Michael Jackson's Redemptive Brokenness

"And they told me a man should be faithful, and walk when not able, and fight till the end. But I’m only human."
– Michael Jackson, Will You Be There

Watching the global outpouring of affection for Michael Jackson at his passing earlier this week has been nothing short of incredible.

Spontaneous dance parties have erupted throughout my inner-city, primarily African American, neighborhood in Washington, DC. I've spotted young and old alike moon-walking on sidewalks and attempting to reenact the unforgettable Smooth Criminal forward-lean, or the Thriller zombie crawl.

Flipping television channels it’s impossible to get very far without hitting a Michael Jackson retrospective, 24-hour music video-a-thon, or cable news commentary assessing his life and legacy. MTV and VH1 have been providing nearly non-stop coverage of this event, undoubtedly a ratings bonanza.

Nevertheless, it's difficult for me to escape remembering Michael Jackson as a breathtakingly talented entertainer with a staggeringly tragic life: burdened with brokenness, loneliness, and – in later years – an isolation borne from bizarre relationships with children and ongoing public ridicule.

Robbed of a normal childhood by an abusive father, demanding performance schedule, and rapid ascent to fame, one gets the sense that he never quite fully grew up.

In spite of the controversy that overshadowed his twilight years, I can't shake the feeling that there is something deeply redemptive about Michael Jackson's life and work: a legacy enhanced rather than obscured by his obvious brokenness.

In the cynical 1980’s and 90’s he produced moments in music and entertainment marked by a contagious idealism.
His historic stadium concert successes around the world, especially in the freshly dismantled Soviet Union and in post-Tiananmen China, reignited hope and signaled the advent of the first truly international generation.

Gen-X’ers and Millennials coming of age during this era can’t help but remember the epic, multi-artist, We are the World collaboration that raised millions for famine relief in Ethiopia, or the unprecedented, primetime television release of the Black or White music video, tackling the controversial subject of racism in America.

At the news of Michael’s death one of my friends from Sojourners remarked, with a flash of sarcasm and sincerity, “If the entire world simultaneously listened to Man in the Mirror, there would be no more war.”

Christian theologian Henri Nouwen—a tragic figure himself, also dying young and plagued by feelings of isolation, loneliness, and clinical depression—once observed that:

"...every time there are losses there are choices to be made. You choose to live your losses as passages to anger, blame, hatred, depression and resentment, or you choose to let these losses be passages to something new, something wider, and deeper.

When we become aware that we do not have to escape our pains, but that we can mobilize them into a common search for life, those very pains are transformed from expressions of despair into signs of hope."

While it’s true that Michael Jackson’s life was weighed down by loss, tragedy, and a string of unfortunate personal decisions, its precisely this brokenness that grounded his idealism, saving his music from being too naïve, too optimistic, and ultimately disconnected from realty.

The inescapable pain of his personal life experiences gave birth to music that offered the world an opportunity to explore its own brokenness and—more importantly—an invitation to transcend it.

For this reason, and in spite of his controversial twilight years, I find Michael Jackson’s legacy to be outrageously redemptive. His life was a gift, transforming expressions of despair into signs of hope.


Watch Michael Jackson's live performance of Man in the Mirror at the 1988 Grammy Awards: