Friday, February 6, 2015

Why do we even care about Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown's daughter?

Bobbi Kristina Brown . . .

Most of us have no idea who this person is in real life.  We have never been to Starbucks with her.  We have never passed her in the hall or waved to her pulling out of our development.  Chances are we wouldn't recognize her if we were sifting through the same 60% off rack at Kohl's.

Okay, chances are she has never seen a 60% off rack at Kohls.

That is because she is the child of Bobby Brown (member of the ancient 1980's R&B/pop group New Edition).  He was the 'bad boy' who married up with the addition of golden-voiced Whitney Houston.  The consensus of culture-watchers is that Brown dragged Houston into a drug habit that eventually killed her.  The whole thing was and is tragic.

So that is the only reason we know about Bobbi Kristina.  This tragic story of unrealized potential as people and a relationship haunted our headlines and now their daughter lies comatose at the doorstep of death.

And I am very sorry to admit that when I heard the news about Bobbi Kristina I was so disgusted at the entire story of 'bad boys' and drugs and unrealized potential that I said out loud, "who cares?"  Who cares that this person is close to death - with everything going on in the world right now.

My guess is perhaps you had the same reaction.  Who cares about this tabloid celebrity that overdosed and then drowned in a bathtub?

The question is rhetorical - like "who really cares?"  But imagine it is a real question.  When we ask the question it becomes clear who really does care . . .  and it also convicts us.

All the celebrities, all the junkies, all the rejects, all the team captains and the loud mouths.  Every class president and dropout.  Those who sing on the stage and those ignored on the backstep somewhere.  All the adored TV stars as well as those trapped behind the plate-glass of autism.

Who cares? Who cares about all of them?  We do.  We should because He does.  One of the glorious centerpieces of the scriptures is that God knows and loves each and every person.  Not the sometimes plastic knick-knack-inscribed "Smile! God loves you" sentiment.  No, the Bible is clear that God knows us.  And this knowledge does not drive Him away (as it probably should).  He knows the depth of our shallowness.  The fullness of our selfish ways.  He sees my arrogant and condemning heart that writes off another human being who died in a bathtub . . . and yet still chooses to love.

That is because each and every heart.  Every soul.  Every person is dear to the Creator.  We are made in His image.

So I probably won't start a candlelight vigil.  I probably won't shed tears.  But I will marvel at how God's love for each and every one of us is deeper than I can ever know.  And every time I see another Bobbi Kristina headline I will take a moment and pray for those who are on the brink . . . and for a less critical soul.

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