Leadership Lessons from Harry Potter

A few years ago, well-meaning Christians revolted against the Harry Potter phenomenon.  They dismissed the whole series as a perpetuation of the cult, of magic and sorcery that were contrary to the will of God as displayed in the Scriptures.  A few years ago, U.S. and World Newswire published an article describing how some evangelicals banded together to burn the Harry Potter books in protest.  I seriously doubt that any of these people actually read any of the books themselves.  As an evangelical, a literary critic, and a researcher in the field of leadership, I could not believe the talent and the depth illustrated in this series, and how much I learned about what true leadership looks like.

For those who are unfamiliar with the story, Harry Potter, at the beginning of the series, is a twelve-year-old orphan boy who was adopted as a little baby by his aunt and uncle, who treat him less than human and more like a burden.  In fact, he has no room of his own, but rather lives in the closet under the stairs.  For all his life, his aunt and uncle have ignored him at best and treated him unkindly at worst, all the while spoiling their own son.  He lives in absolute obscurity—that is, until his thirteenth birthday, when a strange visitor arrives, explaining to Harry that he, and his dead parents, are wizards, and that the time has come for him to go to Hogwarts, the school for witches and wizards. 

Harry is immediately thrust into a whole new world, a wizarding world in which he in not so obscure.  There he finds out that his parents did not die in a car crash, as he had long believed, but rather were killed by the spell of an evil wizard, Voldemort while Harry was still an infant.  Voldemort had tried to kill Harry, but for the first time ever, his spell did not work.  After that, Voldemort disappeared from the wizarding world and terrorized the people no longer, and Harry then became known throughout the wizarding world as “the boy who lived.”  Harry finds that he is a hero in this wizarding world, and is, to say the least, puzzled over it all.  Harry treats his new-found fame very lightly, and sets about making friends in his school and learning more about the new world he has been introduced to.  He discovers that Voldemort is trying to return to the wizarding world, and seeking power to control it, and Harry is somehow destined to stop him.  In this book, Voldemort is after the sorcerer’s stone, an enchanted stone that grants eternal life to the person who owns it, but Harry, Herminone, and Ron, two of his closest friends at Hogwarts, stop Voldemort from taking the stone.

There are several leadership lessons to be learned from Harry Potter.  The first lesson is about humility.  Harry Potter, famous throughout the wizarding world, lived first in obscurity and then under scrutiny.  Every move he made in the wizarding world was watched.  He was famous, having survived an encounter with Voldemort—something that no wizard—great or small—had ever done before, and in doing so, robbed Voldemort of his power.  And he did this while still an infant.  People deemed him a hero before he could speak or walk.  Yet, Harry did not become prideful or arrogant when learning of his encounter with Voldemort or how highly regarded he was in the wizarding world.  As far as he was concerned, he was still Harry—the orphan boy who had lived for 13 years under the stairs.  Eventually, later we discover that it wasn’t Harry at all who bested Voldemort—it was his mother.  His mother protected him from the spell of Voldemort with her unconditional love—a magic stronger and deeper than any other magic.  I think sometimes in leadership we are tempted to think more highly of ourselves than we ought to, as if our own merits and achievements alone had thrust us into leadership.  We forget that ultimately, it is God that has granted us specific gifts and talents and God that opens the door to leadership opportunities. 

The second leadership lesson we learn from Harry Potter is the importance of self-sacrifice.  Throughout this book and throughout the series, Harry Potter wants nothing more than to be an ordinary boy, yet he suppresses this desire and continues to shoulder the burden of responsibility in handling the comeback of Voldemort.  In one scene, Harry, in his wanderings through the rambling castle of Hogwarts, discovers The Mirror of Erised, a mirror that shows the person looking at it whatever would make them the most contented person in the world—it reads the heart and reflects the core desire of the person’s heart.  When Harry looks into the mirror, he sees his parents standing behind him, gazing at him with tender love and affection. Every night, he sneaks back into this room for hours, just to look at his parents.  He would trade anything in the world to have them back.  He doesn’t want the fame, doesn’t want the responsibility of dealing with Voldemort.  He just wants his parents.  One night, the school headmaster, finds Harry in front of the mirror, and explains that the mirror only reflects the deepest desire of a person’s heart, and provides neither truth nor knowledge.  With this bit of wisdom, Dumbledore encourages Harry to not waste away in front of the mirror, and instead embrace the challenges set before him, which Harry does. 

We often connect leadership with ideas about greatness, about influence and power.  We don’t often connect it with self-sacrifice, and the spiritual poverty in which true leadership is often born.  Harry Potter shows us that leadership is often connected with sacrifice—sacrifices that cut deep and may sometimes even rob us of our core-most desires.  Leadership is less about power and influence, but more about responsibility.  It is true that inevitably power and influence is part of leadership, but it is more about responsibility for the greater good of those you lead more than anything else.  And that kind of leadership requires self-sacrifice.

The third leadership lesson we learn from Harry Potter is the importance of community in leadership.  In the last scene, Harry Potter and his friends, Ron and Hermione, are on a mission to stop Voldemort from getting the Sorcerer’s Stone.  To get to the place where the stone is kept, they must first go through the security system, which  includes a series of magical challenges set up by the faculty.  Each person uses their individual gifts and talents to navigate through these challenges: Hermione uses her logic and knowledge, Ron uses his skill as a master chessman, and Harry uses his broom-riding skill.  Even though it was Harry that ultimately had to face Voldemort alone, it is clear that he could not have done so without the help from his friends. 

Too often in leadership, people forget that leadership is often a team endeavor.  Even though there may be a person who serves as the ultimate leader, the head, this person is supported through community.  I think this is often neglected or forgotten in leadership.  The impact of community should not be forgotten, and the individual contributions and support of those around the leader should be recognized and treasured.

Have We Lost Our Moral Compass?

Yesterday, Hartford, Conn. police department released a video of a 78-year-old man being run over and left to die in the middle of a busy street.  Angel Arces Torres was crossing the street after purchasing milk at the local grocery store when two vehicles involved in a chase hit the man, the impact tossing him violently into the air.  Angel Torres crumpled onto the middle of the street, motionless.  

Rather than stopping to check on the man or call for help, the two cars ducked down a side street.  Pedestrians, rather than calling 911, rushing out to check on the man and administer life-saving techniques, simply stared.  One man on a motor scooter circled Angel Torres, then drove away.   Other cars simply swerved to avoid hitting the man’s body, but drove on to their own destinations. 

Angel Arces Torres, thankfully, survived the incident but is now in critical condition, but police in Hartford are worried about the lack of empathy on the part of the bystanders and the witnesses.  For them, the tragedy is the lack of moral compass they find in the people they deal with everyday.  Normal people.  People like you and me.  ”At the end of the day we’ve got to look at ourselves and understand that our moral values have now changed.” Police Chief Daryl Roberts said. “We have no regard for each other.”

As I read and pondered this story today, I wondered two things: One, how would I have responded had I been a witness to the event?  I would like to think that of course, I would have the fortitude to immediately go out to assist this poor, elderly man.  But would I?  If I had been a pedestrian on the street, would I have been more worried about my own safety in crossing the busy street than I was the condition of Angel Torres?  Would I stand there hoping, like everyone else probably did, that someone else would go out and help?  

Second, why is it that we have so little concern for the well-being of others?  Have we really lost our moral compass?  If so, why?  Has television and violent video games desensitized us to death and violence?  Has access to information and tragedy around the world neutralized our capacity for empathy?  What do you think?  

Jesus and Fried Chicken

There was a time when I believed the Great American Idea that your autobiography is your own personal story. Now, after years of exposure to a rich variety of people, customs, and traditions, I realize that our own personal stories are inextricably linked to the stories of our fathers, our mothers, and the people of our culture.

For over a hundred years, most of the members of my family were cotton farmers, people of the earth who had left the luxuries of Western Europe to try their hand in a new land. They had enough courage to traverse the Atlantic and half of the continental United States territory in search of a better life. They had enough grit and determination to prevail through both the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl of Oklahoma. They were a pragmatic, hard-working lot of people who gave little thought to their relationship with God. Jesus was reserved for Sundays—right along with fried chicken, sweet corn on the cob, and creamy mashed potatoes smothered with thick gravy. There was no real relationship with God, only a religion that had little to do with daily life on the cotton farm. 

My family’s story is not unique among the families that have populated the southern regions of the United States for the last two centuries. Even today, many portions of the South still suffer from the Jesus-and-fried-chicken faith. For many Southerners, being a Christian means that you go to church on Sundays and sometimes pray before meals. Christianity did not involve a life-transformation or a close, growing, intimate relationship with God. This is the family and the culture in which I was born and raised, and my spiritual journey is the sun-dappled story of how a very real, omnipresent God broke through these false ideas and brought healing to the damage they had caused.

I don’t believe that Jesus-and-fried-chicken faith, that cultural Christianity, is unique to the South. I believe that anytime we get comfortable in our journey with God, when “Jesus AND money, ministry, work” becomes part of our conversation in our families and in our churches, when we focus on numerical growth rather than spiritual growth, when we become desensitized to the central message and calling of Jesus, when we experience a fragmentation in the church over issues of gender, worship, service, and textual interpretation, our faith is at risk of being reduced to a Jesus-and-fried-chicken faith. With Jesus, there is no “and.” There is only Jesus, the dusty-footed itinerant preacher who ushered in a revolution in the way we understand and relate to God.

I still struggle with all of the “ands” in my life and in my leadership roles. They often spring up in the most unexpected places, like weeds pushing up through the cracks in a concrete sidewalk. I forget about faith when I’m trying to piece together a life that is composed of a whole host of complex, competing roles, such as wife, future mother, writer, professor, and student. I forget about providence when I worry about budgets and finances. I forget about holiness when I focus too long on the various ministry tasks that I deal with on a daily basis.

I don’t want a Jesus-and-fried-chicken faith. I want Jesus. And I don’t think I’m alone. As Christian women leaders, we have to be willing to look long and hard at all of the “ands” that have made their way into our lives and our ministries. What are the other “ands” that impede our progress as women leaders? How can we, as leaders, begin to eliminate them first in our own lives and then in the lives of those we lead?

(Syndicated from my post at Gifted for Leadership.)