When a leading Hollywood movie actor and television comedy star shows up to lead a prayer service, what would you expect him to say? That’s what I asked myself last week when John Lithgow, who until recently could be seen on the TV sit-com “3rd Rock from the Sun,” spoke at Harvard University’s Appleton Chapel.
Though widely known for his comic roles on television, Lithgow has appeared on Broadway in many serious plays as well. Similarly, his movie parts have included a wide variety including the two successful films “The World According to Garp” and “Terms of Endearment.” Tall and dignified looking, this distinguished actor graduated from Harvard College, magna cum laude, in 1967.
Some fifty people were present in the chapel as this visiting alumnus stepped into the pulpit. We sat in choir stalls that spread on either side of the pulpit along the dark paneled walls of this intimate space. As Lithgow ascended the pulpit, his listeners eagerly awaited what he would say in a talk by custom limited to five minutes.
As Lithgow noted at the beginning of his talk, Appleton Chapel has hosted morning prayers for over three hundred years. This fact made him ask himself what he could possibly talk about that had not been heard before. The words of Psalm 33 (“Rejoice in the Lord, all you righteous”) that he chose as his text did not reveal what the subject would be.
This question he answered by telling of an event that he had experienced three days previously on Hollywood Boulevard. There, among much hoopla, a golden star set in the sidewalk bearing his name was unveiled. Publicity cameras flashed, autograph seekers pressed close, and yet another show biz person was immortalized.
This newest star to be so honored found thrilling, not being added to the “Walk of Fame” himself, but rather treading upon famous names such as Cary Grant, Spencer Tracy, and Marilyn Monroe. But these instantly recognizable names are among hundreds no one knows any longer. They have quietly passed into obscurity.
In a phrase nicely coined, Lithgow referred to his star as “this modest symbol of tawdry immortality.” Looking at it with rare perspective, he called this stretch of pavement “the Hollywood walk of temporary fame or impending obscurity.”
About his profession as actor he noted that “everyone is trying to achieve a moment of drama or tears in an audience member.” But even when that happens, it soon becomes a memory that will fade. The whole experience is “a process reminding us how forgettable we all are.”
What moral did he draw from it all? “It reminds us to savor entertainment when it happens, to live in the present moment.”
Looking back to the event of three days before, he said: “For the moment, I was the most famous person in Hollywood.” However, that fame is fleeting; it offers nothing solid to cling to.
Rather, in the spirit of the Psalm, he urged, “let us be thankful for this day.”
Hearing a person who is rich and famous talk this way boosted my morale. To judge from what others said at the reception afterward, many felt the same way. Lithgow himself seemed gratified by people congratulating him on his remarks.
Who would have thought that wisdom would come from such a source? Here is a man whom the glare of the great American celebrity system has not corrupted. His spirituality has survived the relentless hype that batters the lives of the stars. After years of being idolized, he still recognizes the emptiness of fame.
In his mini sermon, John Lithgow had managed to take an age-old theme, the fleetingness of fame, and place it in a present day setting. Speaking with the oratorical skills of a polished actor, he drew a moral that has relevance for his listeners.
Even though hardly anyone of us stands in any realistic danger of being seduced by the celebrity system, we still allow ourselves to get distracted from the beauty of each day. In calling us to notice the value of living in the present moment a man whose star is set in stone led us to set a new value on each present moment.
Richard Griffin