First, a tribute:

The King is dead.

And that particular King kept me in Church.

In 1979, I was but nine years old. During those years, my parents took the whole family to St Philip's, Eastwood in the morning, along with Sunday School. That much was compulsory. But my Dad also used to go to the evening service as well, and this was optional. I opted in most weeks. Why? Why does a nine-year-old go to church twice on a Sunday? Was it to worship the Lord our God? Was it the sermons? The music? The liturgy? The people?

'Fraid not.

Going to church gave me an opportunity: when the service was over, I would go out to the car, gently turn the key (without starting the engine), turn on the radio (I'm guessing it was 2SM), and listen to Casey Kasem's American Top 40. Sans siblings, I could have complete control over the music. Sans parents, control over the volume. And with my Dad routinely one of the last out of the building, I would sit and enjoy the sounds of an era plummeting headlong into the '80s.
And I would wait patiently until Michael Jackson's ‘Don't Stop ‘Til You Get Enough’ was played.

(Oh, and also, the Eagles, ELO, Fleetwood Mac, Queen, the Bee Gees, Air Supply. You name it.)

Couldn't have been happier.

I loved those moments to myself. The 'price' was hearing sermons, singing powerful hymns, witnessing people love each other, praying prayers of confession, and having liturgy buried deep into my soul.

We don't all go to church for the right reasons. But God works out his good plans, even in our mixed motives.

Did God capture you with his good gospel, while you were looking for something else?

Now, an observation:

In 1979, did anyone really know what havoc Michael Jackson was to wreak and endure for the next 30 years?  Watching him wrestle with his identity was like witnessing a train wreck. Not pretty. Perhaps this week is not the week to dwell on such things. On the day when God judges the secret thoughts of all, he will have to answer, as we will.

But read Revelation 5. We are told that no-one is worthy to be King, but Jesus. Here, angels numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand, encircle his throne. And they are joined by every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea singing:

  “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
  be praise and honor and glory and power,
      for ever and ever!”

To be praised, and adored, and worshiped, and followed and watched, and fawned over is the lot of many famous people like Michael Jackson. But only Jesus the Messiah is able to handle such praise and worship. For he is worthy.

I wonder if one of the reasons that some famous people get so disorientated and distorted is that they find themselves in a place where only Jesus belongs.

Michael Jackson was not the King.

There is only one real King, and it appears that no one else can really bear the red hot heat of worship.

True?