THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO JK ROWLING

©Lea Mathieu, 2008

You may quote brief portions of the following, with an appropriate citation

When the first Harry Potter books came out in the late 1990’s, a colleague of mine wanted the books removed from our school’s library. A conservative Christian, he was convinced that the books were a portal into the occult, or something like that. I vigorously defended the books against my colleague in the local press. It wasn’t that I loved the book – I was bored halfway through the first one, to tell you the truth, and never finished it – but I am against censorship in general, and am a fan of fantasy literature. I’ve read the same books Rowling obviously knows well – the Brits CS Lewis, JRR Tolkien, TH White (JK even did the initial thing) and the American Madeleine L’Engle – and so I know that the world of fantasy is a great way to present Christian truths in modern settings. Fantasy allows writers to present power and possibility beyond our limited material reality – which is exactly what faith does, yes?

People who are just set against witches obviously don’t know the loving and powerful Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which, any of whom I would love to be. I’d like to be a priestess of Avalon, too, but that’s a little different.

Anyway, I won the letters to the editor debate and my colleague left town at the end of the year. I do wish he was still around so I could call him up, now that I’ve read and enjoyed the last two books, and in my most mature, forgiving voice, say, “Told you so!”

Because with the seventh book, any lingering misgivings about Potter are definitely dispelled – this is a retelling of the old, old story – older than the great British fantasists, older than the Arthur legends, older than Beowulf. It’s the eternal truth that love is stronger than hate, goodness is mightier than evil, life outlasts death. It’s God’s timeless Word in a new wineskin.

I am quick to add that the books are very far from scripture – I actually rolled my eyes at the sword in the lake – and I have no idea if Rowling herself intended or was aware of a Christian interpretation. But Harry is, without a doubt in my mind, a Christ figure. Most literary critics will define a Christ figure as someone who meets a certain superficial checklist:

Yes, Harry has a stigmata;

yes, he’s part of a trinity;

yes he’s part human, part “divine” (or pureblood, in his case);

yes, he gathers apostles;

yes, he’s called “the Chosen One”;

yes, he fights the forces of evil;

yes, he is inclusive of outcasts;

yes, he resists the lure of the temporarily powerful;

yes, he suffers a sacrificial death; and

yes, he is resurrected.

The list goes on, but none of that, I think, ultimately matters. I personally have one definitive criterion for a true Christ figure: He – or she -- invites people into radical ontological transformation toward Godliness.

“Ontological” is my favorite word from seminary days. It means “relating to ontology” – ha! – which is a branch of metaphysics concerned with the nature of being. In my own definition, it isn’t a question of who you are, or what you do, or who you’re related to, or how much money you have, or your blood type, or any of those other details that just don’t matter to the cosmos. It’s a matter of what you are at the core – not visibly seen, but known in the spirit and by the acts the spirit chooses. As Paul wrote, “…if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” [2 Cor 5:17] and “all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God” [Rom 8:14]. Are you still merely human? Or are you a child of God? Or are you, God forbid, something less than either?

Here’s the point in Rowling’s work when I was convinced that her hero is the real thing: On page 741 of the seventh book, the resurrected Potter is facing his great enemy, Voldemort – also known as Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, or “He Who Must Not Be Named” or, translating the Latin, “flee death” – this is the bad, bad, bad ugly guy who has been threatening him for the last several thousand pages – and Voldemort is about to kill Potter, again. And Harry says:

“Before you try to kill me, I’d advise you to think about what you’ve done. … Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle. …”

“What is this?”

Of all the things that Harry had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had shocked Voldemort like this. Harry saw his pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten.

“It’s your one last chance,” said Harry, “it’s all you’ve got left. … I’ve seen what you’ll be otherwise. … Be a man … try … Try for some remorse. ….”

Voldemort refuses this chance at redemption, and is killed – not by Harry – but by his own curse, which falls back on him when it meets Harry’s purer power. It’s how true evil always dies.

Harry’s offer of ontological transformation is made from the depths of understanding – he has seen into Voldemort’s past, and may have some empathy with his fellow orphan’s suffering. Harry knows that even the man he admires most, Dumbledore (think Gandalf or Merlin), was once sorely tempted by the same visions of grandeur that insanely drive Voldemort. Harry knows that he himself has greatly misjudged a man he thought was pure evil, Snape (who I always liked). In short, he offers Voldemort a chance to be a man because Harry, despite or perhaps because of what has happened to him, has a loving spirit. And as Dumbledore once said to him, “You are protected, in short, by your ability to love! … The only protection that can possibly work against the lure of power like Voldemort’s!” Voldemort has become less than a man by splitting his own soul; he is ignorant, as Dumbledore puts it, of “the incomparable power of a soul that is untarnished and whole!” (page 511, book 6). Out of his own loving wholeness, Harry offers his enemy a new life.

Paul, again: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all … Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God. … Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” [Rom 12:17, 21].

The writers I listed earlier have told the same story. Aslan in C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series isn’t a Christ figure just because he’s powerful and rises from a sacrificial death. An essential Christ moment is when he leads the sniveling traitor Edmund back to his brother and sisters, whom he had earlier been willing to sell to evil for Turkish delight. And Aslan says, and this always brings tears to my eyes, “Here is your brother, and there is no need to talk to him about what has happened.” And what happens then? He and his siblings all accept Aslan’s grace, and Edmund the guilty traitor is transformed into King Edmund the Just. Likewise, the breath of Aslan breaks evil’s stony curse and sets captives free. Beautiful.

One more example – my own favorite Christ figure in modern pop culture is Neo, in the Matrix films, whose moment comes when, his eyes opened to the reality of reality, he chooses to come back and free others from their subliminal oppression. Again, it isn’t his own “magic” or that great resurrection scene that define him -- or even his ultimate sacrifice – it’s his invitation to others to know the truth and be set free.

Now some sad people might still argue about the “gospel” of such modern writers and filmmakers because their works don’t mention God – well, Rowling does, but only in passing. Well? Many of Jesus’s parables don’t mention God, either. They are stories easily understood and remembered, and their import lies in the ability of their readers, listeners, or viewers to make the connection. God is like a shepherd, God is like a father, God is like a mighty lion, God is like a boy who lives – and invites others to do the same. God is light, God is love, God will set you free. “Gospel” means true, and it is told in so many ways.

But we only fully understand the allegories if we know the essential, birthing truth, and my chief concern is that 21^st century culture just doesn’t get it. We make blockbusters out of reflections, but too many of those consumers are blind to the Primary image.

That’s where the mighty responsibility of believers comes in. It’s so wonderful to read the stories, but isn’t it time we all lived them? My friends, we are all called to be Christ figures.

Amen.