for underdogs & kings…

May 2015

I’ve found myself watching documentaries lately. Maybe I’m getting old and boring. Or maybe I’m actually becoming more wise and informed. Whatever the case, I recently watched one called Searching for Sugarman. It tells the incredible, hard-to-believe story of a singer-songwriter named Sixto Rodriguez. I was drawn to the film simply because Rodriguez is from Detroit, but I quickly became engrossed with the spirit of the story.

An aspiring musician in the late 60’s and early 70’s, Rodriguez caught the attention of some music producers while playing in some tiny bars and clubs in the gritty heart of Detroit. The record companies were impressed with his unique sound and soulful lyrics, even comparing him to the legendary Bob Dylan of that same era. He released a couple of albums, but unfortunately, those records failed to sell, and he was quickly dropped from the label. His music just didn’t resonate with people the way that the record execs had hoped…or so it seemed. His dreams of musical success seemingly crushed, Rodriguez became part of the blue collar culture that Detroit is known for, taking various jobs in manufacturing plants as well as in construction.

Unbeknownst to Rodriguez, some copies of his record Cold Hard Fact made their way halfway across the world to the nation of South Africa. His music resonated with the young South Africans, who embraced the themes of anti-establishment and counter-culture in his music. A social revolution was brewing in that nation, and the songs of Rodriguez became the soundtrack for this movement. Copies of the record were made and distributed all over the nation. Experts now estimate that Rodriguez’s albums outsold those of Elvis Presley within South Africa. However, this all took place in a pre-information age. Without the power of the Internet to get information, and with a South African government that at that time restricted the flow of news media, no one in South Africa seemed to know much about the man who was now the most popular musician in that nation. Rumors began to circulate that Rodriguez was dead. His records continued to be copied and sold. Meanwhile, back in Detroit, Rodriguez continued working blue collar jobs, completely unaware of his enormous celebrity status in a faraway place. Although his records were selling in South Africa, he never received any royalties from the sales of those records.

With the emergence of the Internet in the 1990’s, a few South African fans used their own website to try to find information about Rodriguez’s life and his possible whereabouts. Finally, one of Rodriguez’s daughters came across the website and made contact with the fans. The South Africans were astonished to find out that their beloved musician had been alive all this time and living in Detroit.

At that time, Rodriguez was working as a construction laborer, doing demolition and clean-out work in vacant homes throughout Detroit. It was very dirty and physically demanding work. He was living in a home that didn’t even have functioning electrical or heat systems. Some South African promoters finally made contact with him and arranged for him to come to their country for a series of live performances and appearances. Nearly 30 years removed from the death of his dream, Rodriguez boarded a plane to South Africa. When he landed in South Africa, he was instantly treated as a celebrity. The people were amazed that the man whose life had been a mystery was alive and well and finally among them. He played a series of sold-out shows in the largest arenas in the nation. It was a period of sweet redemption for a man who had simply struggled to exist for so many years.

One of the producers of the documentary sat down to interview him. He asked Rodriguez how it felt to realize that all this time he was actually a superstar in another country? How did he feel knowing that he had spent more than 20 years grinding out a living in the grittiest parts of Detroit when he could have been living like a rock star in another place? “I’m not really sure how to answer that,” Rodriguez mused.

As I watched the documentary and heard the incredible story of a lost superstar, I sensed that there were parallels between this man’s life and my own spiritual life. Maybe it’s a parallel for all of us.

We’re sons and daughters of the King. We’ve been crowned with dignity and worth. We may not all be destined to be superstars, but there’s no question that we were made to shine. We were created for greatness.

This guy spent more than 20 years grinding through life, his career path determined by a “failed” record release. I wonder if a lot of us are living in a lower place simply because we’ve allowed some earlier failures to shape the path of our lives. Maybe there’s more to the story. Perhaps there’s a bigger picture to consider.

There’s a scene on the documentary that follows Rodriguez on his walk from home to work. It’s a typically cold, snowy, miserable winter day in Detroit. He slowly trudges through the deep snow, past the gritty Detroit landscape. You can see the weariness in his body as he marches onward, his body obviously stiff from years of hard labor. He keeps his head down to guard against the fierce chill. It’s honestly a very depressing image.

Sometimes I feel like that’s what my life looks like: a slow, weary trudge through a land of misery, dutifully marching forward with my head down. Just enough sense of duty to keep moving forward, but not enough passion to be excited about it. There’s got to be more…

When Rodriguez finally got the chance to perform to a sellout crowd in a South African arena, he took the stage to a huge ovation. A huge smile spread across his face as his old gnarled hands began to strum his guitar. “Thanks for bringing me back to life,” he said to the crowd. His musical career was resurrected. He was finally living the dream.

I believe in a God of hope. I believe in a God who breathes life into broken people and broken dreams. I believe in a God who sees the big picture. And while I might feel like I’m simply trudging through life, just surviving along a path that’s marked with disappointments and failure, he sees me differently. He sees a star in the making. He sees success.

So let’s stop trudging long enough to lift up our eyes to the one whose image we bear. Let’s hear Him whisper words of affirmation and value. Let’s allow ourselves to hope. He doesn’t just see you as a survivor. He sees you as a rock star. You were made to be great.