Category: fiction

What Harry Potter taught me about the Bible

I have a confession to make, though it’s not a very dirty or juicy one:  I read the 7th Harry Potter book within 48 hours of its public release.  Furthermore, I confess that I enjoyed it.  And no, I’m not about to run out and join a Satanic cult, wear black eyeliner, or start casting silly spells.  (I know at least one of you wondered about that!)  In fact, I learned several lessons about the Bible while reading Harry Potter.  Raised your eyebrows, have I?  Well, follow along as I share the lessons:

1. How to read in context

In ‘Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows,’ the characters talk about a book that’s been written regarding their friend, Albus Dumbledore.  The book is largely lies, and it’s excerpted for a few pages of the larger work, the Harry Potter book.  If you would pick up the book and read those few pages, you’d get a totally inaccurate picture of the overall plot.  Similarly, if you read the Bible carelessly enough, you’ll find that it says there is no God.  A glance at the context, though, will tell you that this message isn’t the intent of the author.  What he really said looks more like, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’ (Psalm 14:1)”.  I wonder how many people are savvy enough to pick up the context clues in the Harry Potter book but still insist on cherry-picking the Bible to make it match their pre-conceived notions?

2. The power of narrative

I read the Harry Potter book on the first weekend it came out.  That means I read all 784 pages in two days.  I wanted to finish the story before I went back to work on Monday, so I read it all day Saturday and Sunday.  This left me in the interesting position of going to church Sunday morning, right in the middle of my Harry Potter weekend.  The worship and the story of Christ and his sacrifice for me were so much more meaningful, and it’s because I was tuned into another deeply-felt narrative.  The themes of sacrifice, struggle, quest and the search for truth were close at hand, since I’d been treading those paths with J.K. Rowling’s novel all weekend.  It was easy for me to turn those thoughts to the cross and the ultimate struggle of good and evil.

It’s true that these themes are more read into the text than read out of it.  But such is the result of reading with a redeemed mind.  It’s not what Harry Potter brings to me, but what I bring to Harry Potter that shapes my conclusions.  That’s why I’m not scared to read Harry Potter or any other controversial material: because I read it with a redeemed and, hopefully, informed mind.

It’s hot

I walked outside today, and my skin all burned off.  That was my first clue that it’s too hot for normal human beings to live here.  I ran back inside.  While I was washing my crusty burnt skin off in the kitchen sink, Lisa was sitting in the living room watching television.  I overhead the weather guy say that the temperature outside wouldn’t dip below 100 degrees (fahrenheit) for the next 20 straight days.  That’s when I started beliving in Global Warming.  Then Al Gore showed up at my door step (How did he know so quickly when I started believing in Global Warming?!  Damn NSA!) and my day started getting wierd.  He was wearing an obnoxiously loud Hawaiian shirt and some of that neon green sunblock stuff on his nose.  Boy, were his legs white!  He had pet penguins toddling along after him.  3 of them.  He wanted me to come with him, but wouldn’t say where.  He stretched out his hands, and in one hand there was a blue pill, while the other held a red pill.  But it wasn’t a pill, it was an Easter egg.  And the pills didn’t have anything to do with where he wanted me to go.  He just said that the blue one was Nyquil (he had a cold) and the Easter Egg was a present.  Al doesn’t like to show up at people’s houses empty-handed.

So he asked me again if I’d go with him.  The front door was still open, and I peeked around it to see the world outside.  All of a sudden……..SPLAT!  An egg fell out of the sky and landed on the walkway in front of my house.  It cooked right away (like your brain on drugs), and I knew it was too hot to go outside.  Not even if Al covered me with his water-gun.  I was still smarting from losing all of my skin, and who knows what Al Gore keeps in his water gun!  Or how clean it is.

He pleaded with me, and said I could use his snorkel.  That’s when I got really suspicious.  I couldn’t see any snorkel, and I don’t know if people without skin can legally use snorkels, anyway.  I began to think that it was all a setup.  That’s when Lisa shook me, and I said, “Ouch!” because it should hurt if someone shakes you and you don’t have any shoulder-skin.  But it didn’t hurt, and I wondered why.  I was still wondering when I opened my eyes.  “Honey…. Andrew…,” she said.  “We’d better get up.  I heard it’s going to be hot today.”  I just groaned and roilled back to my pillow.  Not again!

The rest of the story, mostly dialogue

(Part 1, in case you missed it)

“Honey, I’m home,” he said.

“Oh, Hi,” she said nervously, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in here.”

“How was your day?” he asked, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

“Um, busy.  Shopping and all of that.”

“Shopping?” he asked as he opened the refrigerator.  “Not much to eat here,” he muttered around the stainless steel door.

“Oh, it was other stuff,” she said, hesitatingly.

“Oh, okay,” he said, pulling out a container of leftovers and popping it open.  “I’m going outside,” he said as he headed for the door to the recently-expanded garage.

“Um, James?” Her voice sounded tremulous.  He turned to look at her.  She couldn’t say it.  He would have to find out for himself.  “Nothing…” she muttered, turning away.

He cocked his head to the side for a second, muttered a, “hmph,” and turned toward the door.  What he saw there put ice in his veins.  There, next to the door, sitting on a stool, were two hats.  It could only mean one thing.

Any thoughts of anger or hatred suspended themselves, not wanting to come, wanting the awful truth to somehow be false, to spare them their work.  Somehow, his heart knew what his brain couldn’t grasp.  It sunk as the icy veins passed their contents, and his arms and legs somehow lurched for the door.  Leftovers spilled from his hand all over the kitchen floor.  The door seemed to fling itself open, and his knees buckled, hitting the pavement hard while his throat loosed a souful wail….

A Story Without Dialogue

He asked her again, and this time she couldn’t say no. It was that look in his eyes. A hoping, longing look that she’d seen there as long as she could remember. So they bought it. It came with smoky glass, shiny leather seats, and a little hat for each of them.

They weren’t well-off by anyone’s reckoning. Most months they lived hand-to-mouth, and once in a while he would bring a bonus home from his low-level sales job. It was one of these bonuses that prompted the question.

When she said yes, the next thing she didn’t say was, “What are people going to think?” She already knew the answer, anyway. Her father was furious. She could have predicted his every word, but she didn’t dare repeat them to James. This was his dream, and the only thing he’d ever wanted for himself in their 10 years of marriage. It didn’t matter to her that it didn’t make any sense. She’d never seen him so happy.

They would take turns driving. That’s where the little hats came in. The one driving would wear the hat, and the other one would sit in the back. Sometimes they would both sit up front, and he’d play with the buttons and dials. She wanted to ask him to stop, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want to spoil any part of his dream.

But other people weren’t so kind. Everywhere they’d drive, people would stare at them. Family events were always a bit tense after they bought it, even if all the kids in the extended family thought it was really cool. They were still blind to the economic realities of owning such a thing.

He took care of it as well as his abilities allowed. He didn’t know a thing about repairing engines, and his detailing skills were far from professional. But he was faithful to wash it every Saturday morning in its permanent spot on the left side of the driveway. He even built a crude carport for it, since it wouldn’t fit in the garage. He also carefully fashioned directional covers for the sprinklers on that side of the lawn. “Would want to water-spot the gold and maroon paint job,” he thought.

Someone want to continue the story?