The Gospel According to Kendrick
Kendrick Lamar, Evangelicals, and Careful Listening
“Lord God, I come to you a sinner,” a group of young men say in unison, “and I humbly repent for my sins.” Opening a record this way may have seemed “too religious” to many listeners, but those who did not turn off Kendrick Lamar’s major-label debut after the Sinner’s Prayer heard one of hip-hop’s most transcendent records. The proud Compton native took a risk tampering with matters of religion and it paid off handsomely. He sought first the kingdom of God on good kid, m.A.A.d city, and fame, fortune, and primacy in the rap game were added unto him almost overnight.
At its release in October 2012, good kid vaulted Lamar and his peculiar style of evangelism to the apex of rap, earning him the “King Kendrick” moniker he still wears today. Lamar’s popularity continued to climb after the album’s release, with his 2015 sophomore effort To Pimp a Butterfly shattering Spotify streaming records and sweeping the Grammys. Today, just after his newest album went platinum, his celebrity has seeped its way into every corner of American life. Outside of icons like Kanye West and Taylor Swift, Lamar is one of the best-known artists in the United States, from New York to Nebraska. And he has his meandering, dense, overtly Christian song lyrics to thank for his success.
To most, Lamar is an obvious “good guy” in the industry. He plays charity events. He encourages his listeners to observe polarizing political issues (like gentrification, mass incarceration, and black-on-black crime) through the lens of bass-thumping party music. He looked on happily as Black Lives Matter copped his 2015 hit “Alright” as their rallying cry. Some see him as a sort of amalgamation of N.W.A, Public Enemy, and Tupac Shakur, three of the most foundational acts in the forty-year history of hip-hop. Even atheists tolerate the God stuff to hear the music. However, not every community views Lamar with the same fondness: American evangelicals, a group now focused on their in-house rap industry, have a bone to pick with an artist who seems — at least at first glance — to be one of them.
Despite the clear Christian messages present in many of his songs, a sizable amount of evangelicals refuse to listen to Lamar’s music. Even Chad Horton, a powerful figure in the nascent Christian Rap industry, abandons wider commercial appeal to argue that Lamar does not qualify as a Christian rapper. Why do evangelicals have a tepid relationship with a man who talks about Jesus on a massive cultural stage? They do, in fact, have their reasons.
Many evangelicals believe that, though Lamar might share their central values, some of his lyrics are anathema to their praxis. Embracing him could mean harming their walk with God. This tension appeared first in 2012 with good kid, again in 2015 with To Pimp a Butterfly, and again last year with his new album Damn. Each of these efforts is different (and only one of them is our focus in this piece), but all of them pair distinctly Christian messages with the vulgar vernacular of Lamar’s genre. Explicit language has always been unacceptable to evangelicals, a Bible-focused group of Christians who read in Ephesians to avoid “filthiness and silly talk, or coarse jesting” at all costs. After the aforementioned prayer to open good kid, Lamar tells a story of a girl named Sherane he met at a party, comparing her body to that of a stripper and wondering aloud what positions he would employ if he slept with her. On the next track he asks God to forgive him for his repeated sins, then boasts on the following track: “Damn, I got b****es — wife, girlfriend, and mistress.”
Ignoring Lamar’s politically-charged themes (which, though they do not push for gay marriage or abortion access, do advocate for a sizable culture shift that may make evangelicals uncomfortable), some legitimate problems are clearly present for the evangelical listener. Moreover, Lamar does not publicly attend church or have a pastor who mentors him and tells him not to write songs with R-rated words, so he is unlikely to change his approach. These realities reveal the issue for evangelicals: to endorse Lamar, even on an album like good kid that qualifies as his “testimony” of conversion to a more “Christian” way of life, is a difficult task. For believers who separate themselves from the outside world with, among other things, abstinence from adult language and extramarital sex, the question of what to do with someone like Lamar could have massive implications.
I mean massive quite literally, and not just because Lamar is famous right now, but because many current and future Kendricks are inevitably coming down the line. Similar artists will etch their way into the public consciousness, glorifying God’s name amid strings of incessant blankety-blanks. Evangelicals’ decision on Lamar is important now and it could become more important as a precedent for their handling of future vulgar-yet-Christ-affirming rappers. How, then, should they handle him?
Before we delve too deeply into this conversation, we ought to clarify what exactly counts as “evangelical,” and whether Lamar fits our description. In a scholarly work called The Great Awakening, Gospel Coalition writer Thomas Kidd defines five elements that comprise what evangelicals believe in: conversionism (the belief that conversion to Christianity is incredibly important), activism (the belief that souls should be actively pursued for Jesus), biblicism (the belief that the Bible is the primary guide for thought and behavior), crucicentrism (the belief that the cross is central to Christianity), and a focus on the power of the Holy Spirit. Based only on lyrics from various songs on good kid, we could reasonably claim that Lamar does indeed meet the criteria. Between the swearing and the crassness, he seems to check all the evangelical boxes.
His interest in conversion appears frequently in good kid, in the Sinner’s Prayer at the beginning of the album and throughout its narrative arc, as he contrasts his rock-bottom gang-banging experiences with the better things a God-fearing life offers. “Real is God, n****,” Lamar’s father says on a telephone recording at the end of “Real,” the album’s self-actualizing, penultimate track.
good kid also uses testimonial elements to espouse a sort of theological activism, from the sin and penitence mentioned in “B****, Don’t Kill My Vibe” to the broaching of damnation in “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst.” Lamar laments for the souls his violent friends:
What are we doing? Who are we fooling?
Hell is hot, fire is proven
To burn for eternity.
He also mentions the Bible as a subtle form of biblicism — specifically as a positive foil for the dangers of gang life on the track “good kid.”
But know I’m accustomed to
Just a couple that look for trouble
And live in the street with rank
No better picture to paint than me walking from Bible study
And called his homies because he had said he noticed my face
From a function that took place
They was wondering if I bang.
In simpler terms, Lamar speaks in parables: he depicts an impressionable teenager leaving Bible study and calling up friends, one of whom wants him to get involved in gang life. The Bible makes Lamar a good kid, but the mad city around him drives him into a dark place where he sets his faith aside.
Lamar’s crucientrism appears in the opening prayer, in which the suppliants refer to the facts and implications of Christ’s death and resurrection.
I believe that Jesus is Lord,
I believe that you raised him from the dead. (…)
I receive Jesus to take control of my life,
And that I may live for Him from this day forth.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for saving me with your precious blood.
Finally, in “Sing About Me,” Lamar checks the final box by name-dropping the Holy Spirit:
Am I really scared of passing away? If it’s today, I hope I hear a
Cry out from heaven so loud it can water down a demon
With the Holy Ghost ’til it drown in the blood of Jesus.
For good measure, Lamar adds a bit here about spiritual warfare and submits his qualifications — he pronounces the shibboleths properly and thus passes through the doctrinal gates into the realm of evangelicalism. He does so not in some obscure interview or at a private concert he was playing for a dozen people at a radio station, but on a platinum album, his largest possible platform. Few things are more evangelical than turning a secular space into a place to talk to folks about their Lord and Savior.
As much as he may be able to articulate the creeds and the dogmas, however, Lamar consistently falls short of the evangelical expectation for decent language. Paul, who wrote the Ephesians passage we touched on earlier, also urges a young pastor named Timothy to “show [himself] an example of those who believe” with his speech. Timothy was probably about Kendrick’s age and, as the pastor of a megachurch in Ephesus, had a similar influence, and Paul wanted him to have “exemplary speech” — to tame his tongue so that those who looked up to him would follow suit.
But what exactly does “exemplary speech” mean? Does it mean, as one might imply from Ephesians, to never, ever use “silly talk” or “coarse jesting?” This interpretation is a bit challenging for even the staunchest evangelicals, because Paul himself was not completely opposed to using such language. In Philippians, He used a Greek word for fecal matter that was typically meant to create shock value (most English versions generously translate this word as “dung,” but that’s definitely not how he meant it). He also joked in Galatians that his ideological opponents should emasculate themselves.
It is also worth noting that these are written remarks from Paul in Scripture — he wasn’t just shooting from the hip. If you’ve ever written a paper that you consider important, you understand how this works: you draft, edit and revise carefully, because you know how deliberate you should be with the words you choose to turn in. Paul is, according to any genuine biblicist, inspired by the Holy Spirit in these passages. He is speaking with divine authority — so his writing matters far more than that 10th-grade World War II essay you slaved over for weeks — and he turned in the “s-word” and emasculation humor.
The difference between Paul’s occasionally-crude “exemplary speech” and Lamar’s lyrics, then, is not simply the presence of the words, but their frequency. Paul uses such language twice in his entire 13-book section of the New Testament, and both times it has significant effect. Lamar curses on every song, sometimes dozens of times. One is judicious and the other is very, very excessive. Based on this distinction, Lamar’s is far more a “man of unclean lips” than one of “exemplary speech,” which matters a great deal for evangelicals, especially when they can hear decent Christian talk from other artists.
Even if Lamar does “count” as an evangelical, he is not the first artist (nor the cleanest) to remain relevant in a less-than-Christian entertainment world. Evangelicals have actually done so through the years despite the fact that most belief systems are hemorrhaging influence. If the common belief in U.S. culture is that religion is on the decline, evangelicals missed the memo. Religious scholar Heather Hendershot, in her 2001 book Shaking the World for Jesus, wonders why evangelicalism has mostly maintained its numbers in a country where almost every other faith is losing followers. “How can we explain not only the continued presence of evangelicals in America but also the fact that their ranks seem to be growing?” she asks. “For all their reputation as intransigent Bible-thumpers, evangelicals have survived by being flexible and making accommodations to modernity.”
They have even diluted their message at times to do so, opting for “clean-cut entertainment” that ultimately helps individuals “construct evangelical understandings of the sacred and the profane, of the saved individual and his or her place in the wider world.” Thanks to their successful efforts to create media that could entertain the masses, many Christian groups have produced “crossover hits” over the years. Hendershot’s list of these artists, which includes Jars of Clay and P.O.D., is a bit aged, but the Christian music industry continues to grow and thrive, even as some of its members sell records that do not so much as include the word “Jesus.” Popular crossover artists Switchfoot and Needtobreathe may not talk about Christ as frequently as Lamar does, but they do play “Christian” shows and festivals. Perhaps more importantly, they don’t curse or broach sex and drugs on their records, aligning them more closely with evangelicals who seek “clean-cut entertainment” above all else.
I should concede here that P.O.D. and Switchfoot are rock groups and thus not perfect analogues to Lamar. However, a closer examination of the Christian Rap genre makes evangelical arguments against Kendrick Lamar even more straightforward. As music becomes more and more accessible, it is easier than ever to compose and publicize hit records. Music-streaming services have changed the game — Chance the Rapper, perhaps Lamar’s closest relative with respect to his public Christianity and his rap fame, spent 2017 playing sold-out stadiums all across the country on a tour for a mixtape he gave away sans a record label or any kind of extended corporate promotion.
Artists like Chance have shown every subculture of music aficionados that they have far more to choose from than they used to, and the Christian music industry is no exception. Christian hip-hop is exploding thanks to artists like Lecrae, Trip Lee, and Andy Mineo, all of whom have more than 1 million monthly listeners on Spotify. These guys rap about Jesus, and they do it without Nancy Reagan’s “explicit lyric” warnings on their album covers. They discuss their faith without profanity or the glorification of less-than-Christian lifestyle choices. In fact, on occasion, they even decry the rap industry for the message its lyrics convey, as Lecrae does in his hit single “Nuthin’:”
We were made for more than just telling stories about
How much money we can get by selling poison to people
It’s time to talk about who we are and who we can be
And we need to build each other up and not put each other down
I feel like we not talking about nuthin’ right now.
Ultimately, even when Christ goes unmentioned, evangelicals tend to use their morality through the lens of the Bible. While Lecrae does not specifically cite it here, the message he sends reflects that of the book of Philippians, in which Paul says, “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.” Listening to music occupies the mind, so much so that most preschoolers you know whose parents play top-40 radio in the car probably know every word to the latest hit track, even if it describes a sexual scenario and they’re four years away from knowing what sex is. Many evangelicals (and, we should note, most Mainline Protestant, Catholic, and secular readers as well) interpret Paul’s language here to mean that Christians should consume material that will reinforce their beliefs, not destabilize them. Kendrick Lamar lyrics like “I f***ed Sherane and went to tell my bros” hardly fit this description, so listening to his songs could seem counterintuitive to a believer hoping to grow in his or her faith.
Some kind words and important lessons do not necessarily make an entire record’s lyrics acceptable to an evangelical listener. Obviously there are degrees of inappropriateness in play here, and many artists, especially in Lamar’s genre, are on the less acceptable end of that spectrum. In an interview with evangelically-minded Christianity Today, Mineo points out discrepancies in some rappers’ lyrics that belie (or at least undermine) their faith:
There have been rappers all throughout history who have [alluded to Christianity on their records]. There’s been DMX, who on every album had a rap where he would pray like, ‘Lord Jesus, I need you. I love you,’ and then on another song he’d talk about having sex with a corpse. I’m literally quoting his lyrics. There was that huge juxtaposition inside those albums.
Referring to a 1998 song called “Bring Your Whole Crew,” Mineo makes an excellent point about some of Lamar’s predecessors and contemporaries. Even if the Christian faith (specifically evangelicalism) appears in some of their songs, do they actually follow its moral teachings? A more modern example than DMX is Kanye West, who writes with overtly evangelical overtones in famous tracks like “Ultralight Beam” and “Jesus Walks,” but also put out an album called Yeezus which featured something named “I Am a God.” A five-year-old in Southern Baptist Sunday school can see the issues in those messages, never mind the sexual gluttony and misogyny Kanye promotes with far too many lyrics to number here. There are limits to what counts as constructive listening for an evangelical, and placing DMX or Kanye on the outside of that bubble makes plenty of sense.
Lamar, however, is not like most other rappers. The didactic style of those few lines mentioned earlier in good kid reflects most of the album. Listen to it entirely and hear a different message in every song that ultimately points to the dangers a young black man faces in a disadvantaged neighborhood. “Sherane” sets up the story of his getting kidnapped by his girlfriend’s gangbanging cousin; “The Art of Peer Pressure” contrasts Lamar’s morality to the more overpowering morality his friends coax him into; “Swimming Pools,” a college party staple, actually warns against the dangers of drinking; and “Black Boy Fly” encourages black men to emulate disciplined role models instead of dropping out of high school or succumbing to gang activity. Interspersed between the tracks are fragments of a fateful day in Lamar’s life — as he boosts his mother’s minivan to visit (and perhaps have sex with) Sherane, high school student Kendrick finds himself joining a group of young men as they brandish weapons and eventually kill an opposing gang-member, who turns out to be a relative of Kendrick’s. His indictment of puerile mistakes is most evident in m.A.A.d city, another (often-misappropriated) party song:
Projects tore up, gang signs get thrown up
Cocaine laced in marijuana
And they wonder why I rarely smoke now
Imagine if your first blunt had you foaming at the mouth
I was straight tweaking, the next weekend, we broke even
I made allegiance that made a promise to see you bleeding.
While some of Lamar’s more popular songs are token hits that blare over speakers as revelers hook up and do keg stands, his messages are far more nuanced, and actually provide a daring critique of the way most rappers live their lives. Even the stylized initials m.A.A.d mean, in Lamar’s words, both “my Angel on Angel dust” and “my Angry Adolescence divided.” The messages of this music are hardly an endorsement of tax collectors and sinners.
Moreover, Lamar’s real life reflects a personal morality that seems markedly evangelical, especially for a hip-hop artist in his prime. “For an incredibly famous rapper, his personal life may border on the ascetic,” writes journalist Reggie Ugwu. “He doesn’t go to strip clubs like Drake, or smoke like Lil Wayne; he rarely drinks and has been in a monogamous relationship since before he became famous.” While Kendrick and his girlfriend may or may not be sexually active outside of marriage (a crucial no-no within most of the evangelical thought community), this lifestyle seems to represent a complete reversal from the one he brags about in less-safe-for-work bars from tracks like “Sherane,” “Backseat Freestyle,” or “m.A.A.d city.” That he gets involved in fewer debaucheries than his peers should give the critical evangelical listener at least a bit of comfort — no matter what the words of the songs say, they do not accurately depict the life of this loudly-professing believer.
If you asked an evangelical pastor what problem his congregation faced most regularly, he might say something about them “talking the talk but not walking the walk.” Lamar seems to have the opposite problem: his actions separate him from his peers and give him a modicum of religious piety, but his words have the opposite effect. Let us turn to good kid’s most regularly profane song, “Backseat Freestyle,” in which he says,
Her body got that a** that a ruler couldn’t measure
And it make me come fast but I never get embarrassed (…)
She rolling, I’m holding my scrotum and posing
This voice here is golden, so f*** y’all, I goes in.
A deeper study of Lamar’s intention with this song (from a sort of “close-listening” of his album) reveals that these bars depict young Kendrick engulfed in sin. But that fact may not matter to a youth minister who hears a student blasting the lyrics, in the social time before Sunday night youth group, alongside Lecrae or Mineo. All the other high schoolers hear is house music describing an explicit sex scene with several expletives, perhaps a song the more rebellious ones had heard at a rager the night before. “Don’t worry, Kendrick is a Christian rapper!” the student might say to the youth pastor. And that student would technically be correct, but what would it matter? The youth pastor would obviously turn off the record. Would he have let it play, however, if the track being blared was “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst,” where the rare profanity accompanies a literal gospel presentation?
The same sort of issue could arise for a pair of evangelical parents who overhear their 17-year-old son trying to hype himself up for a workout with “Backseat Freestyle” on his headphones. He’s not using this song to understand post-lapsarian, pre-salvation Kendrick, he just wants to feel a little bounce in his step and a little ego boost before he starts his Leg Day. He may even whisper some of racier lyrics under his breath to get his testosterone flowing. Wary of Paul’s message to the Philippians, his parents might ask him what he’s listening to, and if it is lovely, true, right, and pure; and the teenager may respond, “This is Kendrick Lamar — he’s a Christian rapper!” That young man would technically be correct, but what would it matter? Should his parents endorse his listening to an artist who says things that completely contradict what they have taught him about sex, women, and humility? Conversely, should they rebuke him for listening to an artist who endorses their views of violence, sin, and salvation?
Some, like Ugwu, have opted for neither extreme, instead delving carefully into nuance and mindful listening. “Rather than preach about living a moral lifestyle,” he says, Lamar “gives full voice to his internal struggles and those of the people he grew up around, deliberately speaking in the language of transgressors. In the Bible, there is some precedent for this approach. … In Mark 2:17, he makes the case for the church to be more accommodating.” These sentences embrace Lamar’s music from an evangelical perspective (since evangelicals value the Bible over just about anything else), but Ugwu pushes back on his own argument soon thereafter. “The level at which Christians are to engage with non-Christians is disputed,” he writes. “In a later passage, John 15:19, Jesus says that his followers are not ‘of the world’ but chosen out of it, a distinction that makes them hated.” By citing two biblical examples — especially from Jesus — that provide seemingly opposing perspectives on Lamar’s work, Ugwu charts a middle path that leaves us wondering how carefully we should listen. This approach seems appropriate in such complex circumstances.
Of course, each artist is different. Lamar has several spiritual “cousins” in the rap universe — West, Chance, and Lecrae come to mind — but none ought to be handled in exactly the same way. Kanye is too inexplicably heretical; Chance is not quite famous enough yet; Lecrae already has positioned himself squarely within the Christian music industry. None of them grew up in an area quite as violent as Kendrick’s Compton, and none of them were as ambitious and successful with such serious subjects in their first commercial albums. The unique surroundings of Lamar’s life make him a special case, one to be handled with a care and appreciation befitting of a public figure who praises Jesus with music often at odds with family values.
Before we conclude, we should take a moment to point out a glaring inconsistency many evangelicals may have on this positive-message-versus-bad-words dilemma. Evangelicals — specifically white men and women, both clergy and laypeople — bungled this careful art in 2016 with their overwhelming support of the exceptionally vulgar Donald Trump. Many of the folks who stand against celebrities like Lamar on the front lines of the “culture wars” wholeheartedly endorsed Trump in the presidential election, even when he competed in the primaries against other social conservatives like Ted Cruz, John Kasich, and Marco Rubio. Russell Moore, a Southern Baptist higher-up, takes note of the hypocrisy:
His personal morality is clear, not because of tabloid exposés but because of his own boasts. His attitude toward women is that of a Bronze Age warlord. He tells us in one of his books that he revels in the fact that he gets to sleep with some of the “top women in the world.” He has divorced two wives (so far) for other women. This should not be surprising to social conservatives in a culture shaped by pornographic understandings of the meaning of love and sex. What is surprising is that some self-identified evangelicals are telling pollsters they’re for Mr. Trump.
Keep in mind that Moore wrote this piece before the sexual assault allegations against Trump surfaced, and that 80 percent of white evangelicals ended up voting for the man in the general election anyway. Many preferred Trump to Clinton because he promised to support their political platforms while Clinton basically promised to suppress them — to be fair, the president has at least appointed a pro-life Supreme Court justice since he took over — but he never should have come that far. Cruz, Rubio, and Kasich all had Trump’s evangelically-friendly platforms and none of his evangelically-repulsive morality. Yet evangelicals, who made up 48 percent of the Republican primary voting bloc, supported Trump with a plurality of their votes. Had they cast those votes for another candidate, they could have battled Clinton with someone whose lifestyle seems much more in line with their values. Instead, they chose someone who is Lamar’s moral inferior by almost any evangelical measurement.
When Lamar raps about his “wife, girlfriend, and mistress” in “Backseat Freestyle,” perhaps his least “Christian” track on good kid, he does so through the perspective of an unsaved, unrepentant 17-year-old as the shameful beginning of his testimony, and some evangelicals punish him for it, because he is an important role model and his words will influence the behavior of others. Trump brags about his sexual conquests and potency as something he is currently proud of as a 70-year-old and white evangelicals vote for him as the leader of the free world at an 80-percent clip. Perhaps Hillary Clinton did not bother courting the evangelical vote, but even still — 80 percent for Trump from a group of people who don’t want their kids to listen to Lamar because he’s not “Christian” enough? If “exemplary speech” was a point of absolute moral necessity for influential public people, evangelicals would not have so clearly sided with our new president. It seems that something deeper is at play here.
But we would be presumptive to ascribe a single motive to evangelicalism’s tepid relationship with Kendrick Lamar. An argument against listening to him makes sense — my mom and dad tried to make it for me when I was a teenager. Attending a private Christian high school that might have expelled me if I had dabbled in the party scene, and with parents who felt the same way, the risk of being grounded for having a top-40 pop record on my phone was not worth it for me. In fact, one time my little brother outed me for playing a hip-hop radio station in the car and my parents gave me a heart-to-heart about what I was filling my ears with. Frustrated as I was, I understood the argument they were making: there are better things to listen to than Big Sean and Kanye West purporting to roll a cannabis blunt on a woman’s buttocks and subsequently refer to her posterior as an “a**-tray.” That this fact dovetailed with Paul’s command to the Philippians to dwell on “whatever is lovely” only made me more likely to abstain from “secular” music.
But Lamar’s record was different. Instead of Macklemore rambling on about his patronage of a local Goodwill or Carly Rae Jepsen asking a boy if he might call her, Kendrick talked about the real stuff, and he did it beautifully. The bass thumped, the hooks stuck with you, and the lyrics were so dense that it took three or four listens to figure out what he was saying on each track. He taught me about the trials and travails of growing up as a minority in a disadvantaged neighborhood like a textbook never could. And what he said corresponded to my faith. This was not “Straight Outta Compton” or “Fight the Power,” some sort of rebellion record — Paul also urges his readers to respect authority far more than Ice Cube or Chuck D ever did — but a legitimate, heartened lament of a broken world. With or without the Christian overtones, good kid contains an undertone of sinful nature and the corrupting power of mankind upon itself. To me, a discerning 17-year-old who enjoyed working out to “Backseat Freestyle,” this message was sufficient. I knew, though, that my parents may not feel the same way, and I felt compelled to at least let them know what sorts of things I was dwelling on.
After consuming good kid, I finally brought it to my dad one day, and he waveringly understood. My eyes and ears observed the palpable tension in his thinking as he finally rendered his verdict: “Just be smart about it,” he said. “If you do listen, don’t do it very often. And don’t let the bad stuff mess with your head.” I could not sum up my opinion on evangelicalism and Lamar more clearly.
As with anything, evangelicals ought to handle the music of Kendrick Lamar, rife with both vulgarity and extremely consequential evangelical doctrine, carefully. He should not be the most-played artist on their Spotify accounts. However, if they are smart about it, dwelling on the greater evangelistic purpose of the songs and tuning out the more objectionable lyrics, they can enjoy a critically-acclaimed record and deepen their faith all at once.
