"Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place.
But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's
allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over.
And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want
you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!
- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s final sermon
"So put me on a highway, and show me a sign,
and take it to the limit one more time."
- The Eagles, Take It To The Limit
"God, I know you're wanting to put on a kickass show, but could you maybe slow it down just a bit?" Those were the words a friend of mine posted tonight on Facebook following the news of Glenn Frey's death -- which came on the heels of the deaths of David Bowie and Lemmy Kilmister, and not all that long after the death of Scott Weiland.
Many good words have been written about celebrity deaths and why we mourn them -- one of the very best pieces I've read was posted here by my friend Stacy -- so I don't feel particularly qualified to wade deeply into those waters. But I have been thinking a good deal about the subject, especially tonight, when the news of Frey's death hit me surprisingly hard -- largely, no doubt, because it occurred on Martin Luther King Day and the fifth anniversary of my stepfather's death.
Brian McLaren proposes that the phrase translated in most of our English Bibles as "eternal life" might be better understood as "life of the ages" -- a life that outlasts our limited time on this planet. Bruce Springsteen perfectly captures this phenomena in his song "We Are Alive."
I'm sure you, like me, can think of funerals you've attended where the deceased had made an indelible impact on many lives. Sadly, like me as well, you can probably also remember going to a few where the sense of a wasted life hung in the air so heavily you thought you could almost touch it.
That indelible impact is, I think, why so many celebrity deaths affect us so deeply. The ones that move us, that shake us to our core, are very often the ones who used their celebrity for something more than pursuing accolades or making money. They're the ones who spoke out, the ones who stood for something.
Martin Luther King's impact cannot possibly be overstated. More than 50 years later, we still get goosebumps as we read his sermons. We still celebrate the grace and prophetic power with which he articulated his dream, and we still join him "in our desire to see the world become a place in which our children can grow free and strong," as James Taylor poignantly expressed.
Glenn Frey, likewise, left a legacy that is bigger than some great music. Like his bandmates, he was known for his support of conservation and environmental causes; a portion of the royalties from the tribute album Common Thread: The Songs of The Eagles was donated to the Walden Woods Project. He was also a vocal supporter of Parkinson's research.
In much smaller ways, my stepfather did this - in the way he helped my mom rediscover love she thought she'd never have again after my parents divorced, in the way he was quick to respond if I needed help with a project around the house, in the way he'd patiently explain to me for the 12th time how to fix something. My grandparents, my uncles, my wife's best friend: all lived lives that live on even as they no longer do. All, in some beautiful, cosmic way, remain alive.
And I realize that, when we say things like this, it can sound like we're trying to make those people seem superhuman. It sometimes sounds like we're trying to sweep their flaws under the rug and nominate them for sainthood.
But honestly, I'm not interested in how "good" their lives were. I'm interested in how full and how meaningful their lives were.
Yesterday, I read Luke 16, which includes one of the more unusual stories Jesus tells in the gospels. It's a story about a crooked manager who is misusing his position and mismanaging his master's funds. The master eventually finds out and fires him.
Before an audit takes place, the manager decides to curry favor with some of his master's debtors in hopes of having a place to stay when he is kicked out. He goes to the debtors, one by one, and has them pay back a portion of what they owe.
And, here's the weird thing: Jesus holds the guy up as a positive example of sorts. "The master praised the crooked manager ... because he knew how to look out for himself," Jesus says, going on to encourage his followers to follow the man's example of how to live: "I want you to be smart in the same way -- but for what is right -- using every adversity to stimulate you to creative survival, to concentrate your attention on the bare essentials, so you'll live, really live, and not just complacently get by on good behavior."
I wrote the following in my journal yesterday morning after reading this parable:
"Perhaps there's a difference between being good and living well, wisely and humbly; they're not mutually exclusive, but they're also not one and the same. I think of Rich Mullins as an example; he seemed to live fully, a beautiful, rich, meaningful life, but he was known for having a bit of a playfully naughty streak. I would rather live a life that is full and whole and occasionally messy than be a timid sheep my whole life. I would rather accept that I'm saint and sinner and spend my life rising to the challenge of dying to myself day by day than to pretend and be known as a 'good guy' who doesn't cuss or drink or whatever. I'd rather be known as a man who wrestled his way out of the trenches, who fought tooth and nail to put his demons to flight, than as a man who tiptoed through life."
Johnny Cash was a prime example of this. His demons were never far from him, but he took them on, like Hugh Glass dragging his mangled body out of a makeshift grave in "The Revenant," like Andy Dufresne refusing to back down from Bogs Diamond in "The Shawshank Redemption." As Morgan Freeman's Red said about Andy, "Sometimes he was able to fight 'em off, sometimes not."
That's how Johnny Cash lived.
That's how we all live, whether we admit it or not.
I was just looking for a little backstory to my favorite Eagles song, "Take It To The Limit." The song was originally led by Randy Meisner, but eventually Frey began doing lead vocals on the song and Meisner left the band.
Meisner explained the song like this:
"You reach a point in your life where you feel you've done everything and seen everything - it's part of getting old. And just to take it to the limit one more time, like every day just keep punching away at it."
One more time.
