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One of my favorite artists growing up (in high school and college) was David Bazan. Lyrically he was incredible. In one song he could plumb the depths of despair, grief, and hopelessness and follow it up with words filled with grace and beauty. He wrote two concept-ish albums that were literary and captivating. And then suddenly he became a preacher. Many would argue he has always been preaching (perhaps lyrics are less preachy when we like what the "preacher" is preaching), yet since the time of Achilles' Heel he has acquired what could probably be considered an indie rock bully pulpit. Where at one time his lyrics were profound and rich, they have been reduced to pointed, direct attacks at everything from politics to God. Where is the ambiguity and subtlety that doesn't blow us away? To be told who to vote for and what to believe is not art, it's propaganda.
I'll never forget reading on the press release for The Headphones (a former side project) a few years back that his lyrics tap into prophetic vision of Flannery O'Connor. That struck me as audacious and an insult to Miss O'Connor. She most certainly had prophetic vision, she could discern the lack of Gospel spirituality in our culture. She vividly pointed out in her short stories and novels the fact that we all walk around consumed with ourselves. Bazan is merely a cynic who doesn't like the church very much or a God that might take issue with human behavior (let alone the human heart)
Below are the words to a new song floating around the internet called "When We Fell." In this song Bazan is content with a God who sits back and watches his children bask in their self-absorption. For Bazan, the God who upholds his glory is medieval. The God who lets be what will be is the only God worthy of such a title. Much like the parent who lets their child wallow around in their own fecal matter, we just need a God who is relaxed and tells us to clean ourselves off if we feel like it. This is far from the God of Flannery O'Connor. Her God required (through the medium of creative writing) murderers to murder, children to drown at their own self-baptism, bulls to gorge, and blind prophets to cry out for a church of Christ with no Christ to remind us just how self-consumed and blind we all are. The grace of God for O'Connor wasn't always cuddly and warm, but it was relentless and ultimately satisfying. These two messages couldn't be further apart. For O'Connor we are fundamentally not OK. For Bazan we are.
We love ourselves and we'll be damned before we acknowledge a God who isn't just as enamored with us as we are. Ultimately Bazan wants a god who will let us wallow around in filth, when in reality we need a God who will wash us in the blood of the Lamb, however medieval that may be.
With the threat of hell hanging over my head like a halo
I was made to believe in a couple of beautiful truths
That eventually had the effect of completely unravelling
The powerful curse put on me by you
When you set the table
When you chose the scale
Did you write a riddle
That you knew they would fail
Did you make them tremble
So they would tell the tale
Did you push us when we fell
If my mother cries when I tell her what I have discovered
Then I hope she remembers she taught me to follow my heart
And if you bully her like you’ve done me with fear of damnation
Then I hope she can see you for what you are
What am I afraid of
Whom did I betray
In what medieval kingdom does justice work that way
If you knew what would happen
And you made us just the same
Then you my Lord can take the blame
