Of Michael, John, Elvis and Fanny

With no desire to mock or diminish the death of any person -- famous or anonymous, my mind has been ruminating on the events of the past few days.

One hundred years from now there will be a new King of Pop (should the Lord allow those days to be). In his lifetime Michael Jackson sold more than 750 million records. That's a lot of pop. But all kings are eventually deposed. On August 16, 1977, I heard of Elvis Presley's death. December 9, 1980, I helped print a daily newspaper recounting John Lennon's murder.

These three kings of my generation proclaimed a message for this world only: Jackson told us we are the world and we can make a better day. Lennon was confident all we needed to do was imagine and give peace a chance. Presley -- well, if we just had a little less conversation and a little more action we could be dancin' to the jailhouse rock. Their music and personnas brought fabulous wealth and global reknown. But all their confidence in this world and toe-tapping little ditty's couldn't save them. Jackson died while his security guards kept the world at bay; Lennon was gunned down by a fan outside his front door. Presley: fallen from his personal throne after trying to get one more high his success couldn't get him to.

Their songs, their cultural iconography are for this life only; this world is passing away and also its lusts. Consider another poet and songwriter from a few generations past.

Fanny Crosby wrote:

Take the world, but give me Jesus,
All its joys are but a name;
But His love abideth ever,
Through eternal years the same.
Oh, the height and depth of mercy!
Oh, the length and breadth of love!
Oh, the fullness of redemption,
Pledge of endless life above.

Crosby (1820-1915), who became blind shortly after birth, wrote more than 8,000 poems and hymns. Critics have observed that much of hymnody of the 18th and 19th centuries (including Crosby's) wasn't the best poetry. But compared to "I Want to Hold Your Hand" and lyrics like hunka-hunka burnin' love, Crosby deserves a Nobel Prize in Literature.

Highly unlikely was there ever a candlight service in Times Square to commemorate Crosby's death. Doubtful her gravestone is noted on a tourist's map. Her songs might not even be known 100 years from now. But Crosby saw something and gave us a taste of something the three kings couldn't. She saw the glory of God in the face of Christ Jesus. She tasted of the eternal river of delights. And it showed up in her life. She was content, downright happy, even thanking her Creator for her blindness. No cocktails of prescription drugs to get through the day. No need to hide from the world. No fan club or entourage required. Crosby had Christ and He was enough.

Take the world but give me Jesus.

-- TWMathis