I would just like to go on record as saying that I was FIRST to curse 2016 back in July.
But that was for personal reasons.
I lost my grandfather in January, my grandmother in May and my dog in July. I had passed my tear quota for the year in the first six months. I have dear friends who have also suffered devastating losses this year (children, parents) and went on to lose another friend to cancer in the fall.
There were several wonderful highs scattered among the lows, but not enough to redeem the year.
But again, that was just for personal reasons.
In the past week or so, many others have joined the #nomore2016 movement after the tumultuous election, continuing terrorist attacks, natural disasters and a seemingly endless string of celebrity deaths.
Everybody processes celebrity deaths differently. Some have just chalked them up to another reason 2016 sucks. Others have pointed to drug abuse, hard living and untreated mental illness. And we all grieve some more than others, for our own reasons.
Some of the ones I’ve felt the most over the years were John Denver, Ray Charles, Mr. Rogers, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Williams and most recently, George Michael and (sniff) Carrie Fisher, a few of them to the point of tears (LOTS of tears for Carrie Fisher. LOTS.)
I grieve the loss of their presence in the world and the end of their art. Some of them have made great charitable contributions to great causes.
But if you want to get really practical about it, some would argue there’s no reason to grieve. Ray Charles, John Denver and George Michael still reside in iTunes. Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Williams and Carrie Fisher are immortalized on multiple DVDs in my house. I still have their art, which is all I ever had of them. It’s not like I lost them as FRIENDS or anything, right?
Okay, that’s true. And compartmentalizing that way would definitely help me sleep at night.
But here’s the problem: I know there’s more to it than that.
Regardless of if I knew them personally or not, they were more than just characters on a screen or performers on a stage. They were real people too. As real as you and me. Created in the image of God, with souls that will live for eternity, in one place or the other.
And the only way to stop the tears (for celebrities or anyone whose faith I am unsure of) is to embrace blind, naïve hope as fact and assure myself that regardless of their lifestyle, right before they passed away, they remembered what they learned in Vacation Bible School as a child, cried out to Jesus and somehow made it into heaven, without a second to spare.
The other option is unthinkable, unspeakable, unbearable.
For all of Brad’s airtight theology, he thinks the requirements for salvation are a lot less than I do. And to be honest, I hope he’s right.
But I went there. I temporarily put my emotional stability in jeopardy and I let myself go there on Tuesday night after Carrie Fisher died. With Star Wars IV on in the background, I tearfully asked Brad if he thought she made it.
We had no evidence to go on, so I quickly turned back to my VBS theory and settled into the movie I’ve seen more times than I can even count, that I’ve loved since the very first time I saw it.
I mean, is ANYBODY praying for those people? The church sends missionaries all over the world. Does anybody consider Hollywood a mission field? Or is it considered by many as a lost cause?
After all, why would they need Jesus? They have everything they want. Mansions, fancy cars, the clothes, the notoriety, more income than they know what to do with, in many cases. They have everything the rest of us think we need to be happy.
And yet…
History shows us again and again that ‘everything’ is still not enough.
All the money in the world can’t buy you unconditional love, true friends, peace of mind, a sense of purpose.
So when someone has ‘everything’ they want and the loneliness, discontentment, disconnection, constant criticism and no life of their own begin to take their toll, many celebrities turn to the painkillers: sex, drugs, alcohol, risk taking. And some live their final days in a frantic attempt to numb the pain with superficial pleasures.
And guess what? It’s STILL not enough.
And I can’t help but think of King Solomon.
Widely believed to be the writer of Ecclesiastes, the short book takes us on a whirlwind tour of pleasures. Arguably the wealthiest man to have ever lived, he turns the last years of his life into a personal experiment and ultimately fruitless search for meaning.
‘Meaningless! Meaningless!’ says the Teacher. ‘Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless’ (1:2).
Pursuit #1: Wisdom. Solomon was widely known for his wisdom that God granted him at his request early in his reign. In later years, he threw himself into humanistic wisdom and found it greatly lacking.
I devoted myself to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven. What a heavy burden God has laid on man! I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind (1:13-14).
Gaining knowledge for knowledge’s sake wasn’t the answer.
Pursuit #2: Pleasure. (Why he didn’t START with this one is beyond me.) Chapter 2 lists everything he tried in this category: laughter, wine, embracing folly, building houses/vineyards/gardens/parks/reservoirs, acquiring slaves, herds, flocks, silver, gold, singers, a harem (estimated 300 concubines and 700 wives, based on 1 Kings 11:3).
I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure. My heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor. Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun (2:10-11)
Pleasure didn’t cut it. And he tried everything.
Freud’s philosophy says that man’s chief pursuit in life is pleasure. A few years later, Viktor Frankl came along with his theory that man’s chief pursuit is PURPOSE:
When a person can’t find a deep sense of meaning, they distract themselves with pleasure.
Pleasure is actually the consolation prize, the painkiller for the lack of purpose.
Pursuit #3: Toil. Many of us look for our identity, our purpose in our professions. When intellectual pursuits and pleasure didn’t satisfy him, Solomon became the original workaholic in one final attempt at finding meaning.
So my heart began to despair over all my toilsome labor under the sun. For a man may do his work with wisdom, knowledge and skill, and then he must leave all he owns to someone who has not worked for it. This too is meaningless and a great misfortune. What does a man get for all the toil and anxious striving with which he labors under the sun? All his days his work is pain and grief; even at night his mind does not rest. This too is meaningless (2:20-23).
All those hours at the office, the career ladders climbed, the promotions, the raises. The insomnia that plagues so many. The strain, the stress, the sacrificed time and health at the altar of ambition. Solomon says don’t bother. That doesn’t work either.
Ecclesiastes could have been written in present day. We’re all still looking for meaning in this world rather than in God’s purposes for our lives. And celebrities have the resources to ‘deny themselves nothing’ like Solomon to that end.
And they show us time and again that it’s all meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Nobody really knows if Solomon ever returned to the God of his younger days before his death, much like we don’t know the eternal fate of the celebrities who pass. But I cling to the VBS theory for him as well.
And as I felt myself convicted to pray for the presidential candidates by name during the final days of their campaigns, I am now moved to pray for the actors and musicians we use for our own entertainment. And when the show’s over, we forget that they’re real people, children of God who were created with a purpose, just like us.
So will you join me in beginning to pray regularly for our modern-day Solomons? The ones whose eyes are blinded by the bright lights and camera flashes so they can’t see the true Light of the world (John 1:4-5)?
Celebrities may have everything we want. But as believers, we have everything they need. And if I can love a piece of music or a story on a screen so much that I weep for the death of the one who created it, how much more should I be interceding for them in life?
So next time you’re binge-watching your favorite show on Netflix or downloading the latest #1 hit from iTunes or enjoying the current blockbuster on the big screen, take a moment after it’s over to consider the souls behind the characters, behind the music.
Let’s not dismiss them because they seem to have it all. We’re all on the same journey, searching for meaning, for the reason of our existence.
And for those of us who have found it, let us be quick to pray and share.
Eternal lives are on the line.
