Harry Potter, and the happily ever after

Text: Acts 7:1-2a, 44-60

    There’s a classic arc that almost every fairy tale follows, and a similar path can be traced in stories of all sorts. Whether you go to a movie or open a book, this natural progression in the plot means that you have certain expectations for how the story is going to go. There’s going to be a hero—and a villain—and the hero is going to face some tremendous obstacles, so many and so great in fact that you are going to doubt if it’s all going to turn out well in the end. Then, when things seem their worst the hero will triumph over evil and live happily ever after. Modern stories have tried to mess with that formula, sometimes leaving endings ambiguous or even letting the bad guys to win—there are countless examples of this but the ones that come to mind for me are No Country for Old Men and The Usual Suspects. But even in those modern-day twists on the proven method it isn’t so much that the definition of happily ever after changes as it is that the authors decided to give the happily ever after to the person who was less deserving, and in doing this they made a point about the way the world works.

    Regardless of the moral, we are taught from an early age that the winner is the one left standing at the end of the story. Sacrifice is fine but not for our main characters. Instead, sacrifice is something somebody else does to lift the hero up; we are taught, in short, that sacrifice is something that somebody else does for me. The quicker we get past the characters who die for the sake of the hero the quicker we can all get to the happily ever after; the happily ever after is what gives purpose to the sacrifice. Without it, killing off a good character does not tell a good story.

Harry Potter and depths of understanding

It happened again. Another confirmation student, chilling in my office before class, pointed out Harry Potter on my shelf and said, "You're not supposed to have that in church." Barraged as I was by a dozen early teens taking up every corner of my office as they do on Wednesday afternoons before choir, I ignored the comment until later. That's when I wanted to start throwing chairs, because... well... who still thinks that?

Plenty of people, I guess. Plenty of people think Harry Potter is a manifesto on witchcraft and plenty of people think Christianity is about rules that keep us from having fun, and plenty of people think that our political leaders are good if they wear a certain party badge or bad if they don't. Plenty of people think like this. We like to talk about black-and-white thinking--and that is part of it--but it's more than that. This isn't just understanding that there is grey area; it is realizing there is depth--legitimate, awesome depth--behind so many things that we talk about in the church and in the world. We do ourselves a tremendous disservice when we only scratch the surface of a subject before making up our opinions.

Art and the Probable-Impossible: Thoughts on miracles and Madeleine l'Engle

"That which is probable and impossible is better than that which is possible and improbable."-Aristotle in Poetics

Madeleine l'Engle is a hero of mine. In fact, I count her on a very short list of authors, alongside Wendell Berry, who have influenced my perspective on God and the world more than any others. So, when l'Engle wrote that she had been pondering this Aristotle quote from the time she was in college until near the end of her life I set it aside as something worthy of my own time and interest. Today, as I prepare to lead a discussion on miracles with our 9th-grade confirmation students, I find myself returning again to what this means for me and for all of us trying to understand this world.

I recognize firstly that both Aristotle and l'Engle were writing on art, but if you've read much of l'Engle you also should know that she believes art is not a discipline of escapism but a primary means of truth-telling. She is a scientist, an artist, and a poet, but you don't get a sense in her work that the three are separate; they are, in fact, equal, integrated and integral to the whole picture she is painting. So, when l'Engle talks about her favorability towards the probable-impossible it is in the sense of making good art but also telling something that is fantastic and true in the world, something that can't be told with such ruthless efficiency as we might like. The probable-impossible is for her (and for me) a world where miracle and God are the ultimate reality, while the possible-improbable is this world that we see which so often cheapens everything down its most banal and self-gratifying nature.

What is Right and What is Easy: Cedric Diggory and the Passover

Scripture: Exodus  12:1-13, 13:1-8

            In the fourth book of the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, the storyline begins to take a darker turn. The evil wizard, Voldemort, returns from being almost-but-not-quite-dead and the first thing he does is murder a boy-wizard named Cedric Diggory. As Goblet of Fire ends, Dumbledore—if you are unfamiliar with the books, Dumbledore is the headmaster at the wizarding school, Hogwarts—eulogizes Cedric before the student body with these words, "Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."

            The Passover is to the Israelites what Cedric Diggory would be for the wizarding world—minus the flying broomsticks and butterbeer. The Passover, and accompanying Feast of Unleavened Bread, is about remembering the oppression and cruelty of the past in order to keep from repeating them in the future. It is a tradition that originates out of the Israelites’ slavery in Egypt and the killing of the firstborn that finally led to their exodus. These festivals were instituted by God to remember the cruelty of slavery so that it may not be repeated, but they also serve a secondary purpose: they are an antidote for nostalgia.[1] Those of you who know the story of the exodus well may remember how quickly the Israelites are in need of this antidote. They can practically still see the Red Sea—the site of the miraculous parting of the waters—many of them still have the lashes of the slave-drivers, persecuted by a Pharaoh who did not know Joseph and was therefore unaware of their history, and still those Israelites quickly turn on Moses and wish to go back to the land of Egypt—site of the good ol’ days. Nostalgia, even for times that were not good by any measure, is a uniquely human response to adversity. When difficulty comes, the Israelites need to be reminded again and again that they are fleeing from a broken past and the journey—no matter its challenges—is worth it. The Passover bids them to remember the past in order to set their course for the future.

            The Israelites’ situation is not that different from the one facing the wizarding world when Voldemort returns, or, for that matter, our world today. We need something to rally behind in order to keep from wishing away our lives forever gazing into what has been. Why did the wizarding world need to remember Cedric Diggory? Because they were about to be plunged into internal conflict under questioned leadership. Why did the Israelites need a festival to remember the Passover? Because they were about to be plunged into internal conflict under questioned leadership. Where are we today? In constant internal conflict under questioned political, economic, social, and religious leadership.

            The world turns, but things—whether in the wilderness, at Hogwarts or in Kittson County—hardly change; we face the same challenges and tough choices. We are in need of an antidote for nostalgia. There is much that is wrong with the world today and also much that we are indebted to the past, but we make a terrible mistake when we get our destiny backwards. God’s future for us is just that—in our future, ahead of us. History does not move backwards toward the Garden of Eden. We are always moving forward, like Israel, into a future promised to us, and again—like Israel—our entrance into it will be kicking and screaming and dragging our feet. We want to go back. God pushes us forward.

That is why we must remember. Remember the Passover. Remember the times when we have been persecuted and remember when we have been the persecutors. Remember human beings at their worst—Darfur and Auschwitz, the Gulags, apartheid, slavery, the Inquisition, the Third Reich; it goes on and on. Remember all our Cedric Diggorys. I’m not just talking about issues bigger than what we can control. We need to process together all the mistakes we have made; we need to be unafraid of what we may discover if we go deeper.

What we will inevitably find is that at our base we are all like the Israelites, eager to return to what is comfortable in our past. Left on our own we will do things how we’ve done them before; if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Even if it is broke, pretend like it isn’t and do it just the same. We will reach back for a past as beautiful and shiny as it is unrealistic and untrue. At our base this is who we are, but in no small part because of the God who leads us forward we are also much more than this. God re-orients us—God reminds us—where our true destiny lies.

At its core that is what festivals are about: remembering something important from our past and remembering who we are; not so that we can repeat that past but so that we can live into the future. Festivals tell us something true about the past in order to tell us something true about the present, and in-so-doing they tell us that the most important moment for the history of the faith is always right now. It’s the only moment that includes all other moments, learns from all moments, and bridges where we have been to where we are going. Festivals are a bridge from the past to the future on which we stand right now with a choice before us—forward or backward; what is right or what is easy.

Remember Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore said, because the time will come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy. Easy, comfortable—words for a time when there is nothing on the line—but the truth is that there is always something on the line. The Israelites teach us that God’s people are not just a generation away from extinction but only a moment away from turning back to the path that is easy. We live in such a world of luxury that we actually value things that are easy. Somehow the good life has been equated with comfortability. The Passover tears that comfort apart.

We are not our own, have never been our own, will never be our own. We are part of a web that stretches back to those Israelites and forward to the advent of the Kingdom of God in which no moment in time matters as much as here and now. We walk alongside the Israelites in the wilderness; we walk alongside all those hurt and broken; we stand for what we believe because of the God who works in and through us today and the God who worked in and through our ancestors before us. There is no separating the past and the present, just as there is no reliving what has happened before. The past is always behind us, reminding us of where we’ve been and tempting us to return, but the Promised Land lies ahead. Remember Cedric Diggory; remember the captivity in Egypt; remember the hurt you carry with you; then, allow that hurt to be the catalyst that pushes you forward.

It won’t be easy. That’s a promise. We have a choice—every day of our lives—between what is right and what is easy. Cedric Diggory bids us to choose well. So does the Passover.

Amen.

---

[1] Katheryn Schifferdecker, WorkingPreacher podcast

A Tale of Two Kingdoms: The Hunger Games and Harry Potter

"God has ordained the two governments: the spiritual, which by the Holy Spirit under Christ makes Christians and pious people; and the secular, which restrains the unchristian and wicked so that they are obliged to keep the peace outwardly." -Martin Luther, On Secular Authority

"God rules the earthly or left-hand kingdom through secular...government, by means of law (i.e., the sword or compulsion) and in the heavenly or righthand kingdom (his spiritual kingdom, that is, Christians insofar as they are a new creation who spontaneously and voluntarily obey) through the gospel or grace." -"Doctrine of the two kingdoms, Wikipedia.

I was at the theater last night at midnight along with one hundred people younger than myself and one or two older for The Hunger Games spectacle. At this point I should probably spout the usual necessary background info: I read the books, enjoyed them thoroughly and was looking forward to the movies, and I also didn't particularly care how closely they followed the books because it is a different medium--and if you continue to pout because directors don't make movies word-for-word out of books (especially 30 seconds after getting out of the theater) I might just punch you in the face... but I digress. The HG trilogy is a story that grabs you with characters that make you care whether they live or die. Many tales don't ever reach that point, so it's obvious enough that Suzanne Collins tapped into something... but what?

I struggled with this. For all their entertainment value, I wondered all through my reading where to find the moral center of the Hunger Games universe. An author can craft any story, theoretically, when she first puts pen to paper (or fingers to keys), so why this one? There are a few simple readings: this is an underdog story, a political warning, and a cautionary tale of the forces outside of ourselves that consciously or unconsciously rule our lives. I think all of that is true, but it doesn't exactly answer the question of ethos. I mean, Collins could have sent any final message in such a story. She could have utterly decimated the villains; she could have made the symbols of purity and helplessness (Prim and Rue) win the day instead of the symbols of defiance (Katniss and Peeta). One could say--and I think they do--that Rue wins vicariously through Katniss and through the revolution. That is the underlying message, isn't it? And therein lies the ethos. The Hunger Games is tied to a kingdom of this world philosophy where secular authorities wage war with and often against their own people. The kingdom of the left-hand is ruled by laws that humans can so easily manipulate for their own political agendas. So we have the reaping.

With this insight in mind, let me be clear about one thing: I don't think it is a bad thing for this story to be one of the left-handed kingdom. There's a reason it resonates and I'd be willing to bet it's because we experience that kingdom and its laws and rules (principalities and powers, says Robert Farrar Capon) everyday of our lives. It's not impossible to imagine a reaping, or a corrupt dictator--we know intuitively that our leaders may very well show those same colors in a different political environment. This is the left-handed kingdom; a place where force rules and we can only wonder, as Peeta does, if there's any way to show them they don't own us.

A wand over a bow

There is, Peeta, but in your universe it will only be a shadow of a promise. This is why I cling to Harry Potter over against Katniss Everdeen. You could say it's because she is a female protagonist, but I think that's an unfair out. In the Chronicles of Narnia I am drawn in by Lucy over the many boys in the story because hers is the vision I want to dream. Katniss is a strong female character and should be applauded for it; she is everything she can be in such a time and place. My own favoritism has nothing to do with the characters and everything to do with the resolution of the stories and the ethos of the authors. While Suzanne Collins was out to tell a story of the kingdom of the left, J.K. Rowling offered us a portrait of the right-handed kingdom that dwarfs politics. She made death into a calling, an invitation home, and claimed all the while that ultimate victory does not come through the ethos of Voldemort ("flees from death" in French) but Harry who walks willingly to his demise and so becomes "master of death." She changed the rules of the game.

Katniss has no choice but to escape death; it is the haunting specter over everything that she does. And rightly so, since her most immediate need is to come home to her mother and her sister, Prim. The fact that she is able to achieve that end speaks volumes about the human spirit, the power of love and the triumph of good over evil. But I need to make a weighty distinction here: Katniss' love is not as powerful as Harry's. I realize that might sound borderline blasphemous; after all, she is willing to die for her sister. What greater love is there than that? I think Jesus would say, "Not much!" However, the answer lies again not in Katniss' motivation (in truth she is as strong a character as Harry and probably by necessity stronger given the circumstances she faces) but instead in the universe in which she was planted. Collins created a world lacking what C.S. Lewis described as the "Deeper Magic."

In the left-handed kingdom love is still king, but it is a kind of love marked by grief. As Wendell Berry wrote, "The world of love includes death, suffers it, and triumphs over it. The world of efficiency is defeated by death; at death, all its instruments and procedures stop. The world of love continues, and of this grief is the proof" (from Health is Membership). Katniss tries with all her might to inject the world of efficiency with love, but ultimately the only reason that love wins is her indomitable will. But wills do not last and the specter of death never hovers from her life--not through three books of immense loss.

I applaud The Hunger Games for their honest portrayal of ourselves as who we are. It is never sugar-coated or served up with useless platitudes. Every one of us can see ourselves in Katniss or Gale, Peeta or Rue. Yet, I ultimately want more than what we see ourselves to be in this little life. I want a story that gives weight to the mystery that is our purpose; a story that overthrows the tyrants of this world--yes--but that doesn't stop there; a story where romantic love conquers not just because it is love but because it is a symbol of a deeper something that points beyond our meager feelings. I want not just an underdog story but resurrection.

And so, Katniss Everdeen, I applaud you for being one of the greatest heroes of fiction I have ever come across, but if I ran into you in this world I would find you a preacher... and his name is Harry Potter.

Short-and-to-the-Point Book Review #1: The Ultimate Harry Potter and Philosophy

This year I have challenged myself to read 60 books on a variety of subject matter--fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, theology, environmental issues, pop culture, literature, etc. For each book I plan on posting a short-and-to-the-point review (1-2 paragraphs max), a recommendation and a grade. Hope you enjoy!

2010, John Wiley & Sons

Review
My first book of 2012 was The Ultimate Harry Potter and Philosophy: Hogwarts for Muggles, another entry in the Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series. Like others in the series, this book strikes a good balance between interesting philosophy and Harry Potter-themed content. The articles are from experts in various philosophical fields who all have a particular interest in Harry Potter. It was a good read, though some chapters I found far more interesting than others. Of particular note are Tamar Szabo Gendler's article entitled, "Is Dumbledore Gay? Who's to Say?" and Charles Taliaferro's on "The Real Secret of the Phoenix: Moral Regeneration through Death." (Some may recognize that Taliaferro is a well-loved professor from St. Olaf).

Recommendation
Certainly worth a gander if you like philosophy and Harry Potter, but even if you care nothing about philosophy this is not a bad option. If you care nothing for HP I think there are better options to read on pop culture and philosophy. Like Bernie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans, this is a mixed bag. The articles I mentioned above are great, especially Gendler's article, and I commend them to you. Other articles are nothing new in the HP universe. But overall, the book was a quick read, entertaining and a worthy companion to the HP corpus.

Grade:
B+

A Reflection on HP and my favorite moment: Always.

.

I was introduced to Harry Potter a little over ten years ago when my mom was reading Prisoner of Azkaban to my brother. At first I wasn't interested. The backdrop of a magical world made me suspect; in truth, it all seemed a bit cheesy. I'm sad to admit (for the purists out there) but it was the movie version of Sorcerer's Stone that sold me on the idea. Only then did I see the appeal of a captivating world with characters and situations so extraordinarily unique.

What I saw was a world crafted with many of the same ideologies I valued. Magic wasn't an escape from the laws of this world but an extension of how this world might work bound by subtly different laws. More importantly, characters were forced to make difficult decisions with truth rarely black-and-white. I loved Snape--hated him but loved him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't so much models as they were character studies for all the relationships I experienced in my adolescence. Through them I had a lens to some of the difficult positions in which I found myself.

The one time I had to put the book down and go on a run was when Harry and Ginny first kissed, because ever since Chamber of Secrets I had hoped that it would turn out that way--and it did. That's the thing about this series: Rowling had a massive task to make it all fulfilling, to bring about an ending not just satisfactory but worthy of the preceding six years of build-up. She did it without selling us a picture of the world drizzled in surreality. This was an earthy, beautiful--and yet painful--end to years of growing up with Harry alongside. Death is not avoided; that's Voldemort's job. In fact, pain and mortality were embraced in a way that is at once exceedingly healthy and, unfortunately, counter-cultural. She tapped into a need and we flocked to it. Perhaps in part we saw that the questions being raised were ones we were too scared to ask on our own. Perhaps we saw in Harry or Ron or Hermione a little of ourselves and hoped that in the end they'd live happily-ever-after.

But Rowling was clear: happily-ever-after does not mean survival. Death is not to be avoided. James and Lily Potter, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Sirius Black, Dumbledore, Regulus Black, Igor Karkaroff, Bertha Jorkins, Charity Burbage, Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Colin Creevey, Severus Snape... the list goes on. Each lived fully; each gave themselves not just for Harry but for the sake of a world that matters.

We are called to fight for what is valuable in our own lives. Love translates across the Wizarding World into our own. My favorite moment of the series was Snape's vindication. He was never a good character; he was duplicitous, sometimes callous, and often unfair. But he was such a true character. The impact of Lily's death changed him, just as in our lives we are changed by myriad moments that come to define us. Some of these we can name; others have passed beyond recognition.

The legacy that Snape leaves is all any of us can hope for. He gives everything for a single love. He never received anything back. Life, as he said, is not fair--but in the end good wins. It wins triumphantly not because of its mighty power over evil but because of the deeper magic that makes a person wonder if Rowling wasn't a little C.S. Lewis in disguise. What is love finally but grace extended on behalf of one for the other? To be accepted in spite of one's faults is at the core of what these books are about. A generation of young people are better off having Harry as an example. We may never be able to levitate a single feather, but surely we can see that love is not cheap. In fact, for us it may yet cost a lot more than it ever has before, and that is a moral well worth hearing.

HP moment #2: A Very Weasley Withdrawal

The following is #2 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2 this Friday.
 
I can't get enough of students sticking it to Umbridge. Somebody could psycho-analyze my displeasure with her, I'm sure. There are just those cathartic moments in life that anybody can relate to regardless of whether they are intimately involved or not. For me, the most cathartic moment in the series is absolutely, undoubtedly the Weasley twins exit from Hogwarts.

It's one thing to leave; it's quite another to put on a show on your way out. It's the difference between the retirements of Brett Favre and Shaq. One was awkward (especially by the third time); the other was just plain fun. The Weasleys are always fun--even when George loses his ear. They stand in contrast to a world that is sometimes too serious. The way they leave Hogwarts stands in such stark contrast to the rest of Order of the Phoenix. It was such a breath of relief for those of us stuck with a frustrating, teenage Harry, and a Hogwarts whose magic was being restrained--quite literally--by Umbridge and the Ministry.

When Hogwarts is at its worst the twins are at their best. Always mischievous yet always faithful, Fred and George might not be the deepest characters Rowling crafts but they may be the most entertaining. The swamp they leave behind is the most appropriate bit of magic, the teachers' non-reaction priceless. Umbridge tries desperately to keep order, but when the dam breaks it comes in force. It makes sense finally that it is the Weasleys--who else?

Levity is one of Rowling's strongest gifts. During Dumbledore's funeral Harry can't help but remember some of the sillier times in his life. He wonders what's wrong with him. The answer, according to Rowling, is nothing. If you can laugh at fear--like a boggart--it has no power over you. When Fred dies it is symbolic in part because laughter is not immune to evil, but it does triumph over it.

HP moment #3: Fawkes' lament

The following is #3 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2 this Friday.

Dumbledore's passing is a momentous event in the HP series. As I talked about in moment #9, it was a watershed moment in Harry's life as the last of his great protectors passed on. Such a moment required a touching literary aside. What we got only added to the melancholy mood in such a way that the reader was drawn in by something impossible to understand. None of us know what a phoenix song sounds like, but we can be assured that it is something magical.

The movie creation of Half-Blood Prince tried its best, having the Hogwarts teachers and student body raise their wands in unison and dissolve the Dark Mark, but in truth no scene would cut it. Unfortunately for the producers, Rowling crafted a scene incapable of being re-created. More than any other time in HBP, this was assuredly a religious moment.

We can infer that phoenixes are rare birds, seeing as Fawkes is the only one we ever met. The only other phoenix mentioned is the one that gives feathers for the twin wands that chose Harry and Voldemort (apparently this, too, was Fawkes--thanks to Andrew Scherber for that). Fawkes is tied to Dumbledore unlike any other magical creature that we know of. So, when Dumbledore passes it is hardly a surprise that Fawkes' time too has come.

The phoenix is simply the coolest creature that Rowling crafts. Able to carry heavy objects, with tears that cure wounds, and re-birthing itself from the ashes when it is time to die, it exists at the junction of Harry and Dumbledore's relationship. Not surprisingly, it was the phoenix that carried the Sorting Hat to Harry in Chamber of Secrets when Dumbledore himself was absent. Yet, we never know about its song until the day Dumbledore dies. We learn that it is a "stricken lament of terrible beauty” that feels to Harry like his “grief magically to song."

When people say that the books are better than the movies it is because of scenes like this; scenes incapable of being captured on a screen divorced from the touch. It is a fitting end; Dumbledore's true memorial service packed into a few moments song. It's also a reminder of that which Voldemort does not value: grief cannot be without love. Fawkes was a symbol of love; a fiery, fierce, undying love. His departure sets the stage for a Hogwarts battling for its very existence.

HP moment #4: Severus... please

The following is #4 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July.

There had to be a reason Dumbledore trusted Severus. There just had to be. That's what we were all saying after Half-Blood Prince. It was at this time that I was writing my thesis on Christian love and Harry Potter and beginning to think about what was to come.

My guesses centered on a single phrase--Dumbledore's last words--on top of the astronomy tower.

"Severus... please."

There were no adjectives or other markers of tone assigned to the phrase. It was oddly, simply there. And it could mean... well, basically anything.  Clearly, we were meant to believe that Dumbledore was pleading with an evil Snape bent on showing his true colors. That's what Harry thought; that's what all the characters thought. In fact, that's about the only logical conclusion you could come to if HBP was the only book in the series.

But there were those nagging questions borne out of six years of character development. Dumbledore trusted him, and he was always right (as far as we knew) concerning peoples' true character. I found myself asking time and again: What is really going on?

Then, I had a guess. What if Dumbledore was pleading for Snape to kill him... what if this was somehow part of the plan? It didn't make sense, but then again perhaps it did. What if something bigger was going on behind the scenes?


Here's an excerpt from my 2007 undergraduate thesis, preserved now for posterity: "[Dumbledore's] final words, 'Severus... please...' are easily taken as a plea for life, but those who know Dumbledore’s life should realize that something much deeper is going on here.  Although the seventh and final book is yet to be published, it seems most likely that Dumbledore was not pleading for his life to be spared but for Severus Snape to finish what he needed to do (kill Dumbledore in order to save himself)."

Pretty close. And a cliff-hanger of epic proportions.

HP moment #5: Time-turner

The following is #5 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July. 

Many fantasy and science fiction novels and movies have dealt with the concept of bending time through the years. Some have been good, some downright awful, but the theme has continued on into the twenty-first century in abundance. The remaking of Star Trek is one recent example where the plot hinges on time's fluidity.

Harry Potter is not without its time-turning magic. In fact, the plot of Prisoner of Azkaban would be pretty weak without it. The book flies by to a fateful day when Harry discovers the truth about Sirius Black and an unknown person emerges on the far end of the lake to cast a Patronus and save the day. For nearly 250 pages in POA we are given subtle clues that not all is what it seems, but Rowling has done that before. In the first two books, the character who seemed most likely to be causing the trouble (Snape, Malfoy) was not in fact behind it. So, perhaps we had good reasons to suspect not all was as it seemed with Sirius, and yet that is only the first in a series of curveballs that makes the last hundred pages of POA perhaps Rowling's best in the series.

When all is lost, Harry, Ron, and Hermione find themselves in the hospital wing, pleading with Dumbledore that they've got the wrong man. Nothing could be done--there was not enough time. Except Hermione has a secret. The time turner she possesses explains a good deal of the strange clues we got up to this point, but more than that it creates a secondary reality that makes us wonder: Wait, who is where? How are they both there? How did that happen after the fact--and yet before?

In short, Rowling blows our collective minds. This isn't time travel as some silly plot twist, as much as it is a puzzle of enormous complexity that unravels before our eyes into a reality that means we can no longer accept as straight-forward what the prose so simply describes. Life in the Wizarding World is complicated and beautiful.

And boy does Rowling use that to her advantage!

HP moment #6: I must not tell lies

The following is #6 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July.

Delores Umbridge is--hem hem--a piece of work. While the HP universe has its share of classic megalomaniac characters Umbridge may take the cake for the most hated. I think it's at least in part because those of us from the upper Midwest see the absurd passive-aggressive complex she has. All of us know people like that: ones who smile and nod then secretly check a mental box to go behind your back and do exactly what they said they wouldn't, or people who say "interesting" or "I see" a lot.

 

Umbridge is that and more. She is the perfect face for the Ministry of Magic, as they seek to discredit and eventually remove Dumbledore from Hogwarts. Her pink cardigan, fake laugh, and snobbish attitude are downright infuriating. I'm getting upset right now just thinking about it. When Fred and George leave Hogwarts in a cascade of fireworks and magical mischief it was a moment worth celebrating. Somebody stuck it to her.

Then it got even better.

Order of the Phoenix features a moody Harry Potter facing off against a disbelieving student body, the lie-spouting Daily Prophet, and that thing in the pink up above. Umbridge goes as far as forcing Harry to carve "I must not tell lies" into the back of his hand--the scar a constant reminder of the torture she put him through.

So, when Harry and Hermione take Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest and she encounters the centaurs what can we do but cheer? In the movie, she begs Harry to tell the centaurs she means them no harm. "Sorry," said Harry, "I must not tell lies, remember?" It doesn't occur in the books, but which of us didn't want it to?

Rarely in the books do we celebrate a character's troubles--even in the case of Snape, Malfoy, or even Voldemort (remember, Harry gives him the chance to show remorse!). Yet, when it comes to Umbridge I am unapologetic. She deserves it. Perhaps it's just my opportunity to exorcise my passive-aggression, but I don't care.

HP moment #7: Christmas Dinner with Trelawney

The following is #7 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July.  

 I believe very strongly that Harry Potter has depth that is elusive in most stories these days. It has characters that are more than ghosts meant to prove a point; it has plot twists not solely for the sake of making us admire the author's wit but to add further uncertainty to our preconceptions of the characters and their actions. Characters have real emotions; they have life-like feelings--legitimate worries. Finally, Rowling isn't above giving us a much needed laugh every once in a while.

One such of those moments happened in Prisoner of Azkaban when Professor Trelawney joins the students and staff for Christmas dinner. Trelawney is a feature in POA largely because of her repeated claims foreboding Harry's death. She is comic relief and insight into the wizarding view of prophecy and divination generally, but this moment is certainly her most hilarious.

We pick up the action as Harry and Ron get up from the table...

"My dears! [exclaimed Trelawney] Which of you left his seat first? Which?"

"Dunno," said Ron, looking uneasily at Harry.

"I doubt it will make much difference," said Professor McGonagall coldly, "unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall."

And that, my friends, is Professor Trelawney.

HP moment #8: "I'm with you."

The following is #9 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July.  

When Dumbledore takes Harry from the Dursley house at the beginning of Half-Blood Prince he makes a detour to recruit the old Potions master, Horace Slughorn. This unexpected stop opens the sixth book by introducing a nearly 16-year-old Harry who has yet to come into his own. The evidence of this Rowling gives in a subtle line that I missed upon my first read. It happens as Dumbledore reassures Harry that it is unlikely he will be attacked this night.

"Why not, sir?" [Harry responds]

"You are with me," said Dumbledore simply.

 Fast-forward to the climactic end of Half-Blood Prince and Rowling's subtle clues begin to unravel. Harry is about to leave with Dumbledore in search of the Horcrux: a search that takes him to the cave while his friends battle Draco and Co. back at Hogwarts. Before he leaves, he hands Hermione his Felix Felicis, saying "I'll be fine, I'll be with Dumbledore." He echoes the same assurance Dumbledore gave him.

It is a mark of Harry's character that he is able to trust so deeply after losing the greatest protectors in his life: his parents and Sirius. But this one great figure remains: Dumbledore. As long as Dumbledore remains in Harry's life you get the sense that he will never realize what he is capable of becoming. The person who seems to understand this best is Dumbledore himself, who has been grooming Harry throughout the first six years at Hogwarts for a time when he'll no longer be there.

I didn't realize Dumbledore was going to die early on in the book. I didn't even realize when they were heading off to the cave or when he was surrounded by Inferi. But I had to put the book down when I came across an exchange that foreshadowed a blow that would turn the series upside down heading into the final book. The passage went like this:

"It's going to be all right, sir," Harry said over and over again, more worried by Dumbledore's silence than he had been by his weakened voice. "We're nearly there....I can Apparate us both back....Don't worry...."

"I am not worried, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. "I am with you."

Great writers know how to make a sea change so subtle that you might miss it if you aren't reading closely, and this is one of those moments. It's a new Harry, borne out of the loss of his last great father-figure. It's a Harry ready to make that final walk in Deathly Hallows.

HP moment #9: "Of House Elves... he understands nothing."

The following is #9 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July. 

Dobby was a trouble-maker from the start. He caused Harry all manner of problems when he first came on to the scene in Chamber of Secrets. At that point we knew nothing of house-elves--of their enslavement to (often cruel) masters or the pleasure they take in their bondage. House-elves as a whole present interesting concerns for us regarding human rights, but they are clearly more than that: they are creatures with a purpose.

As Dobby changed from petty annoyance to Hermione's lone SPEW success story, he started to become a character both loveable and pivotal in the fight against Voldemort. Heading into Deathly Hallows I had one question bugging me that I was genuinely concerned Rowling would not address, and that was how Dobby could apparate inside Hogwarts. I hoped she would answer it; instead, it became critical to the plotline.

It turns out, like most wizards, nobody much cared about the question of house-elf magic until it became necessary to understand how Kreacher returned from the cave, Horcrux in hand. Then, for the first time, Harry realizes the kind of power that creatures like Kreacher and Dobby had. They are bound to different kinds of magic than wizards. That, more than anything else, is what makes them powerful. Theirs is a servant magic; one that eschews selfish power for selfless obedience.

In the end, Dobby gives himself to save his friends. It is exactly the kind of thing we can expect from a house-elf. Unyielding servitude. This is that which Voldemort did not understand, as Dumbledore said,

That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children’s tales, of love, loyalty and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped.” (DH, ch. 35).

For all these reasons, Dobby's death is moment #9.

Top Harry Potter moments -- #10: Enter Luna

The first of a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July.


Order of the Phoenix marks a turn toward the macabre in the Harry Potter series, as Harry becomes an angry, frustrated teenager, and the reality of Lord Voldemort's return brings ever-darkening storm clouds to the narrative. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Delores Umbridge, is the most infuriating, conniving, downright awful character yet introduced. And the Ministry of Magic is showing itself to be more and more corruptible, as Cornelius Fudge grips power tighter and tighter. In short, all seems to be heading down a long dark path. But something strange happens when a bizarre young girl pops into the story.

Enter Luna.

One of Rowling's gifts is to give us just enough to never be overwhelmed when the mood of her main characters turns dour, and let's face it Harry is a mess through much of the fifth book. Ron is not much better, and Hermione takes a backseat in the midst of their adolescent bickering. But precisely here we are given the unexpected gift of a character whose quirks have everybody asking, "Is she for real?"

Luna is no mere feminine recasting of Neville Longbottom, though they may both be outsiders of a similar ilk. Luna is a misfit with radical ideas, fascinated by possibilities, and that is precisely what Order of the Phoenix needed. Whenever she appears the mood lightens, and yet she is capable of understanding life with such depth that she is the one who helps Harry work through death and loss.

She is the perfect ally, a strangely wonderful conversation partner, and in the final three books she proves herself to be courageous, good-hearted and overwhelmingly fun for us to enjoy. Rowling's cast of characters is incredibly diverse, but she never creates a character more fascinating than Luna. That is why her entry onto the HP scene comes in at number ten on my favorite HP moments.

Osama and Voldemort

 The news of Osama Bin Laden's death has brought with it the standard patriotic behavior that is a mark of our times. Singing "We Are the Champions" outside the White House, really? There is nothing that screams one nation under God like Queen piped over a dead body. Meanwhile, my friend, Beth, wrote an "R.I.P" obit for Bin Laden in an attempt to look beyond the hatred and search for real and legitimate peace. Is this something to revel in?

I think many of us who are searching for peace, rather than victory, are having difficulty putting into words what Bin Laden's death means. Our first instinct is to withhold celebration, as hatred seems to breed only more hatred. "Are we better people now?" my former Philosophy professor, David O'Hara, asked on Facebook last night.

Probably not.

I was struggling to give words to my feelings as well. Then, a couple of friends pointed out to me an unlikely anniversary. May 1 was the day that the Battle of Hogwarts was fought in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. For probably the hundredth time, the Harry Potter series gave me language to talk about something that left me dumb. I suppose that is what great stories do. Left speechless, it gave me a voice. Perhaps it sounds disingenuous to talk about Voldemort and Osama Bin Laden in the same breath, and yet that is precisely what good stories allow us to do. They do not minimize their scope with a self-gratifying plot-line and one-dimensional characters; instead, they paint a life that is our own and yet more vivid, with situations that enlighten our lives in the world outside of the pages.

When Harry and Voldemort have their final duel, Harry gives Voldemort one last chance--a chance to show remorse. It is an opportunity that Voldemort scoffs at. Remorse? He doesn't understand what remorse could possibly achieve. And yet, Voldemort's defeat is not due to Harry's prodigious magical skills (which he doesn't have) or brutal use of spells (which he doesn't use), but it is instead a result of the power that matters more than any of that: love. It is a disarming spell that ricochets the killing curse back at Voldemort. Death leads inevitably back to death.

We are left to wonder: would we shoot to kill or to disarm?

In our world we have the same decisions. Somebody killed Bin Laden not with a disarming spell but with a bullet. And in the wake of this, Harry calls us to take a step back and ask, "Do we feel remorse?" For as much as we want to make Osama into Voldemort and ourselves into Harry, our reality is that we so often look more like the one fleeing from death; our inner Voldemorts are alive and well. To say that Bin Laden bears a striking resemblance to Voldemort is true but incomplete. The reality of our situation today is that we all look a lot like Voldemort, and we can only hope our killing curses don't rebound.

I won't leave it there, because I think there is some good here. We can be more than this. This much is evident on Facebook with the uneasy response so many obviously feel. To those of us who are uncertain how to react, we are left the words that Dumbledore gives Harry at King's Cross. Words that beg us to ask: What matters? Words that give us the following answer:

"That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped."

Love, loyalty and innocence. Let's work on that.