Well, he’s a thriller, all right. I’d sing it for you if I could, but this cold won’t let me. Besides, I don’t have his range. You’ll have to settle for Michael. ("Thriller" – clip from 2:16 )

Michael Jackson is exactly one year and 364 days older than I am. He was born on August 29, 1958, in Gary, Indiana, the seventh of nine children. The working class family struggled to get by. His father, Joe Jackson, worked days as a crane operator and evenings at the steel factory. Joe also played a respectable rhythm and blues guitar in a band to make extra money. The group practiced in the living room of the Jackson’s two-bedroom house, and since Joe didn’t want the kids hanging around, many of the evenings of Michael’s first three years were spent packed with all his siblings in their bedroom, listening to Dad practice.

Joe was a violent, unpredictable father and a stern, unforgiving, physical disciplinarian. He beat the children with belts, razor strops, and fists for any infraction or mistake. He said in an interview once, "It’s good if children are a little afraid of you." Joe forbade their children to play with neighborhood kids. He also encouraged their mother Katherine’s fervent membership with the Jehovah’s Witnesses. It also served to make the family more insular –Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t believe in worldly celebrations, so the Jackson children didn’t give or receive presents, and didn’t celebrate or recognize any holidays, including birthdays.

Katherine was easier with the kids when Joe wasn’t there, and allowed the older kids the privilege of taking out Joe’s guitar when he was at work. But one day when Michael was three, the unthinkable happened. Tito was playing the guitar and a string broke! Joe was livid when he found out, and beat Tito nearly senseless, and was turning on Jackie, Jermaine, and oldest sister Reebie when Katherine intervened, saying, "They’re really good, Joe!" So he shoved the guitar into Tito’s hands and said, "So show me." A few days later he brought home a mysterious package for Tito: an electric guitar. The rare gift came with a directive: "Now practice."

From that point on, the older boys spent three or four hours every day rehearsing, with Joe directing and teaching them everything he knew, which was a considerable amount. What they’d had of a childhood was gone. Michael joined them when he was four, playing the bongos, but within a year he replaced Jermaine as lead singer, and Joe renamed the "Jackson Four" the "Jackson Five."

The Jackson Five hit the amateur contest circuit in the summer of 1964 when Michael was five years old. In two years they had conquered Gary, Indiana, and headed for Chicago. Before Michael was 9, the Jackson Five caught Gladys Knight’s attention, won the incredibly prestigious Amateur Night competition at Harlem’s Apollo Theatre, and were signed with the Steeltown label. But they stayed mere months with Steeltown; soon they moved to Motown, under Berry Gordy’s personal care.

Motown groomed the Jackson Five for a year, searching out material for them, honing their singing, instrumental, and presentational skills. They also coached them in dealing with interviewers and fans, gave costuming guidance, and even provided lessons in table manners. Motown was a star machine, and nothing was ignored that could contribute to their success. Nothing, that is, except mental and emotional health, but then, what does that have to do with being a star?

About a year later, when Michael had barely turned eleven, Motown released the Jackson Five’s first single, "I Want You Back," and it soared to number 1 on the charts. In rapid succession, the Jackson Five issued three more number one hits. No other group in history has had such a stellar beginning. Their first four releases went to Number One; the next two went to Number Two; and all this in eighteen months. The Jackson kids outsold every other act in the recording industry, including the Beatles, in 1970. Their first concert appearance was frightening to them, but they had to get used to it; it happened every time: thousands of screaming teenagers mobbed the airport and concert site, and walls of police officers made tunnels through which they had to run to escape hysterical, shrieking, sobbing, grabbing fans. Young Michael, only eleven years old, often burst into tears when they reached the safety of their hotel room. But never since has he been able to go out of his house or hotel room without personal guards or a disguise, or he gets mobbed, literally attacked by fans.

Michael began writing songs in his early teens. Songwriting was important to him. He said, "There are a lot of kids, black and white, who won’t even pick up a book, but they’ll memorize lyrics to an Elton John song or a Stevie Wonder record. Messages in those lyrics can change a person’s life."

Fast-forward nine years, to 1979: Michael Jackson, age 21, released his first solo LP, Off the Wall,. which scored two number one hits. His second solo album, Thriller, electrified the music world and remade the music video industry. It set the world record for sales at 60 million albums, tripling the previous record, and spun out four number one hits, seven in the top ten. The "Bad" album was next (incidentally, my children and I have had fun with his album names, particularly the idea of other adjectives he might have been unlikely to use, like the "Dumb" album) – anyway, the "Bad" album was next, with six number one hits, but disappointing sales at only 20-odd million copies, making it the second-best selling album of all time. "Dangerous" came then, with another number one hit, the wonderful "Black or White," and then, the hammer fell. During the "Dangerous" tour, in 1993, when Michael was on tour in Thailand, allegations surfaced of child molestation, and Michael fell ill, cancelled the remainder of the tour, went through treatment overseas for addiction to pain killers, and came back to the states six weeks later. That case was settled, reportedly for millions of dollars, and no charges were filed, but more was yet to come. Michael was 35 years old.

Nowadays, most people don’t drool and swoon over Michael Jackson as they did in his glory years. America was crazy for him as the miracle-voiced tot in the Jackson Five. He cut his first Number One solo single at age 14. Jackson mania accelerated with his solo career. It was huge through "Off the Wall," ("Rock With You" clip, from beginning), full tilt during "Thriller," barely less during "Bad," although people were beginning to feel a twinge of uneasiness about his continuing physical metamorphosis. It continued with "Dangerous," but with people becoming more unnerved by what-all he must’ve done to his face, then was abruptly interrupted during the "Dangerous" tour. He’s still recording and issuing hit records, but less often, and many people – millions – still swoon over him, but more do not. The current charges against him are so heinous, seven counts of child molestation and two more of administering intoxicating agents for the purpose of committing a felony, that many people blanch at the very mention of him. And, because he’s so weird, and because of the settlement in 1993, they believe he must be guilty. When my children and I were digging joyfully into his music together, something I hadn’t done before, the kids found there was almost nobody they could talk to about him or his music … just say his name and people’s faces close, they stiffen up, their eyes narrow, they turn away, the works, it’s really amazing.

Michael Jackson seems to be less distraught by the prospect of court this time than in 1993. Even the hostile biography "Michael Jackson—Unauthorized" relates that Jackson settled in ’93 not because he was afraid of being found guilty (he maintained his innocence then, too) but because he was terrified of going to court. Like other eccentrics, Michael has many fears – of germs, courtrooms, illegal drugs, and more. But after his arraignment in Santa Maria Superior Court day before yesterday, he danced on top of an SUV in front of the courthouse for the assembled crowd of well over a thousand people. Maybe it was some kind of stunt; maybe it was an outburst of affection for his fans; or maybe he’s dancing in the dark, doing what he knows how to do in the face of the unknown. Or something else. He’s not saying, and can we presume to see into the heart of another human being?

Well, we know what’s next for Michael Jackson: probably several months of a grueling trial. But what’s next for us? Not, I hope, a replay of the disgusting national display during the O. J. Simpson trial, with everyone hanging on every sordid word and slaking their salacious curiosity with other people’s sadness, sickness, and pain. No, I have higher hopes for us.

It was a crazy goal his parents had: to create an environment where their kids were wholly dependent on them, didn’t trust anyone else, and despised the popular culture, and yet tailored everything they said, did, sang, danced, or wore to please that very culture they were taught to despise. What do you suppose it would be like to be so insulated from the culture that you don’t know what normal is – and – simultaneously, so immersed in, shaped and enslaved by the culture that you’re willing to carve yourself up like a jack-o-lantern to please people (if it was to please people)? But then what happens? The culture turns on you like vultures. We think it’s abominable when creatures in the natural world eat their own offspring, but what does this culture do? It provides rigorous, relentless training in catering to the opinions of others, in sex appeal being more important than anything else; in money being a true, tangible measure of success and worth; and then it eats the young that inevitably spring from such an upbringing. People exult in the eliminations on so-called reality shows, laugh at Simon Cowell’s cruelty on American Idol, and crucify Michael Jackson.

The term crucify here is interesting, actually. It has crossed my mind that many of the great prophets were held up as monsters, lawbreakers, deviants, troublemakers, in their times. All of them did many things that most people didn’t understand. So, what if Michael Jackson is a messenger? The Quakers think we’re all messengers, but what if he is a special messenger? His own grandfather, a devout Jehovah’s Witness, thought Michael embodied the second coming of Christ. But maybe you’ll just take from that, that mental illness runs in the family – well, maybe it does. But I think if Michael Jackson is a prophet of some kind, and all this transformation outside is supposed to remind us of essential truths – that we, our essences, are not the same as our behavior, for example; or that you have to pay attention to be able to find out what someone’s like, that you can’t tell a book by its cover; or that our predisposition to judge everyone and categorize them will never lead us to truth, only tragically limit our thinking – I think if Michael Jackson is a prophet sent to remind of these and other truths, we fail. We fail the test. ("Black or White" clip, beginning at 1:10 )

But whether or not he’s a prophet, and whether or not he thinks he’s got a special message for humankind, he certainly is a test for us. Of course he’s a test. Everything is a test; every day is a test, every encounter, every decision.

And here we are, scared to death because he used to be this cute black kid and he’s transformed himself into some weird-looking white woman who chirps and gyrates, and we’re picking up stones just as fast as we can. It’s hard to find someone who hasn’t already made up his or her mind. And, gee, with so many people throwing stones at him all the time, we don’t have to worry about throwing the first one. But, I hate to have to remind you: in a spiritual sense, every stone we throw is the first stone.

We love to judge other people. We’re addicted to it. We love to be better than other people, and we love to be right. That’s one of the biggest problems that Unitarians have, that we’re just so flaming arrogant much of the time – although I have to say that’s less of a problem at Live Oak than at any other UU church I know of (but now I’m being self-congratulatory again). We’re all products of this culture, just like Michael Jackson; it’s only a matter of degree, just differences in magnification; we could all be just like him if we hadn’t been blessed with so many counteracting influences – loving families, caring teachers, time to play, time to think, time away from performance and perfectionism and ceaseless, ceaseless pressure and violence. We get a big rush out of finding a monster, learning all the repulsive details, talking it all over in undertones with half-smiles on our lips, and dismissing the creature with a disgusted sound and flip of the hand, as blithely as we’d throw away a messy candy wrapper. But can we really afford to throw people away like that? What are we so scared of? UUs have the First Principle to remind them – "We affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person." If Michael Jackson has hurt somebody, he should pay the price and not be allowed to hurt anyone else, of course; that’s the way a society keeps order; we have to take care of each other. But even monsters have inherent worth and dignity. Even freaks have gifts to offer. And this freak, if he’s a freak, happens to be a genius. Living as he does, and has, always in the public eye, but always craving privacy and safety, it’s easy to see Michael Jackson’s contributions.

There are the charity concerts, the Heal the World Foundation, huge contributions to Children’s Homes and hospitals, the field trips opening Neverland to local schools. And, of course, there’s the music. Whatever toll it has taken personally, his perfectionism has served him, and us, well in the studio. His songs are almost surreally tight; the arrangements are electrifying and creative; and can he ever make a tune groove! ("Blood on the Dance Floor" – clip from beginning) And as for vocals, with his 3½ octave range and a lifetime of daily training with a personal coach, there’s just not much Michael Jackson can’t do with his voice – except sing bass. But whether you like the sound of his music or not, there are also the lyrics. Walt Whitman he’s not, but some of his lyrics, put to his music, are inspiring. "Heal the world, make it a better place for you and for me and the entire human race. There are people dying; if you care enough for the living, make a better place for you and for me."

I think, since these charges surfaced, the public’s recent feelings about Michael Jackson, as with almost everything destructive that happens in this world, are being guided by fear. These are treacherous waters. Only after we conquer our fear of the unknown, of danger, of the inexplicable, can we really move forward safely. And it’s important that we do, so we can find out what happened. And not just to the child or children, but to him, and to ourselves. For we’re in this web with Michael Jackson. Harm done by him is harm to us, and harm done to him is harm to us, too. And the converse is true: help for him is help for us all. Love thine enemies, Jesus said. He didn’t say let thine enemies run around hurting people; you love those other people, too; no, you stop thine enemies from hurting people, but you still love them. You love them for their inherent worth and dignity, whether or not you can admire their actions.

As for me, I want to heal the world. And, to quote Michael Jackson to close, "I’m starting with the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways. And no message could have been any clearer: if you wanna make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make a change."