The death of Whitney Houston is a tragedy. The loss of such a
powerful, memorable voice is a tragedy. The sorrow it brings to friends and
family is a tragedy. Any death is a tragedy, even when inevitable. But avoidable
death is a greater tragedy.
Whitney need not have died. She need not have given her life
to drugs and alcohol. Such talent and enjoyment for thousands need not have
been cut short. Not only Whitney, but from Marilyn Monroe on, you can probably
supply names of others whose lives have been cut short by self-destructive behaviour.
Of course, many others have fallen into this spiral and
lived to tell about it. But few tell of the reason behind it. Celebrity does
not bring the expected results. Yes, the money and comfort is there, the
adulation, the fame, that beckon us all.
The tragedy of life cut short like Whitney’s is the
seductive promise of fulfilment, early gains of fame confirming the delusion,
pushing towards the goal. But success proves empty; the enchantment of the journey
emptied by the futility of achievement.
The One who created us and placed the yearning of the soul in
us; only He can satisfy it. His is the still small voice we ignore or try to stifle.
The greater the disillusionment, the louder the voice sounds and the greater
the need to drown it.
Whitney is not in a league on her own in this tragedy. Myriads
of us live in quiet desperation, subconsciously aware of our separation from
God. We trust in things and people that only partly fill the void. Peace is
only found in reconciling with the one who continues to call us to Himself.
