Harry Potter and the Strong Mumma

Mum is a self-proclaimed “strong mumma”.

She has a strong sense of justice and she’s not afraid to speak her mind, especially if it’s to defend someone that doesn’t have a voice. 

She also really loves God, and she relies on him a lot - I suspect it's where she gets her boldness from. 

Growing up my mother’s strong will and faith in God, helped me and my family through times of doubt, heartbreak and grief. 

But as much as they helped, her convictions and tenacious spirit often got me in more awkward situations. 

I remember she took me and my friend Mark to see the first Harry Potter movie when we were in kindergarten. 

Not realising the film was a relatively dark story about witches and wizards, after the movie, Mum began to do some Christian damage control. 

She explained how witches and spells were real and demonic. She told us that we shouldn’t think of these things lightly. 

Completely embarrassed, I went to the defence of the “demonic” witches and wizards of Hogwarts. 

My argument was that when Ron sacrificed himself on the chess board, it was like when Jesus sacrificed himself for us. 

Mum began explaining the theological differences between the New Testament and the Philosopher’s Stone - but all I remember was the dread I felt as Mark, one of the coolest kids in our class, was completely weirded out. I didn’t want him thinking I was a weird religious freak. 

This was the first of many awkward times where I have been ashamed of my relationship with God. 

As I’ve gotten older and thought more about my own faith, there are some things I have grown up to agree and disagree with when it comes to the theology of my parents - particularly my mother. 

At times her faith (I feel) bordered on superstition and wishful thinking. 

She’s quite a symbolic woman, symbols and things mean a lot to her, and to Dad as well. 

She sees them as emblematic of God, signs and wonders you could say. Something which I’m not opposed to but also something that I don’t really centre my faith around.

In 2005 my parents decided to do a knockdown rebuild of our home in Newcastle. 

It was a long, stressful process with battles against neighbours and council approvals. 

As a way to thank God for bringing us through the hard times, and in an act of faithfulness for the future. Mum felt led to place a bible in the concrete foundations of our new home. 

The symbolism here being that our home was being built on the Word of God. 

So when it came round to pouring the concrete foundations Mum asked if it was okay if she could put a bible in the foundations. 

I remember the phone call. 

Mum: Is it okay if we put a bible in the ground before you pour the concrete? 

Tradie: (pause - spit-take of his choccy milk) Yeah...I guess if you want?

Mum: It won’t ruin the foundations of the house?

Tradie: Don’t see how it could. 

Mum: Great, we’ll be there in 10. 

On her way to dropping me at school, she asked me to come with her to drop this bible into the foundations of our soon to be built house. 

I begged her not to take me. I pleaded with God not to make me go. But she said she needed me there because Dad had to go to work early that day. 

I hated every moment of the car ride there. 

When we arrived, all the tradies were having an early smoko while they waited for us. Much like running into a Jehovah’s witness in Colombo, their entire day had been disrupted because of a pious Sri Lankan woman on a mission. 

From the moment we got out of the car, it felt like all eyes were on us. This must have been what it felt like when Jesus arrived to the multitudes. 

When people are doing a favour for Mum she does this thing where she thanks everyone. She went around saying “thank you” and “bless you” to just the most random people. I’m not even sure all of them were tradies. 

We got to the spot we wanted to place the bible, right under the staircase in the front of the house.

And we put it on top of the big metal grates the concrete was going to be poured into. 

Rowan: Okay, we’re done lets’ go. 

Mum: Rowan, we need to pray. 

I look over at all the tradies with a cigarette in one hand and Oaks in the other, just staring. 

Rowan: Mum, they need to start work, can we just go. Let’s just pray in the car. 

Mum: Rowan! You are the man of the house, your father isn’t here. Now pray.

Rowan: Mum don’t make me pray in front of these tradies, please.

She just glared at me. I knew there was no way out. So I started praying. 

Rowan: God please, umm please bless this house and I pray that your Word would be it’s foundation. Amen.

Obviously I hadn’t done a good enough job because then Mum starts praying. 

Mum: “Oh merciful father, gracious God, thou art great Jehovah…”

I thought she was going to start speaking in tongues right then and there. 

I couldn’t even close my eyes. I was so worried these people were judging us. I felt like I did with Mark in kindergarten. Like we were this crazy religious family. I was so embarrassed. 

After she finished praying she thanked and blessed everyone again, and we left. 

In hindsight, I’ve grown to appreciate my mother’s faithfulness, even when it was awkward for me. 

I was ashamed of who I was, what I believed - I cared and I still do care, what other people think about me. 

And being a Christian often comes with preconceptions, none of which are true - okay some of which are true. 

But at some point where do you cave in to the pressures of others and when do you get sick of being embarrassed all the time? 

My mother was fearless in this way, I’m glad she put that bible in the foundation of our house. 

Did it make our house more holy? I don’t think so. Did putting it there make me more holy? Yeah I think it did - it made me less ashamed of who I was and who I believe my God is.