Though it can be sometimes overwhelming, I take my job quite seriously. As a pastor, one of the facets of my job is to unfold and apply God’s Word into the lives of His people, no small task indeed. As such, I spend a significant portion of time not only reading the Word, but reading about the Word. Every once in a while, I am reminded of just how important this task is. Sometimes this will come by way of gleaning an unexpected insight. Other times, it will come from recognizing that a well-intentioned brother or sister (or myself) has somehow mishandled the Word.

Thinking over the times when I have personally been shown areas in which I’ve mishandled the Word, quite often it has been a direct result of reading my own presuppositions into the text. I think my errors have more often been reading more into a text than is actually there. We are all prone to this because, try as we might to be objective, we all have years of conditioning that shapes our reading of the text. Years which we must overcome.

I recently encountered an example of someone wanting a text to say more than it really does or at least something different than it actually says. I have been working through some material for our men’s Bible study and I was trying to think of ways beyond poor understanding/applications of submission/headship that well-intentioned Christians have actually muddied the waters of gender issues when I remembered this quote from John Elderedge:

Eve was created within the lush beauty of Eden’s garden. But Adam, if you’ll remember, was created outside the Garden, in the wilderness. In the record of our beginnings, the second chapter of Genesis makes it clear: Man was born in the outback, from the untamed part of creation. Only afterward is he brought into Eden. And ever since then boys have never been at home indoors, and men have had insatiable longing to explore.

As you can imagine, the fact that Adam was born outside of the Garden is used to justify the argument that men are naturally restless, that we need to be outdoors, we are born to be adventure seekers and all kinds of other “manly” arguments. While such notions may do much to sell books, they do little to promote sound exegesis and careful handling of the Word. The first time I read this, I considered this handling of God’s Word and I literally thought to myself oh no! Please tell me I’m not this careless.

The notions presented here bring with them all sorts of exegetical and theological difficulties. Did Adam want to leave the Garden in order to explore, which was itself the initial seat of God’s presence with man and woman? What about the motif of dwelling in a future heavenly city (Revelation 21-22, etc.)? Are men going to want to get outside of those walls? Am I supposed to tell my Christian brothers who don’t like to be outdoors that they are somehow less manly? Can we really frame our conceptions of masculinity based on notions of indoors/outdoors (an idea we’ll explore tomorrow)? Though I’m sure Elderedge meant well, he has clearly read more into the text than is there (It’s not my intention to pick on Elderedge, I am certainly guilty of such things as well, but this case is actually what prompted the thoughts behind this post, therefore, Elderedge gets today’s hot seat).

So what was God’s purpose in creating Adam outside of the Garden and then placing him? Though the text doesn’t provide a clear answer, there seem to be at least a couple of reasons. First, God was reinforcing Adam’s role as vice-regent. Though now is not the time or the place to expound on this, ancient gardners often quite literally held the reputation of kings in their green thumbs. Second, God was underscoring His role as Provider for His people, demonstrating that He alone could provide “paradise” for His people. Though there is more to say and other reasons, this is not my point.

My point, rather, is to remind myself, and possibly you, of the respect with which we must approach the Word. It is no small thing to expound the very words of God (2 Timothy 3:16). When we see how easy it is to mishandle the Word, we begin to feel the weight of Paul’s admonition to Timothy (2 Timothy 2:15): “Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly handling the word of truth.”

Please pray for me because I not only feel the weight of this task but the depth of my own inability. May we all “rightly handle the word of truth.”

• Read Gospel-Centered Hermeneutics: Foundations and Principles of Biblical Interpretation by Graeme Goldsworthy
• Read How to Read the Bible For All Its Worth by Gordon Fee

Some time ago, I posted a short interaction with Taylor Field’s book Squat. In that post, I meditated about the role of fiction for believers and how it can be a powerful tool for Scriptural truth. This time, I want to wrestle with one of the issues Field raises through his characters.

Without spoiling too much of the plot, there is a conflict between two of the main characters known as Squid and Saw. In very broad terms, Squid is the “good” guy while Saw is the “bad” guy. But there’s an interesting twist that Field plays with throughout the book.

Squid is in trouble with Saw because he didn’t keep his word. Paradoxically, much of the fear surrounding Saw is based on the fact the he does in fact keep his word. Granted, the things he says are not nice and they are often threats, but he always follows through with his word. When he says that he’s going to hurt you, that’s exactly what he’s going to do!

It’s an interesting play of events that Field adopts; in a sense, the “bad” guy is more trustworthy than the “good” guy. It’s interesting that Scripture sometimes presents the same scenario. For example, in Genesis 20, Abraham for the second time lies about Sarah being his sister instead of his wife. This time, it is to King Abimelech. Sarah agrees to go along with the plot and the only one who emerges blameless from the narrative is the “pagan” king Abimelech. Abraham, the Patriarch, was not good for his word on this issue.

Scripture repeatedly reminds us of the importance of our words. Jesus reminds us in Matthew 5:37: “Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.” Paul says that deacons must not be “double-tongued” (1 Timothy 3:8), or think of the many Proverbs devoted to the tongue (Proverbs 10:31, 12:18, 15:12, etc.). Under the influence of a “little white lies don’t hurt anyone” culture, many professing believers (too often including myself), say things they simply don’t mean. Whether it’s offering to do something we know we will not or saying we have done something we did not, our words far too often do not deliver truth.

Through the use of fiction, Field applies many Scritpural principles to lifelike situations, not only demonstrating the principle itself but also the consequences. This is quite pertinent when more and more professing Christians are influenced by the moral standards of this fallen world than by the God we claim to serve. Few if any think twice about “white lies,” even within the church, which is to be the “pillar and buttress of the truth” (1 Timothy 3:15).

Through this clever “role reveral,” Field powerfully reminds believers that the world is watching, and they know when our words and our lives don’t match, or when our words simply can’t be trusted. In fact, they often know even before we do. Squid initially tries justifying his actions. Our words are more powerful than we imagine. While we teach our children to say “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me,” we all know that this is simply not true. Whether we’ve been cut with a sharp tongue or bludgeoned with dull promises, we all know the power of words.

Field helps us feel the weight of that power by applying Scriptural principles to real-life scenarios, showing us the consequences of falling short. May your yes be just that, because everyone will know when it is not.

• Read Squat by Taylor Field
• Visit the book’s official website

An M.D. Examines: Does God Still Do Miracles
Dr. Brad Burke
Cook Communications
ISBN/SPCN: 0781442826
Book - Paperback Trade
160pages

Does God Still Do Miracles is one installment of the four-book series “An M.D. Examines” by Dr. Brad Burke. Other books in the series tackle such tough topics as “Is God Obsolete,” “Why Does God Allow Suffering” and “Why Doesn’t God Stop Evil.”

Burke’s bio notes that he is “a young Christian medical specialist who took a five year sabbatical from practicing medicine to research and write the compelling book series.” He currently lives “with his wife Erin in the Windsor/ Detroit area where he practices medicine as a Canadian and American Board Certified Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Specialist (physiatrist).”

Burke rightly begins this installment by not only seeking to clearly define miracles but with a differentiation. Borrowing heavily from John MacArthur’s Charismatic Chaos (which itself provides a clue as to Burke’s position), Burke defines miracles as:

A miracle is an extraordinary event wrought by God through human agency, an event that cannot be explained by natural forces.

Burke then differentiates between spiritual miracles (Providence, Salvation, etc.) and miracles of physical healing noting that God’s ongoing hand of Providence is indeed a miracle of the highest magnitude. He notes that the primary focus of this book is to consider the physical healing miracles that many claim happen nearly everyday. Any such investigation must bring into account the claims of the so-called “faith healers” which Burke does.

He asks what the purpose of Scriptural miralces was and notes that miracles were primarily confined to three major epochs: 1) Moses and Joshua, 2) the prophets Eliha and Elisha, and 3) Christ and the Apostles. In doing so, Burke has adopted at least a mild cessationist view which ties the Scriptural miracles to the advancement of the Gospel. Once the Word was enscripturated, miracles of this nature ceased. In each of the three epochs, the miracles validated the message and the messengers.

Burke helpfully points out that Jesus’ miracles met certain criteria which the modern “faith-healers” do not: 1) Jesus healed completely, 2) Jesus healed immediately, 3) Jesus healed in public, 4) Jesus healed mostly visible organic diseases, 5) Jesus healed even those without faith and 6) Jesus healed with a purpose (authenticating His messianic claim and to show that He had the power to forgive sins).

Burke then contrasts Jesus’ public healing/miracle ministry with those of the so-called “faith healers” of today. He cites numerous investigations which demonstrate that most if not all of the claims made by Benny Hinn and others are anything but miracles. After describing a scene in which a man in a motorized chair was asked to move to the back of a Benny Hinn crusade, Burke wonders:

As this was a “miracle service,” shouldn’t Hinn’s ushers have gathered up the most critically ill and disabled individuals and sat them directly in front of the stage? Why were the sickest individuals pushed toward the back or seated in the back rows of certain sections? The reason Hinn probably doesn’t seat the sickest people in front is because, as at Kathryn Kuhlman’s crusades, the sickest and most disabled individuals leave the crusades without a healing. Imagine watching a “healing crusade” where the people were getting up on stage claiming cures from arthritis, fibromyalgia, and asthma, when twenty feet away there were rows of ailing people who were totally blind from birth, or in wheelchairs suffering debilitating joint contractures from cerebral palsy, or completely paralyzed from the waist or neck down — some on ventilators. It wouldn’t look good for the famous faith healer, would it?

Burke cites an interview with Justin Peters, staff evangelist at the First Baptist Church in Vicksburg, Mississipi. Peters lives with cerebral palsy and went forward for a miracle that same evening but was turned away. In a later interview, Peters remarked:

I want people to understand that people who look like I do, that have an obvious disability are never allowed up on stage. It’s always somebody that has some kind of illness that cannot be readily seen. And if God is truly healing the sick through Benny Hinn, we should expect to see amputees grow new limbs. We should expect to see the severely mentally retarded restored. We should expect to see people that are crippled and have withered arms and legs to be restored. But we don’t. And so the evidence, the lack of evidence speaks volumes.

Burke then considers the positive health effects of faith: any faith on the body, noting that “our bodies are hardwired to respond positively to optimistic, relaxing beliefs - and to respond negatively to cynical, anxiety-provoking beliefs.” Burke cites several examples of mind-body connections including false pregnancies and the “placebo effect” found in many clinical trials in which patients given only a placebo show some improvement because they thought they were receiving treatment.

Burke is careful to note that he is not saying that “sickness is all in the head,” but that we must not undersestimate the power of the mind influenced by faith when it comes to the body. In other words, many with a non-visible illness (such as those “healed” at many crusades) may indeed, at least for a period of time, think they have been healed. The fact that they can dance across a stage for a short period of time is certainly not a miracle of any magnitude.

In tackling the issue of whether or not it is truly God’s will that every believer be physically healthy as many “faith healers” claim, Burke handles Isaiah 53:5 (via 1 Peter 2:24-25) well to demonstrate that the reference to our healing by His wounds is in reference to spiritual healing, i.e. salvation. Burke also deals with several misunderstood and misapplied verses such as Galatians 3:13, and John 14:13 to demonstrate that the hermeneutic used to justify many of these bogus “healings” is itself bogus and that God often uses suffering as a powerful tool in the lives of His people.

Before concluding that God’s greatest miracle is salvation, Burke points out that, though physical healing miracles are quite rare:

God can do any miracle He wants, whenever He wants, however He wants, in any manner He wants. But we cannot expect God to work miracles on demand. By saying that God must act in a certain way in response to our demands is to limit the freedom, sovereignty, majesty, and wisdom of our almighty God. I’m saying that God can do anything He wants for His greatest glory; faith healears are saying that if we have enough faith, God must heal every time no matter what.

Burke skillfully weds medical insights and investigation with careful handling of the Scriptures and for that he must be commended. The book is written in an easy-to-read yet informative manner that is easily handled in a single sitting. The book is presented in a well-balanced and inquisitive manner, acknowledging that God can do whatever He wants while urging caution as to using the word “miracle” and hesitancy to acknowledge most of the claimed physical healings we find as true miracles. For most, there are valid, natural and medical explinations which do not constitute them as miracles.

As a pastor, I would recommend this book to any questioning the current avalanche of miracle healings that are claimed at every turn. Burke does a good job limiting his discussion to physical healing though it would be very easy to follow the rabbit trails into tongues and other related issues. By clearly defining miracles, Burke helps to raise our view of God rather than lower it. While admitting that God can certainly do anything He wishes, Burke also calls the reader to examine everything carefully, something most faith healers certainly don’t want you to do, which is itself quite telling.

The book itself is comparable to John MacArthur’s Charismatic Chaos and hank Hanegraff’s Counterfeit Revival and serves as a helpful addition to those books adding many medical insights the other books lack.
This is a highly recommended resource.

• Read Dr. Brad Burke’s books
• Read Charismatic Chaos by John MacArthur
• Read Counterfeit Revival by Hank Hanegraaff

I recently had the chance to review Alexander Strauch’s book The Hospitality Commands for 9Marks Ministries.

• Read my review
• Read the book for yourself

In his aptly titled book How to Read a Book, Mortimer J. Adler makes the observation that, while the best-selling books in America are typically non-fiction, most of us learn to read based on fiction. Therefore, there is a disconnect between the way most of us are taught to read and actually read. The issue of reading becomes even cloudier for many Christians, who, for whatever reason, refuse to read most fiction.

While there has always been the “Christian Fiction” subgenre, for the most part, many of these books suffer from the same philosophical and artistic defects that much “Christian” music does. The method seems to be to simply take the storylines and ideas of the “secular” culture, sanitize the content and republish it as a “safe” alternative to what’s “out there” in the rest of the world.

While there have been exceptions (J.R.R Tolkein, C.S. Lewis and Flannery O’Connor as possibly the most notable), Christians rarely get involved in the pursuit (either writing or reading) artistically challenging fiction. The plight of Christians in literature is quite similar to those in music. In music, specific (explicitly “Christian”) content has been made the sole determining factor. Therefore, with content (a specific message which much be communicated) driving everything, far too often, actual creativity is sacrificed. Much the same may be said for the way many Christians view reading; we’ve come to expect our art with a bit of propaganda. If it’s not didactic or polemical, many Christians feel it’s simply not worth their time.

Yet, we listen to music because, at some level, we find a connection there. It speaks about our circumstances (love or breakup), it helps us channel powerful thoughts and emotions (protest music) and yet it challenges us creatively. Fiction can play the same role. In fiction, we are often presented with scenarios that simply do not fit in non-fiction writing and yet fit with life as we actually know it. We are drawn into worlds and characters that may resemble our own situation, or may captivate us because they are so far removed from our own circumstances. There is a sense in which we are able to connect with a work of fiction that is not present in non-fiction. While we may feel quite passionately about the topic of a non-fiction book, this is rarely the same kind of almost unexplainable connection we can feel with fiction.

And yet fiction can be just as, if not more powerful at teaching and making points than it’s “true,” non-fiction counterpart. By placing concepts in real-life scenarios, it is actually possible to make a point more forcefully than merely arguing logical nuances. Fiction helps us to remember that many of the points that we so often debate involve real people with real problems (while, hopefully, employing vivid language!) and require real solutions.

For example, I’ve been reading Squat by Taylor Field. Squats are abandoned buildings taken over by otherwise homeless people. Since these people are living illegally, they live in a world where calling the police for help is often out of the question. The streets develop their own laws. Field’s work tells the story of a squatter named Squid and a predicament he finds himself in. Field develops his characters well, allowing just enough “real-life” detail while not over-painting. For example, the way Squid bites his thumbs and wrings his shirt when he is nervous. These details are not overdone and immediately draw the reader in to Squid’s life. By making his points in a fictional setting, Field is able to engage the reader at a level many non-fiction works simply never do.

Field has been a minister in inner city New York since 1986. As such, I’m sure that Field has many passionate opinions about the way the church cares, or fails to care for the poor in our country. Yet rather than write a logical argument about the issues at hand, Field has done something more powerful, he has told us a story. In doing so, Field is not only able to engage our minds but our hearts.

For example, one of the most powerful lines in the story has also become its tagline: “We live in a squat. We don’t know squat. We don’t have squat. We don’t do squat. We don’t give a squat. People say we’re not worth squat.” In a few powerful lines, Field has captured the sentiments of many who cling to these exact feelings. Rather than engage in removed dialogues about the self-perception of the poor and its relationship to their status, Field powerfully confronts us with the fact that real people live behind our abstract discussions and one of the things we are called to do as Christians is care for the poor (Leviticus 25, Deuteronomy 15, Psalm 12:5, Proverbs 14:21, Matthew 19:21, etc.).

Yet Field is quick to remind us that these issues are much more complicated than we would like to believe. One of the characters, known simply as “Unc” becomes the mouthpiece of much of the confusion surrounding the church’s position regarding the poor. In one conversation with a volunteer working in the neighborhood, Unc asks a series of probing questions:

“Do you think that other hardworking people should start work at six in the morning so that we can have that chance to sleep through the morning? Do you think it is good that kindhearted churches like this one give food to people like me so that I can read all day and have money for drinks? Did you know that because there are several mission-type churches here in this neighborhood, people come from all over because they can stay in an abandoned building for free, get free meals with people like you serving them, then spend taxpayers money for crank?”

These words, coming from a man biting the very hand feeding him are more powerful and thought-provoking than most non-fiction accounts could ever be. By placing them into a fictional, well-developed context, Field gives a brief insight into the many hours of real-life wrestling behind them. Knowing the context in which he ministers, Field has made a point without having to explain his point. Field has succeeded in reminding why, in the right hands, fiction can be so powerful.

• Read How to Read a Book by Mortimer J. Adler
• Read Squat by Taylor Field
• Read Flannery O’Connor
• Read J.R.R. Tolkein
• Read C.S. Lewis
• Visit the Squat book blog

Rediscovering The Natural Law In Reformed Theological Ethics
Stephen J. Grabill
Published by Eerdmans, 2006
310 pages, paperback

Stephen J. Grabill is a research scholar in theology for the Acton Institute for the Study of Religion and Liberty and the inaugural editor of the Journal of Markets and Morality who blogs at Common Notions. Grabill holds degrees from Liberty University and Calvin Theological seminary, including a Ph.D. According to his bio on the Acton Institute’s site, “Grabill’s research interests include Protestant social thought, the thought of Abraham Kuyper, and Christian social ethics.”

While one might expect a book on natural law and reformed ethics written by a “research scholar” to be dry and academic, Grabill’s book exceeds expectations. His style is clear, concise and informative. He clearly informs and interacting with a broad range and depth of material. So what exactly are the issues Grabill is interacting with?

Over the course of history, the doctrine of the natural law (which is closely associated with “natural theology“) has come under the disfavor of many reformed theologians. At root is the issue of just how much the Fall affected the imago Dei (the image of God) in man. Many reformed theologians have come to reject the notion of natural law because they believe that it begins to underemphasize the true severity of the Fall. Yet, Grabill insists that his book’s

“aim is to assist contemporary Protestant pastors, denominational officials, theologians, ethicists, public intellectuals, seminarians, graduate students, and general readers to rediscover and rehabilitate natural law and related doctrinal concepts (2).”

Grabill argues that the theologians of the Reformation actually “carried over, though with some critical modifications, certain theological, philosophical, and legal ideas common to the western Christian church” (2). In other words, the Reformers were actually more ecumenical in their thought than their followers. Grabill establishes this point by tracing the broad historical flow, demonstrating that John Calvin, Peter Martyr Vermigli, Johannes Althusius and Francis Turretin (chapters 3, 4, 5 and 6 respectively) all held to (albet it somewhat modified versions) some form of natural law.

Grabill also briefly interacts with modern theologians such as Richard Mouw, demonstrating that the doctrine of natural law is not isolated, but in fact has ramifications for not only our view of common grace, but practically, things such as the arts. Though these insights are scattered throughout the book, they are important, reminding us that all of our doctrines impact one another. Though the book is specifically about natural law, Grabill reminds us that our doctrines cannot be separated from one another and he does a good job incorporating some of the larger theological spectrum into the conversation at hand.

Grabill argues extensively (chapter 1) that it was Karl Barth more than any other theologian who displaced natural law in contemporary Protestant theology. Grabill goes to great lengths detailing Barth’s opposition to natural law and its subsequent influence. Grabill does a good job distilling the essence Barth’s 1934 debate with Emil Brunner into understandable yet challenging concepts, no small task indeed.

This is perhaps one of the high points of the book itself. Grabill is not dealing with “lite” subject matter and in fact interacts at length with some fairly technical philosophical arguments. He does, however, succeed in writing in such a way that both the initiated and the uninitiated will benefit and glean new insights.

Grabill demonstrates that it was Barth’s influence that greatly diminished the acceptance of natural law in reformed ethics. But he also does a fine job demonstrating that traditional reformed theology has actually held a place for natural law while still affirming the severity of the Fall; the two do not necessarily have to be in contradiction to one another. Grabill concludes:

“Calvin, Vermigli, and the Reformed scholastics all share the conviction that Scripture is the cognitive foundation (principium cognoscendi) of theology and that moral arguments can be based on axioms derived from that principium” (191).

Grabill continues:

“Consequently, they recognize the existence of a natural knowledge of God that is present in the natural order and discernible either in conjunction with or apart from Scripture. This knowledge, however, has no saving efficacy and merely serves to render all people to be “without excuse” for their moral infractions, as Romans 1:20 attests” (191).

Grabill concludes that, “contrary to current scholarly opinion,” “some of the most formative voices in the Reformed tradition thought the diminished human faculties still function sufficiently to reveal the general precepts of the natural moral law” (191). This is the central thesis of the book and Grabill succeeds in historically proving that holding a positive view of natural law is in fact within the bounds of confessional reformed thought.

• Read Rediscovering The Natural Law In Reformed Theological Ethics by Stephen J. Grabill

A friend asked the other day whether or not I planned on writing an album review for Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois outtakes project The Avalanche. No, I don’t, but the reason why is somewhat complicated and forgive me while I ramble for a bit, exploring.

I love Sufjan’s music and in fact, Seven Swans is one of my favorite albums of the past few years. With Michigan, Seven Swans and Illinois, Stevens has topped “Best of” lists, my own included, since 2003. Whatever his personal theological convictions, he along with Daniel Smith have raised the banner for “indie rock Christians” to a new level, one that does not lower its standards the way David Bazan and others might. Stevens regularly appears on compilation albums, on blogs, in print, he’s been featured on NPR, and maybe that’s part of my problem: he’s become ubiquitous. He’s simply saturated the market.

The problem for me is that it no longer matters how good his music is, it’s reached saturation point and I’ve lost interest. I’m not defending myself, I’m not saying this is rational, I recognize that I tend to towards musical snobbery and elitism, but part of me is simply “Sufjaned” out. It’s all so good that it’s almost become cliché. What’s interesting is that there seems to be a growing “backlash” against the “Sufjan can do no wrong” wave that’s been sweeping through the online music community.

Stephen Thomas Erlewine has written an interesting piece for the online All Music Guide. Erlewine’s piece is titled “A Case Against Sufjan Stevens” and as the blurb notes, the author argues that: “Sufjan’s baroque folk-pop no longer seems charming or engaging.” Erlewine complains that Sufjan has become an “an indie cause célèbre” and that there is a “there is a delicate artifice” to Stevens’ music. It was this last comment that has been resonating with me as I’ve thought about my recent reactions.

Pitchfork recently expressed the same sentiments in their review of The Avalanche, quoting Ryan Irvine of Goodhodgkins.com as saying that Sufjan’s recent albums are nothing more than a “”cold and calculated research project.” Pitchfork laments aloud that Sufjan will “never come to our houses and weep on our shoulders– but he’ll write songs about coming to our houses and weeping on our shoulders.” However, Pitchfork tries to defend Stevens’ “artifice” by saying that “great music comes from the head more than the heart.” I disagree and I’ve come to realize that this has been at the heart of much of my growing dis-interest with Stevens.

While certainly pretentious, Stevens has committed to produce an album for each of the 50 states. Michigan and Illinois mark the first two installments. While both have been critically acclaimed, I can’t help but meditate on the charge that they have been little more than “cold and calculated research projects.” I first began to entertain these notions myself when NPR commissioned Sufjan to write a song about a bird he knew nothing about. Stevens himself has admitted, particularly for the Illinois album to much study, particularly reading. While Michigan conveys more personal experience and thus emotion, Illinois lacks this depth and that’s where I’ve lost interest.

I can’t help but compare Sufjan’s music to the writing of Donald Miller and Andrée Seu (discussed here) because it’s precisely their “real” quality that immediately draws the reader in whereas Stevens often comes across as contrived (I realize that many will disagree here) and surface-level. While the music is beautiful, quirky yet accessible and memorable, the lyrics often come across as mere frosting rather than delivering anything of substance.

While these questions may themselves seem “surface level,” I think they are important for Christians to consider, particularly in the realm of artistic expression. We of all people ought to be the most genuine, precisely because we have the most to share (or at least we ought to). Though we should not be unstable, it should also be obvious that we cannot control our emotions, our work should overflow with passion and a sense of genuineness. I know some will disagree, but this is what makes John Piper’s so effective. No one will ever question the man’s passion and that is part of what makes him so engaging; he is overcome by the subject matter and it shows.

Stevens, Miller, Seu and Piper all present us with differing options at communication. While all may be acceptable, I wonder if some are more appropriate for Christians and does it matter that Stevens’ subject matter is not always “explicitly Christian?” Is it enough that Sufjan’s music is nearly always moving? Can we compare songwriters to page-writers adequately and do the same standards apply? Is what makes a good song the same as what makes a piece of good prose/poetry/fiction? Now I’ve raised more questions than I’m prepared or qualified to answer so I’ll stop and thank you for your patience (assuming you read this far).