01) Ozzy ditches us for eternal glory…
Photo Credit: Ross Halfin
If you grow up believing Ozzy Osbourne is a villain, you learn the wrong lesson first, because the bat story, the blasphemy, and the darkness were never the point; they were symbols that made it easier to ignore the truth that Ozzy didn’t sell evil, he sold frailty. His career reads less like rebellion than a long, public struggle to survive himself, clinging to grace without knowing what to call it, proving that survival eventually becomes a theological act. The Osbournes, especially Ozzy and Sharon, quietly dismantled the idea that godliness must be tidy or polite, offering instead something more biblically accurate: persistence, loyalty in chaos, and love that refuses to fracture. Sharon loved Ozzy not despite who he was, but as proof of something enduring, and Ozzy trusted that love the way children trust God, instinctively, imperfectly, by showing up and continuing to breathe even when it looked humiliating. When he died, it didn’t feel like darkness being extinguished, but like the conclusion of a long argument about mercy, leaving behind the unsettling realization that one of the most visibly broken figures in popular culture was loved into coherence over a lifetime. Not holy in the traditional sense, but holy in the way endurance and unearned love often are, Ozzy’s passing didn’t feel like God losing a rebel; it felt like God welcoming home a survivor.
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