The Price of Fame

Celebrity's Cult Following

The funeral may be but a memory, after weeks that saw the squeezing of
every possible story angle from the life of a ditzy, promiscuous blond, Anna
Nicole Smith. Blogger Mark Evanier wrote of the late starlet turned freak
show, "Some people in this world are famous. Some people are famous for
being famous. And Anna Nicole Smith was one of those who are famous for
being famous for being famous."

Evanier has put his finger on an increasingly absurd phenomenon in
American culture, the ever-growing cult of celebrity. Not that it's a
completely new development in our history. One might argue that our
national fascination with celebrity began with the invention of photography.
Once the image of an individual could be captured on film, static and
unmoving like an icon, it was but a short step to making the famous into
icons themselves.

Someone will counter, and quite rightly, that at one time the famous were
famous for having done something, usually something great. Take, for
example, Charles Lindbergh. Though the story of his baby's kidnapping
gripped the nation, it's hard to imagine the same attention fixed on a father
who hadn't been the first to fly across the Atlantic.

But greatness, like chemical photo-developing, is on the wane. In its place,
we've substituted mere fame, itself increasingly short-lived. Forty years ago,
pop-artist Andy Warhol predicted that everyone would be famous for
fifteen minutes. With news gushing like a never-failing stream from every
computer screen, TV set, and radio, with the line between news and
entertainment blurred to extinction, that fabled fifteen minutes has shrunk to
about five. Few receive fame that lives long after them. Most discover it to
be an everlasting pursuit and a never-lasting possession.

"Fame! I'm gonna live forever!" That's what those eager young dancers
proclaimed in their musical. The great irony, however, is that the pursuit of
fame leads not to immortality, but to a tomb. Few receive fame that lives
long after them. Most discover celebrity to be what Solomon would call
vanity and chasing the wind. Only death, such as the death of Anna Nicole,
can stretch it further-a few days anyway.

Though the wages of celebrity are paid with frightening regularity, many are
unwilling to see the connection between living in the constant glare of the
lights-and withering therein. Try telling any of the young hopefuls on
American Idol that the spotlight blisters even as it illumines. Try convincing
the worst of the idol-wannabes they're better off being quickly skewered by
Simon than thrust into the limelight. Good luck. The celebrity cult feeds on
itself, rejoicing in the destruction of the gods it has created, but, as the title of
an old film suggests, the gods must be crazy. They don't see the truth until
too late.

Yet it's a truth that won't be denied. Lately, we've been subjected to one
repulsive report after another. The tragicomic story of Anna Nicole came on
the heels of the bizarre tale of a lovesick astronaut. And Smith's drama ran
concurrently with yet another surreal story-a fallen pop star checking into
and out of and into and out of rehab, pausing just long enough in between to
shave her head.

Why do the media insist on keeping these particular poor, befuddled
wretches in its camera sights? After all, there are plenty of ruined souls
walking the streets. If coverage of the dysfunctional and the bizarre is at a
premium, why not position yourself with a camera at the nearest Wal-Mart?
You're sure to see plenty of slovenly moms and drug-addled floozies
slouching out the door. Why pay attention only to fallen astronauts, singed
singers, and alternately bloated and emaciated former Playboy models? The
answer is chillingly simple: They've fallen from a greater height.

Or so we've been led to believe. But surely the ridiculous life and untimely
death of Anna Nicole tear the mask off the lie: Those we elevate to celebrity
status stand no taller than we. The emperor wears no clothes. There is
neither power nor glory in fame alone.

This is hardly a new lesson. We might even regard a document written
twenty centuries ago as a kind of textbook on the subject. I refer to Paul's
second letter to the Corinthians. Though he tied the ends of an empire to the
Cross, and though we revere the apostle as second only to Christ, not many
of his contemporaries thought much of him. Included in those critics were
people enamored with religious celebrities, the "super apostles" mentioned
in 2 Corinthians chapters 11 and 12.

Luke's record in Acts states that Paul had lived well over eighteen months in
Corinth (Acts 18:11; cf. v. 18), teaching the word of God. He'd put his
heart and soul into that new church. After he left, certain charismatic
preachers moved in. It must've galled him to hear of their sponging off the
people while scorning his apostleship. Eugene Peterson paraphrases their
contempt for Paul: "His letters are brawny and potent, but in person he's a
weakling and mumbles when he talks" (2 Corinthians 10:10, The Message).
How could Paul hope to compete with the cult of celebrity?

In his stimulating exposition of the letter, N.T. Wright explains Paul's
strategy of response. Instead of touting his personal accomplishments and
honors, instead of trying to fly higher than the super-dupers, he stoops
lower:

You want my curriculum vitae . . . You want to know all the wonderful
things I have done for God, all the battles I have fought and all the victories I
have won in the service of the kingdom. . . . Very well, get a load of this. I
am the most superior apostle imaginable-because I'm a habitual jailbird;
I've lost count of my beatings; I've been through humiliating punishments,
I've been stoned, three times I've been shipwrecked, I've been constantly
in danger, and I'm always anxious about all the churches.

Students of 2 Corinthians will remember Paul reminiscing about being
lowered in a basket down the wall to escape a tyrant (11:33). In a lecture
given a few years ago, Wright added an interesting historical footnote. He
said it was customary for returning conquerors to climb the wall of their city,
mimicking their victory. Notice Paul's gleeful subversion here. He turns
everything upside down. The Corinthians want him to play the hero, and he
plays the fool. By the time Paul gets to talking about power being perfected
in weakness (12:9), he has already dismantled their ideas about both. It's a
brilliant response to the Corinthian's wayward ideas-and the only sane
answer to the cult of celebrity.

I remember a man who was never a celebrity. As a matter of fact, I don't
think I ever heard him use the word. With his grade school education, he
may not even have known what the word meant. He worked hard-ten,
twelve hours or more in a garage, six days a week. The one time he was on
TV, when a local reporter interviewed him about some forgotten local
matter, he was so nervous it hurt to watch. The only time I ever heard him
sing was in the car as we traveled to Grandma's. He sang softly and well,
but never in public. He was often in pain. He suffered from arthritis in his
spine and neck. He died too young. Today he's remembered by a couple
dozen people, if that. One of them is me, his only son.

I remember Homer Robinson giving one of his brief, halting meditations at
the communion table in my boyhood church. He said, "Jesus and heaven are
all I'm livin' for." He said it in a gray sport coat with the sun shining through
stained glass. Never was a man less colorful, and yet that day he was
bathed in color. Perhaps it's strange to revere a man of whom the world
took no note. And yet I know the eye of God, more beautiful than the most
awe-inspiring nebula, was upon him. And I know that he was known-by
the One whose glance is glory.

Fame? Make no mistake; Homer's going to live forever. And thanks to him,
so, I believe, will I.

By Gary D. Robinson
3/23/2007

Gary D. Robinson is preaching minister with North Side Church of Christ,
Xenia, Ohio. He once came dangerously close to being a TV celebrity, but
was rescued by being broadcast at 3 a.m.

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For Further Reading and Information

N.T. Wright, For All God's Worth (Eerdmans, 1997).

Roberto Rivera, "Ordinary People," Boundless, 15 March 2007.

Roberto Rivera, "Presentado," The Point, 21 March 2007.

Roberto Rivera, "Status Anxiety," The Point, 9 January 2007.

Travis McSherley, "You Who?" The Point, 18 December 2006.

Stephanie Bennett, "MySpace - The Final Frontier?" BreakPoint Online, 12
January 2007.

-- Sig
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