Death of a Princess

It has been 10 years today since the death of Princess Diana. I wrote this column for the Evangel shortly after her death:

Death of a Princess

On August 31, the world was stunned by news of the tragic death of one of the world's best known—and perhaps most loved—individuals, the former Princess Diana of Great Britain. Ever since her fairy-tale engagement at the age of 19 to Prince Charles, this pretty, stylish girl had captured the attention and the hearts of her own nation, as well as most of the western world. And even though her divorce from the future king erased her own claim to royalty, she was still the mother of the two royal princes—one a future king.

Thus, when the tragic information was flashed of a high speed chase by photographers ending in a crash that killed two and left Diana mortally injured, people reacted much as if a close family friend had died. They grieved; many sat in front of their TV sets and wept.

Pardon this seemingly insensitive question, but, why should we care? We never met Diana; for all we know she was simply a television character—a caricature of life. Her life didn't change ours, and neither will her death.

Of course, I know, we should care. She was, after all, a human being. But why should we care so much more about her than all the other little princesses that die, unknown and unloved, by multitudes, each and every day? While a full complement of physicians worked frantically and futiley to save Princess Di, in an abortion mill other medical professionals violently end the life of a little princess—one loved by God and special in His sight. There was no multitude to know or love; the little princess ends her brief life under the bloody instruments of the abortionist—and no one grieves. Under a bridge, a homeless woman, bottle in hand comes to the end of a life just as important as Princess Di's—only she ends it unloved and known only as a crazy bag lady, one that most feel we are better off without. In a crack house, a teenage runaway scores her final hit—a fatal overdose. She was 20 years younger than Di—and she will not be mourned. If she has parents they may never even know; there is no media to broadcast the news of her fate. She is listed in the morgue as "Jane Doe" and buried in an unmarked grave.

Why then should millions weep over a fairy-tale princess? Why should the collective grief over this one life amount to so many billion times the grief wept for those dying daily?

Christians are born to royalty (1 Peter 2:9); but this is God’s desire for every life. The bag lady, the drug addict, the unborn child, are precious in His sight. He sees the sparrow fall and intends royalty for all (Romans 5:8; 2 Peter 3:9). There is not one life, no matter how vile or insignificant it might seem, that is one iota less valuable than that of Princess Diana.

What then shall we do? Shall we cease mourning the princess? No. Indeed, we should weep for the princess; but not for her alone. We should—we must—weep for the forgotten—the multitudes that pass into eternity daily with none to care. God loves them; Jesus died for them. And we must have more than sentimental tears; we must reach down to the fallen royalty—and give them Jesus. We must make a difference. If Christians don’t, who will?

Ken Horn