A bad feature of celebrity culture is the tendency of smaller groups to develop celebrities that aren’t. Despite being (at least) one quarter of the American population, Evangelical behavior is banned in popular media. Nobody prays over a meal on television unless they are getting ready to bomb an aquarium in order to kill a gay whale. As a result, Evangelicals in media tend to out themselves only at the very end of their careers in the religious equivalent of the aging actor who does a nude scene to stay relevant.
Of course, the best option is to kill the cult of celebrity, but for some reason few of us embrace this idea. We cling to the idea that Christianity can be cool . . . or whatever the cool word for cool is now. This would require admiring people we actually know, like our present pastor, and allowing individuals to have one calling instead of demanding they become instant experts on everything.
If you have decided to “do” celebrity Christianity, here is a sign that your favorite Christian celebrity is not.
They use Christian jargon all the time or they vainly attempt “cool kid” talk past their expiration date.
There are two ways for your celebrity to go wrong linguistically.
He or she can use English in ways that only Evangelicals do: the dialect of Cheer. Cheer is blessed and precious. If a leg is cut off, Cheer points out you are blessed to have the other leg. Cheer alternates with condemnations so wrapped in religious jargon, the group being condemned never realizes it or adopts it as an ironic self-description. Cheer is most dangerous to those it praises and least hurtful to those it condemns.
This is not nearly so bad as the Christian celebrity who seeks street cred or authenticity. If you have to seek street cred, you do not have it. The moment you think “am I cool,” then you are not. The moment you go for an up to date “look,” you are forever dated. And the pastor who uses the “f-word” freely while preaching has found the vulgar, but sadly the medium kills the message. If Christianity in bars or pubs worked, the Church of England would be flourishing.
They name drop.
If your celebrity spends time telling you that they once met Elvis, they are not a celebrity. Elvis was a celebrity, Elvis is a celebrity, Elvis will be a celebrity. He is great enough that meeting him confers a second-tier celebrity . . . like a cloth touched by a saint might be a second class relic.
If Elvis says he met you, then you are a celebrity.
The name dropping Christian is generally a second-class relic. And of course, saying you met Elvis also means you are old . . .generally a bad thing in celebrity culture unless you are Betty White or Bill Murray.
You have to remind people why they care or inflate credentials.
A sure sign of fake celebrity is when the introduction of the celebrity tells you why you should care. Nobody introduces even an old celebrity like Bono with a long “why Bono matters” introduction. If you want a celebrity, the person needs to be their own introduction. Even within our own sub-culture, a real sub-culture celebrity will be able to walk on stage without a long preamble.
One way to compensate for a lack of actual celebrity is to multiply credentials. My Mother once heard a man introduced as “the apostle, the prophet, of the Church of Jesus Christ.” Since religious puffery no longer impresses the unwashed in the Blood of the Lamb, we now have academic and social puffery.
We are all scholars now.
Billy Graham does not have to become the Rev. Dr. Billy Graham, though by now he must have more honorary doctorates than Santorum has polling numbers.
You can quickly discern their product is Christian.
A weird trick is to turn on a Christian movie, video, piece of music, and see if your friends can immediately identify it as Christian. Nobody puts Bach on Spotify and says: “Christian!” Watch Tarkovsky and you miss the strange film techniques of Christian celebrity: it is just great movie making.
Somebody watches Christian television and movies and consumes Christian kitsch. I just have never met that person.
The are weirdly good at everything.
They have ghost written books. They hire talent to airbrush their entire lives. They do things they cannot do on the backs of underpaid workers. Just like secular society, the gods of celebrity are better than they are.
After the lines on their faces are removed by photo-shop, they have lines written for them. They use people to produce programs to produce income to increase programs.
What is the alternative?
The alternative to the Cult of Celebrity are saints we know. We can read great men like R.A. Torrey or Nina, equal to the Apostles. They came, they lived, they died for Christ. We know the end of the story. We can admire people we actually know for the good they do while knowing the feet of clay they have.
We can know the dead, because we can know their stories: they are complete.
I knew my grandfather: he is my hero. I know my Mom and Dad: they are my heroes. I know my pastor (Father Richard!): he is a hero. I know the flaws all of these people have, because I know them.
Michael fights Satan. He is not cool, but he is relevant.
We live in a cosmos full of beauty. It requires no extra lighting. We live in a world full of truth. It requires no inflated credentials. We live in a time where so many are good to the point of martyrdom. We need no p.r. to know their greatness.
If you want a celebrity, worship Satan. He is a real celebrity. If you want goodness, truth, and beauty, worship God.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In