The Invisibility Cloak and the Incarnation

Christmas in the Harry Potter saga is always special. In an already magical world, the Christmas scenes in Potter (always snowy!) bring a heightened sense of magic to the story, bordering on the religious. It’s telling that the story finally drops its first and only overt references to religion—two Christian scripture passages—on Christmas in the Godric’s Hollow churchyard scene in Deathly Hallows. Each and every Christmas, Harry somehow gets a glimpse of the type of hero he must become to solve the problem at hand, and that problem is always Voldemort: the problem of sin and death itself. Funnily enough, Christmas, in the Christian sense of salvation history, also manifests the hopeful beginnings of the solution to the problem of sin and death. This is no coincidence. At Christmas, Harry often receives important gifts to help him in his quest, just as humanity received the gift of Jesus Christ, the light of the world, to help and guide us on the way to eternal life. The gifts and lessons Harry receives every Christmas show him that his own heroism must be patterned after this same Christ in his incarnation: God who becomes human, to show us that true honor, true heroism and true godliness lie in humility and loving friendship. 

Continue reading “The Invisibility Cloak and the Incarnation”

New Video: Eucharistic Themes in the Potter Saga

This past weekend, over 100 Potter scholars from all over the world attended the 9th annual Harry Potter Academic Conference, hosted by Chestnut Hill College. The conference was a great success by all accounts, and now that it’s complete, I thought I’d share my conference offering: a digital paper on the way all the many food images in Harry Potter point to the Eucharist. Please enjoy this with a hot glass of butterbeer! (And if you have a recipe you like better, please post in the comments.)

Emily’s conference talk for the 2020 Harry Potter Academic Conference at Chestnut Hill College

Hope to see you (digitally or otherwise) at next year’s Chestnut Hill Harry Potter Academic Conference. Until then, let’s all try to manage the mischief, shall we?

Author’s Note on a Previous Post

[content warning: David Haas]

Each post on Liturgy and Life is a snapshot in time; I don’t tend to edit or update posts after the fact, except to fix the odd typo. I’m making an exception for this post, because it hasn’t aged well. I am grateful to those friends who took the time to help me understand how the phrase “cancel culture” hurts more than helps; I relied too heavily on it in this piece, and I apologize. One person’s wise words sum up well the problem with the phrase, in that it “purports to describe too many things to be useful as a category for deep reflection.” Conflating too many concepts in one phrase, they went on to say, risks dismissing behaviors or actions that are unacceptable, and those who bravely call them out. Soon after I wrote the piece, I tried to correct my error by adding the footnote that follows the piece, but alas, more of a clarification was needed. This note seeks to provide such clarification.

I continue to stand by what the original piece calls into question, namely: 

  • wedding an artist too closely to their art (I am particularly opposed to this in most cases, as an artist and a sinner, and as someone whose artistic heroes were not always perfect)
  • banning art for any reason (which also doesn’t age well)
Continue reading “Author’s Note on a Previous Post”

Mary, Muggle-born of God

The feast of the Immaculate Conception of Mary (December 8 most years, celebrated this year on December 9) confuses many people. On a basic level, some do not realize this feast celebrates Mary’s conception rather than the conception of her son, Jesus. Once this misunderstanding is cleared up, questions still linger. Why, when we’re preparing to celebrate the incarnation of God in the birth of Jesus Christ, would we pause to celebrate the conception of Jesus’ mother? What’s so special about the way Mary was conceived?

The short answer is: Mary’s conception was unique and essential to our redemption. The doctrine of the Immaculate Conception declares that “To become the mother of the Savior, Mary ‘was enriched by God with gifts appropriate to such a role.’”[1] These “gifts” entailed nothing less than the grace of redemption, setting Mary apart from her human peers. When the angel Gabriel greeted her as “full of grace,” this freedom from sin, given her by God’s own hand, Catholics interpret, is what he was referring to.

If we were to translate this idea into terms Harry Potter fans could relate to, we might say Mary was a bit like a Muggle-born. In Harry Potter, magic occurs most often in magical families like the Weasleys, but it “pops up” sometimes in Muggle families, as in the case of Hermione Granger and Lily Evans Potter, Harry’s mother. While Mary’s conception was unique in the human race, Muggle-borns are rare, but not unique. But Lily’s status as a Muggle-born – as someone set apart from her peers by a particular grace – is one of a few significant (and likely intentional) ways in which Lily Potter alludes to Mary, the mother of Jesus.

To explain, let’s go back to Mary a moment. Mary was full of God’s grace from the start, and this redemptive grace had two primary and interrelated effects. First, it gave her a preliminary share in the redemption of the human race. Secondly this graced state in which Mary was conceived, born and lived afforded her the freedom to choose to participate in God’s plan of salvation. The angel Gabriel did not come to inform Mary that she was already pregnant with the Christ. Mary had the freedom to choose her response, and she said “yes.” Catholics call this Mary’s fiat, a Latin phrase that sums up her self-emptying response: “May it be done to me according to your word.”[2] In so doing, she, an insignificant young girl from a marginalized group (the Jews), played an important role in the redemption of the world. St. Irenaeus famously said that Mary, in her fiat, “became to herself and to the whole human race a cause of salvation.”[3]

image property of Warner Brothers’ pictures

The role of personal choice is an important theme in Harry Potter, and her birth into the magical community does not make Lily Evans’ key role in the eventual salvation of the world a fait accompli or a “done deal”. She must choose, constantly. She chooses to accept her invitation to Hogwarts, she chooses to marry James Potter and not Severus Snape, choosing (as it were) Gryffindor over Slytherin. She chooses to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, fighting Voldemort rather than either joining him or giving up.

But one choice by Lily is ultimate: her free choice to throw herself in front of her infant son to protect him from Voldemort’s killing curse. Lily’s sacrifice is the essential forerunner of her son’s more important, more widely reaching sacrifice, and in this way she alludes to Mary. Both women made self-emptying choices: choices that made them willing vessels for the plans of others. Mary’s choice to accept a miraculous, extra-marital pregnancy threatened all her future plans – even, perhaps, her life and safety, had not Joseph chosen to accept and protect her. For Lily, the instinct to protect her son even at the cost of her own life afforded the ultimate plans of Albus Dumbledore to defeat Voldemort. Neither woman understood the plans of those “in charge,” but both agreed to play key roles, with trust and hope for the plans’ eventual successes.

Above I hinted that Lily’s allusive relationship with Mary the Mother of God may have been intentional on the part of the author. Our best evidence of such intentionality regards Lily’s name. Because of the lily’s traditional associations with purity, it became associated with Mary, who is often depicted holding lilies of white. Ferguson notes the lilium candidum, or “Madonna lily,” is among the most recognized symbols of the Virgin mother in Christian art.[4] Another way Lily Potter alludes to Mary (intentionally or un-) is through her youth and relative insignificance; she is Muggle-born, and thus marginal and vulnerable, as Mary’s Judaism made her. And as discussed above, Lily’s Muggle-born status alludes to Mary in a particular way, for while Harry’s father James, like Joseph, has a noble heritage,[5] Harry’s mother Lily, like Mary, is of far humbler origins. Yet in her, magic bubbles forth unexpectedly and completely.

Lily windows adorn a side entrance to the Church of the Steps, formally known as Immaculata Parish (named for Mary’s Immaculate Conception), in Cincinnati, Ohio. Photo by Emily.

Lily’s Muggle-born status makes her only offspring, Harry, a meeting place between the magic and non-magic worlds, just as Jesus, for Christians, is the axis mundi, the meeting place between heaven and earth.[6] This is why we celebrate the Immaculate Conception of Mary here in the midst of our preparations for Christmas – because Mary, like Lily, was born special, and her specialness shows us that an ordinary, lowly girl from humble origins, can, through graced cooperation with God’s plans, participate in the world’s redemption. Like Mary – and like Lily – we too are called to make self-emptying choices, hollowing ourselves out, as it were, putting aside our own ambitions and desires to make room for God’s plans. In celebrating the Immaculate Conception of Mary, we proclaim the possibility that through us, God can and will do “marvelous deeds.”[7]


[1] Catechism of the Catholic Church, para. 490; internal quotation is from Vatican Council II’s Lumen Gentium, para. 56.

[2] Luke 1:38, New American Bible Revised Edition.

[3] Irenaeus, Adversus haereses, XXII, 4 (180 A.D.).

[4] George Ferguson, Signs and Symbols in Christian Art (New York: Oxford University Press, 1961), 95.

[5] That the Potters are descended from the Peverell family can be assumed by James’ possession of the Cloak Hallow.

[6] Lily is not simply born of Muggles, she’s born from the same Muggles who produced her sister, Petunia, whose name is allusive to a lily which, in some interpretations of Victorian floriography, invoked “anger and resentment.” (“Lily, Petunia and the Language of Flowers,” Wizarding World (formerly Pottermore), https://www.wizardingworld.com/features/lily-potter-petunia-and-the-language-of-flowers, accessed 6 November 2019.) One must admit Petunia and her Dursley family are the most Mugglish Muggles we meet in the series, and this makes Lily’s magical ability even more surprising. For more on magic in Potter as an extended metaphor for the (Christian) life of grace, see Emily Strand, “Harry Potter and the Sacramental Principle,” in Worship vol. 93 (Oct. 2019), 345-365.

[7] Psalm 98, NABRE translation.

October Happenings: Publications Galore! (And a Conference!)

October has proven a productive month for my scholarship! This month I’ve had two articles (both which were a long time in the making) published in separate peer-reviewed academic journals, I’ve just returned from presenting at an academic conference and I’m beginning work on an essay that will be included in an exciting new scholarly collection. As a (perhaps) not-so-lame excuse for why I’ve been too busy to post new content on this blog, here is a short description of each of these projects and how to access or find out more about them. Thanks for indulging me in a little horn-tooting!

First, my essay “Harry Potter and the Sacramental Principle” is included in the October 2019 edition (volume 93) of the journal Worship, “a peer-reviewed, international ecumenical journal for the study of liturgy and liturgical renewal” (from the Worship website). This journal was founded in 1926 by one of my personal liturgical heroes, Virgil Michel, OSB, who brought to the blossoming liturgical movement its distinctly American contribution: the notion that the liturgy, if consciously and inclusively celebrated, could bring about profound social regeneration. I’ve had long conversations with Virgil Michel in my scholarly imagination, and it was a thrill I will not soon forget to see my name in the pages of the journal he founded.

My essay details how the depiction of magic in Harry Potter rests conceptually on the same notions about reality that undergird the sacramental life of the Church: that God’s abiding presence is shot through the world around us, if we have eyes to see (just like that “hidden in plain sight” quality of the magic in Harry Potter). Pastorally, the essay urges those in ministry to employ this aspect of the series – and its profound influence on rising generations – to help renew a sacramental imagination in our age. Worship is a print-only journal, so check out your local academic library for a copy, or subscribe through their website. (For those more casually interested, I gave a shorter version of that essay to Ohio State’s Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies’ 2017 conference, Popular Culture and the Deep Past, and you can watch that nutshell version here.)

Second, my essay “Dobby the Robot: the Science Fiction in Harry Potter” appears this month in the special Children’s Literature edition of Mythlore, “a scholarly, peer-reviewed journal published by the Mythopoeic Society that focuses on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and the genres of myth and fantasy” (from the Mythlore website).

It is a great honor to be included in this volume, which also features essays by my friends and fellow speculative fiction scholars Katherine Sas and Kris Swank. And the great news for us all is Mythlore is an open-access journal, so you can access the entire contents of this volume right here. Previous issues are also available.

The “Robots” essay makes an argument that the overriding conceptual source informing house-elves, those beloved yet controversial creatures in Harry Potter, is the trope of the created servant (often expressed as robots) in science fiction. You may think I’ve branched a little far from my focus on the religious themes in literature with this essay, but traditionally, robots as a trope of classic science fiction (and, I argue, house-elves in Harry Potter) seldom appear without invoking thorny ethical questions regarding personhood, free will and human dignity – questions too often relegated to religious discourse. (See this previous post for more.) Also, in researching the history of the robot trope, I discovered its Western origins in Jewish legends of man-shaped automata termed Golems, created to demonstrate a particular rabbi’s mystic holiness. So robots have religious origins as well as invoking questions that interest scholars and adherents of religion. I hope you’ll read my sprawling argument that Dobby is really just a robot in disguise and tell me what you think.

Next, on October 18, I presented my thoughts on the Harry Potter books verses their film adaptations at the 8th annual Harry Potter Academic Conference, hosted as always by Chestnut Hill College outside Philadelphia, PA. (My talk was an expanded and reworked version of this blog post from Hogwarts Professor.) It was a lovely, all-too-quick weekend, as usual, with highlights (for me) including Lana Whited’s talk on dragon and Phoenix imagery in The Crimes of Grindelwald, Travis Prinzi’s look at the allusive relationship between Potter and the old movie Bedknobs and Broomsticks and Katy McDaniel (host of the academic Harry Potter podcast Reading Writing Rowling)’s look at fan maps as doors to the sacred imaginative spaces created by stories like Harry Potter. (My unofficial favorite moment of the conference was a pumpkin-ale-fueled incident between Laurie Beckoff and Caitlin Harper after the conference which we are now terming “The Great Ron Row of 2019”. Details are hazy, but it suffices to say some people admire Ron Weasley more than others do.) As usual, I can’t wait to return to Chestnut Hill in 2020.

photo courtesy of Louise Freeman

My work is cut out for me upon returning from Chestnut Hill, as I was delighted this summer to have my proposal accepted for a chapter in The Ivory Tower and Harry Potter, Volume 2, edited by Dr. Lana Whited of Ferrum College and published by University of Missouri Press. My essay will consider the various parenting styles and relationships in Harry Potter from perspectives of both psychology and religious studies. In the end I hope to show that religious metaphor is the interpretive key to unlock the meaning of these relationships and their influence upon the narrative. But more than that I shan’t say until the thing is written! Stay tuned for a publication date in 2020.

Thanks for allowing me to crow a bit – a fitting activity, perhaps, for this spooky month. Thanks especially to those who have supported me in any way – from allowing me to drivel on at parties about my latest project to dialoguing with me to help make my arguments stronger or better supported to sharing your own Potter ideas. 50 points to your House, whatever it may be!

Re-learning mortality as gift

Last year, my father died on the day before Ash Wednesday. He was 85 years old, and he’d lived a wonderful, respectable Christian life, full of charity toward others, including prison ministry in his retirement. He’d enjoyed a fulfilling professional career, been a good friend to many, and was happily married for over 50 years to a wonderful woman with whom he’d raised a big, happy family. Letting go of this kind, funny, intelligent and loving man was hard and sad, but something about it also felt right. It was Dad’s time, and we’ll all have our time.

Ash Wednesday invites us all to reflect on “our time” – to remember that indeed our time approaches, even if still far off. We wear ashes on our foreheads to symbolize, as a recent NPR article put it, that we are all “dust-creatures”. There is an impermanence to our earthly lives that we must never forget, lest we fail to live lives of charity and love with every breath. Psalm 95 says, “If today you hear God’s voice/harden not your hearts,” for tomorrow, you may be gone. On Ash Wednesday we remember that we are dust, and to dust we shall return.

image source: University of Dayton
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Harry Potter and the Christ-Child

As Christians in the West celebrate the great feast of Christmas (and our Eastern friends make their preparations), let’s take a look at some ways in which the Harry Potter books draw upon Christmas traditions – and especially that of the Christ-Child –  to shape and inform their titular character: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.

First we must examine young Harry’s name. While J.K. Rowling often claims she chose the name simply because she liked it, Harry is a nickname for Henry, which means “estate ruler,” and fittingly holds royal, even divine associations (there’s a reason Princess Diana and Prince Charles chose the name Henry for their son (aka Prince Harry), as opposed to, you know, Neville).

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