Ever since I read
about it, I’ve been grieving.
Grieving the comedic
genius that was Robin Williams. Up there with the greats like Hope and Carson, he
carved his own niche when he burst onto our planet and into our lives with his
portrayal of a character called Mork. One of my favorite performances was his
interpretation of real life medical doctor, Patch Adams, who advocated treating
the whole person and brought laughter and joy to his patients, even those with
terminal illnesses.
Media has in the
past referenced William’s addiction and alcoholism, but his struggle with depression
not so much. Who is to say which one came first? Who is to say which one drove
the other? Those with mental illness often self-medicate. Mental illness is still
something we hardly speak about.
A few days ago,
this woman wrote a powerful post on the stigma of mental illness, the shame that can follow because of it, and the church's response. I know what it’s like to stand seemingly
helpless as those close to me have struggled, and experienced what it’s like to
be that child wearing a cloak of shame. Ann said it well. Bravo.
But something
else related to William’s death has been on my mind.
In our culture,
we are consumers. We consume stuff, but we also consume people. We devour their
music, their performances, their words, their private lives. We forget that
they are not just images on the screen, or a voice on the radio, but real live,
breathing human beings. We forget the cost of what they do, the hours of
private and personal struggle to achieve. We forget many times, those in the
public eye, begin to live in a tilted wobbly world where they allow the
accolades of others to define them.
I once overheard
a group of church people talking about a young celebrity who seemed to be in a
downward spiral. As they laughed and discussed her misadventures, I grew more
and more sad. Sad that without God’s intervention, the path she was on would
most likely end in tragedy. However, I was also sad for the church folk who
seemed to think they were discussing someone who wasn’t even real. I wonder
what their discussion would have been if it had been their daughter, their
sister?
Someone might
interject here that if one puts him or herself in the public eye, they’ve
opened themselves to scrutiny. Maybe. But so many step unknowingly into the
spotlight unprepared for what fame brings.
A year ago, our
church began using My Most Wanted Devotional developed by prayer evangelist Terry Tekyl—a book to help us
pray for those who don’t know the Lord. In the introductory material where Tekyl
suggests we identify the ten people we most want to come to salvation, he
writes that the first names we think of are family and friends, but he also encourages
us to pray for those who are in the public eye.
So, after adding
several family members and friends, I wrote
the names of a few people I will probably never meet in this life. Celebrities.
Political figures.
I don’t know the difference my prayers make,
but I believe that somehow, they do.
Who do you watch
on television? To whose music do you listen? Whose books keep you reading at
night?
I have more than ten in my Ten
Most Wanted. And the list keeps growing.
Consider investing in people who,
through their art, invest in yours.
And if you find yourself praying
for some whose art you can do without, well, my friend, that’s fine, too.
Our prayers are going up for the Williams family.
Our prayers are going up for the Williams family.
"The first thing I want you
to do is pray. Pray every way you know how, for everyone you know"
( I Timothy 2:1 The Message).