This week I was in Memphis, Tennessee, to speak to the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship in its annual assembly. I had been to Memphis years ago and have driven through the city several times, but this was the first time I ever spent a few days in old downtown Memphis, which is, incidentally, a very attractive urban area, with lots of monuments and lovely buildings.

But the thing that struck me most forcibly was the way the local tourist industry has wrapped itself around Elvis. There were statues and statuettes of Elvis on every hand—gold ones, white ones, black ones, and red-white-and-blue ones. It reminded me of what a celebrity culture we have become.

I realize that's not really new. Andrew Jackson was a huge celebrity, and Teddy Roosevelt and Babe Ruth, and, in a way, Mark Twain. But the ubiquity of Elvis posters and statuary made me think of Marilyn Monroe, MLK Jr., Che Guevara, Whoopi Goldberg and all the other faces one sees on T-shirts, posters, coffee mugs, and other touristy paraphernalia.

I suppose we need such social idols—or somebody does—and they serve a certain purpose in the economy of things. Now, due to the extraordinary skills and marketry of the PR industry, there are more than ever before—so many that I can't begin to keep up with them.

On the plane home, I sat by a young woman from New York who was reading a magazine called Star (does anyone actually read such a magazine, or is it only a photo book with labels?). I noticed how packed it was with images of young stars and starlets—the Brad Pitts, Tom Cruises, Angelina Jolies, Madonnas, Britney Spearses, and other moguls of stage and screen—and how avidly she drooled over the pages, as much at the girls in their revealing gowns as at the men in their surly, out-of-my-face scowls.

She works for Morgan-Stanley, she told me—one of the big money firms—but she really only lives for the weekends so she can party. She used “party” as a verb. I felt sad for her, though I didn't say so.

Imagine living one's life vicariously through such patently hollow and often troubled figures from the celebrity machine, and then thinking that people were made more for partying than anything else. I party, therefore I am.

Churches have got a big job ahead of them, though admittedly we haven't done very well in the past. Maybe it's because we're infected too, and love to identify our congregations with the celebrities who pass through our doors.

Me? Well, I hope I love Jesus. And not the celebrity Jesus whose possible likeness gets plastered on T-shirts, posters, and mugs, but the sweaty, nitty-gritty Jesus who didn't wear deodorants and never wanted to be a celebrity because he thought that was a status belonging only for God.