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TAKING YOUR EMMYS WITH YOU

It was the lament on the cover of People Magazine — and also of 32 million viewers all over North America, and multiplied millions more around the world. “Say It Ain’t So!” But it was so, and comedian Jerry Seinfeld announced last December that the NBC hit television program that was famously about “nothing” would be coming to an end. Already grieving fans are counting down to the May 14 deadline when Jerry, Elaine, George, and Kramer will bicker in the corner cafe, “Monk’s,” for the very last time.

For nine years now these four single, confused, disturbed, wacky, paranoid — and admittedly very funny — New Yorkers have ruled the airwaves on Thursday nights. They’ve made characters famous: the ranting George Steinbrenner. The Soup Nazi. J. Peterman. Newman the postman. And of course, hundreds of girlfriends and boyfriends, who’ve drifted in and out of stories, but who invariably could not stick with any of the four regulars for more than an episode or two. More about that as we go along this week.

What is there that the people of God, men and women of the Christian faith, can learn from an NBC sitcom like Seinfeld? Admittedly, out of 32 million viewers, many of them are also faithful church attendees each weekend; in fact, the Christian magazine Leadership, in the Summer ‘97 issue, ran a cartoon where a pastor in the pulpit is doing a little comedy routine of his own. “Do you ever wonder what the food is going to be like in Heaven?” he asks. “I wonder if they served deviled eggs. Since we’ll probably have wings, maybe they give us airline food!” And the caption reads: “Pastor Larry had been watching too much ‘Seinfeld.’”

Well, on the one hand it’s a show that’s supposed to be about “nothing.” But in actuality, it’s about almost everything. How people work. How to act on a date. Why Jerry likes eating cereal. Why Kramer never knocks before sli-i-i-i-i-ding into Jerry’s apartment. But there’s one thing the show is almost never about, and that’s God. And this week we want to wonder why.

There’s no denying that these four people represent the hot demographic in network television today. They’re young; they’re single. They’re angst-ridden and hung up about a million things. They’re city dwellers who have to buzz their friends into the building, and who trade keys with each other. Every week it’s one social crisis after another. They pick every relationship to death. Their lives are ruled by SELF, and the desire to please SELF. And of course, Jerry, the creative force behind the program, is — in his own words — “thin, single, and neat,” with all the advantages. But there’s one thing he isn’t, and that’s religious. In his 1993 bestseller, SeinLanguage, which is basically a collection of the monologue bits you see at the beginnings and ends of the NBC program, there’s exactly one mention of God in the entire book, in a chapter on blind dates, where the Creator is lining Adam up for a blind date with Eve, telling him: “No, don’t worry, she’s very nice. She doesn’t have much of a wardrobe, though.” But that’s the sum total of how much God is a part of the lives of these four New Yorkers.

And of course, all of us who stop to think about this God-absent media phenomenon as we count down to May 14, have to concede immediately the obvious question. Is Jerry Seinfeld — and you can take your pick of either the TV character or the hugely successful actor with the same name — is he missing anything? Now, it’s not my place or yours to judge what the real Jerry has decided to do about God, or about His Son Jesus Christ. But assuming there’s any parallel at all between the fiction and the fact, we have to look at some very intriguing statistics. Because the real Jerry, as you probably know, has been picking up more than one million dollars an episode for each and every half-hour sitcom he’s in. In 1997 alone, this 43-year-old comedian tucked away in his wallet something like 94 million bucks. In front of his Hollywood house, there are always parked not one, but three Porsches. And if that doesn’t seem so impressive, why don’t you just add on 60 more cars that he owns? That’s right. Sixty cars all belonging to Mr. Seinfeld, parked in a warehouse in Santa Monica. Forbes Magazine has him as the sixth richest person in all of show business.

So does this person need God? Does he? Can I, with a straight face, say here on the radio: “Jerry, you’d have a better life as a born-again Christian. You’d be happier if you got down on your knees, confessed you were a sinner, and joined my church”? NBC, desperate to keep its “Must See TV” lock on Thursday night, recently offered Seinfeld a whopping FIVE million dollars an episode if he’d go one more year with the show. The other three actors: Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Jason Alexander, and Michael Richards, this last year had just finally moved up to the big leagues themselves, getting $600,000 each per show, with millions more if they could have persuaded their leader to keep being funny through 1999. And all of this without going to church or paying tithe or acknowledging God as the giver of all good things. These people seem to have made it to the top without any need for heaven’s help along the way.

And yet I think the observant person who watches even a few episodes, let alone the nearly 200 that have put Seinfeld into syndication heaven, might notice what Tom Shales, writer for the Washington Post, wisely picked up. He gives the program high marks, calling it an all-time classic right up there with I Love Lucy and All in the Family. But then he says this: “Seinfeld is about the human condition. And the human condition is basically a mess.” And really, right there is the core lesson I think we can all learn as these last few episodes slip away. Sure, it’s funny stuff. We laugh because we’re laughing at ourselves and our own warts and worries. But friend, when God isn’t in the equation, life is basically a meaningless collection of episodes. It’s many half-hours stitched together, with lessons you never quite learn, happiness you never quite find, fulfillment that never quite arrives, parties that don’t quite satisfy, friends who usually don’t stay. And there is ALWAYS an end to ratings and to the headlines and even to the money. Without God, all of those things really are going to run out in the end. When the lights go out at the end of life, you can’t take your Emmys and your Porsches with you.

And maybe that’s oversimplifying. After all, Christians lurch from one crisis to another too. The people of God stumble in their relationships just like George Costanza does. They have messy breakups and painful divorces too. We all know that. But in the Christian faith, there’s Someone with you who outlasts all of that. There’s a Big Picture, a divine plan, where your birth on this planet counts because God paid an incredible price for you. The small deeds you do — raising your kids, driving them to soccer practice, putting on a Band-aid — may seem trivial in a sitcom world. But in God’s eyes they all add up as you and those you love prepare to live lives that last for eternity. Everything you do has meaning — it counts — because it’s all shaping an everlasting destiny.

There’s an Old Testament verse that actually describes the cast of Seinfeld, believe it or not. People who, deep down, are scared and lonely. Now, the people mentioned in Deuteronomy 28 are afraid of real enemies, not just the psychological bogeymen out there. But here’s their endless curse:

“Your lives will hang in doubt. You will live night and day in fear, and will have no reason to believe that you will see the morning light. In the morning you will say, ‘Oh, that night were here!’ And in the evening you will say, ‘Oh, that morning were here!’”

In other words, perfect fulfillment and happiness are always the OTHER thing, not the thing you have.

That morning-evening lament certainly has to describe the romantic relationships of Mr. George Costanza. Whenever he’s dating a girl, he’s immediately looking to get out of the relationship. “This is terrible, Jerry! I’m stuck!” And when an opportunity to escape presents itself, he misses it every time. But finally he sees his way clear to freedom. And you hear that cry of exultation: “I’m out, baby! I’m finally out!” Which is followed maybe two minutes later by the realization: “But wait a minute! Now I’m alone! How could I have been so stupid? She was everything! Jerry, give me the phone; I’ve got to call her back and grovel. Yes sir, some major groveling is coming up.” And that’s the story of his life: Out — wanting to get in. In — wanting to get out. Never happy; never secure. Always knowing that his life has a missing piece, but he just plain can’t figure out what it is.

In one of his monologues, Jerry finds at least part of the puzzle.

“Friends are the DNA of life,” he says. “They are the basic building blocks of life. If you have a couple of good ones, treasure them like gold. There’s nothing better. Ever look at that MCI ad they have, ‘Friends and Family’? Who do they mention first? Your friends help you carry the big weight in life. That big burden we’ve all got called, ‘What in [the world] am I doing?’”

And true, that’s been part of the nine-year magic of Seinfeld. Knowing that Jerry and Elaine and George and Kramer would always have each other. Knowing they’d stick through the fragile times, the moments of self-loathing, where one of the characters says, “Jerry, I hate myself.”

And yet, when we look back at a synopsis of nine years and 178 episodes and see how these creative writers who stitched together so many story lines, didn’t find a way to write about our best Friend . . . well, we have to agree: all along, Seinfeld really has been about NOTHING.