I am haunted by the beauty of Lindsay Lohan’s booking photo. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a booking photo that is truly art – though, I suppose, each one is art in its own way. Hers is art. It belongs in a gallery.
I look at this picture and am awed by the young woman’s beauty. Her objective beauty. And I am heartbroken by the mouth that seems to whispering, “help,” and the eyes that are wide and bewildered. Hers is the face of “lost” as in Jesus describing those who are lost.
I don’t mean this in an eternal damnation point. I don’t know the state of her soul. I just know that she is lost and I suppose the heartbreak I feel is the heartbreak of a father for a daughter.
My oldest, Laura, is only 10 years younger than Ms. Lohan. And I see all around her the pressure and the pull to be just like Lindsay’s image – to be cool, and with it and “in.” I am so grateful that she – thanks largely to her mom – is able to look at that stuff and say, “silly.” She still loves horses more than boys. We encourage that.
I think though that my heartbreak for Ms. Lohan is minuscule compared to Jesus’ love for her. I do not here mean the “love” of men who would paint Jesus as a political conservative, the men who would lead people to believe Jesus is more interested in condemning then loving, the men who have made the Jesus of the Gospels into their own image. I mean Jesus. I mean Jesus who would say to Lindsay, “I am peace, I am love, I am safe. Come to me.” Lindsay needs that. So do we all.