We are all witnesses.
At least that is what the Nike marketers for Lebron James want us to believe. King James has been tailor-made to be the sole heir of the mantle left by Air Jordan and those wishing to be “like Mike.” And with the fervor of a religious crusade, slickly crafted ad campaigns continue to force feed us hero-worship as a viable cure for the longings of our souls.
There is something deep within us, that yearns to admire, anoint, and adulate something or someone. This cult of personality is manifested most in the cases of sports and music.
Look no further than Heisman winner Cam Newton. His astronomical rise to the top of college football folklore is what legends are made of. Here is an amazing observation of this recent heroic cultural icon: The media is already saying Cam Newton is better than Tim Tebow. Would anyone have thought, after the recent media slobberfest over college football’s über darling (Tebow*), that a star would rise so soon that surpasses Tebow’s fame in displays of worship, fanaticism and hyperbole? Nostradamus couldn’t have called that one.
Let’s put it in perspective: These are twenty year old kids who happen to have been dealt a generous genetic hand that includes strength, size, and speed; they haven’t cured cancer, they haven’t solved world hunger, and none have been honored with a Nobel Peace prize (as if that meant anything anymore). They’re kids who play Call of Duty, drink beer (probably) and try to hit on frat girls. Yet the games they play in are a multibillion dollar business that thousands of men with families drink, fight, gamble and cry over.
I happen to be one of those men. And before you ask the answer is Yes, of course I’m jealous of guys like Newton and Tebow.
The cult of celebrity on the music side is even more illogical and silly. Just look at Michael Jackson’s recent funeral spectacle. People wept, worshiped, wailed, and fainted over the King of pop’s passing. After death, his life was so romanticized it had a hint of greek mythological flavor to it; only the denominational adherents of John Lennon and Jim Morrison are so obnoxious in their martyr like verbosity.
Of course, you can witness this at any run of the mill Jonas Brothers or Justin Bieber concert. Thousands of young girls and their mom’s are whipped up into a fever pitch frenzy as they idolize and fawn over boys who can’t even serve in the military yet.
Grown men, little girls, it’s all the same. One thing is undeniably crystal clear about these strange displays: We all were made to worship. (Ecc 3:11)
The question isn’t whether we worship anything; the question is what or who are we worshiping right now?
Instead of big sweaty men in tights, or narcissistic little boys in skinny jeans, our worship should be reserved for the only one it is due: Jesus Christ.
If any man possesses any attractive or praise worthy attribute it comes from Christ (Colossians 1:16). If any man can exalt in anything, it must be Christ (Galatians 6:14). All the awards, crowds and media campaigns will mean nothing in 1000 years. Rome, the once crowning achievement of mankind, is a pile of rubble and tourist traps.
If we were to be awestruck over anything it should be at how much God loves us in spite of our propensity to chase after such idols (Romans 5:8-12)
If we are to weep, fall and even faint, the foot of the cross would be a perfect place to do so (Revelation 1:17). After all, that will be our posture for an eternity before the majestic throne of God.
Real heroes don’t play fleeting little games or sing silly little pop songs; the real Hero died on the cross for our sins and won an eternal victory for us through his resurrection. If we are to be struck with anything, let’s be awe-struck with a vision of the “glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor. 4:4,6). With that shockingly good news let’s say with tearful amazement, “We are all witnesses.” (Acts 1:8)
* I’m not a bitter FSU fan….promise…