Page 3322 – Christianity Today (2024)

The language that gave us the song “Kumbaya” and the words yam, nanny, and gumbo now has a Bible to call its own.

Though Bible translators have traversed the globe in the last century, no one had yet produced a translation for the 250,000 Americans who speak Gullah, an English Creole language spoken mainly in the Sea Islands of Georgia and the Carolinas. Wycliffe Bible Translators and JAARS celebrated in November after completing the first Gullah New Testament in the language’s 300-year history.

For many years, not even Gullah speakers considered the language worthy of a translation. “It was like breaking the King’s English when you spoke Gullah,” remembers Mary Ravenell, a middle-school teacher and minister from South Carolina. “[Some] had an expression—that you were from ‘Geecheetown.'”

But Gullah is not “broken English.” It has a distinct grammar and vocabulary, and it originated with the slave trade that brought West Africans to the Sea Islands beginning in the 1700s. Traders wanted to thwart uprisings and escapes, so they mixed slaves who spoke different languages. Slaves developed Gullah to communicate with one another. Today, there are 250,000 Gullah speakers in America, says David Frank, who has headed the translation team since 2002. He estimates that 10,000 of these speak only Gullah.

The translation, called De Nyew Testament and published by the American Bible Society, has been a long time coming. Pat and Claude Sharpe started the project in 1979, but needed to convince potential assistants that Gullah is a real language. Pat Sharpe died in 2002, so the baton passed to Frank.

Most Gullah speakers know English, but reading the Bible in the language they first learned changes their experience. Ravenell says, “For me, it was like I had come home to the Word of God when I heard it in Gullah.”

THE LORD’S PRAYER in Gullah
We Fada wa dey een heaben,
leh ebrybody hona ya nyame.
We pray dat soon ya gwine
rule oba de wol.
Wasoneba ting ya wahn,
leh um be so een dis wol
same like dey een heaben.
Gii we de food wa we need
dis day yah an ebry day.
fa*gib we fa we sin,
same like we da fa*gib dem people
wa do bad ta we.
Leh we dohn hab haad test
wen Satan try we.
Keep we fom ebil.

Along with the emotional appeal, the Gullah translation also brings clarity. “[Gullah speakers] are accustomed to thinking that the Scriptures are not meant to be understood,” Frank says. “They’re pleasantly surprised to find that the translation into Gullah speaks clearly, and it helps reinforce their culture instead of having to go through another language like English in order to understand God’s message.”

“Even I, who have a graduate degree and have read the Bible in English all my life, can better understand the Bible now,” says Emory Campbell, another translator. “It makes a whole lot more sense to me.”

Copyright © 2006 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

JAARS and the American Bible Society have more information about the project and its celebration.

News on the project elsewhere includes:

After quarter century, Gullah New Testament is finished | More than a quarter century after the laborious work began, the New Testament has finally been translated into Gullah — the language spoken by slaves and their descendants for generations along the sea islands of the Southeast coast. (Associated Press, Nov. 11, 2005)

Gullah New Testament sells out locally | Area retailers are barely keeping abreast of all the requests they are receiving for the newly translated Gullah New Testament — “De Nyew Testament.” (The Beaufort Gazette, Dec 7, 2005)

More CT articles on Bible translation include:

Wycliffe in Overdrive | Freddy Boswell describes the most audacious Bible translation project ever. (Feb. 3, 2005)

God’s Own Dictionary | You won’t believe the words that didn’t exist until the first English translations of the Bible. (Feb. 05, 2003)

A Translation Fit For A King | In the beginning, the King James Version was an attempt to thwart liberty. In the end, it promoted liberty. (Oct. 22, 2001)

Not Your Grandfather’s Mission Field | From lighter radios to lightning-fast computers, technology is speeding up ministry and easing the load at Wycliffe Bible Translators. (Feb. 19, 2001)

Meaning-full Translations | The world’s most influential Bible translator, Eugene Nida, is weary of ‘word worship.’ (Sept. 16, 2002)

New Bible translations help to preserve world’s disappearing languages | The total number of languages in which the Bible is available in part or in its entirety now stands at 2233. But this is still barely more than one third of the estimated 6500 living languages in the world. (Feb. 28, 2000)

And the Word Was … Debatable | All those who take up the daunting task of Bible translation step into a force field of tension. (May 18, 1998)

‘Your Sins Shall Be White as Yucca’ (Part 1 of 3) | Wycliffe missionaries Gene and Marie Scott gave nearly 40 years of their lives translating the New Testament for a small tribe in the jungles of Peru. Was it worth it? (Oct. 27, 1997)

Confessions of a Bible Translator | In this article, Daniel Taylor, and English professor at Bethel College in Minnesota, gives us a glimpse into that most daring of undertakings—humans translating God’s Word. (Oct. 27, 1997)

More Bible articles are available on our website.

“I stopped praying so I hope this song will do/I wrote it all for you/I’m not perfect but you don’t mind that do you/I know you’re there to pull me through/Aren’t you?”—from “Make Me Pure”

Before Michael Jackson’s off-stage shenanigans got the best of him, he was known as America’s “King of Pop” with the kind of iconic status typically reserved for the likes of Elvis or The Beatles. Across the pond in Britain, that particular title still belongs to Robbie Williams, whose popularity probably even rivals that of the Queen herself.

But before becoming a household name in England (he’s yet to connect the same way in the States), Williams was introduced to the masses via superstar boy band Take That. While Williams had an amazing singing voice and plenty of sex appeal, critics decided that his bandmate Gary Barlow was destined for a solo career. That didn’t sit well with Williams, so he left the group in 1996.

While always known for his wild ways (drugs, alcohol, sexual promiscuity) in Take That, Williams’ overindulgences began to spiral out of control after leaving the group. In time, he realized his need to clean up—especially if he wanted a solo career. The lackluster performance of his first three solo albums didn’t help to keep Williams on the straight and narrow, but he persevered until his career finally had a breakthrough of epic proportions.

But as many rock stars have discovered, success doesn’t necessarily bring peace or happiness, and Williams, a bundle of contradictions, documents his inner turmoil very well in his music—and in the surprisingly candid 2004 biography, Feel: Robbie Williams.

Williams once told Q Magazine that he longs for a simple home life with a wife and children, but won’t make a commitment to stay in a relationship and not sleep around. And while he struggles with self-loathing, he’s also known for diva behavior that includes not getting up in the morning until his Starbucks is delivered. In the book Feel, he admits, “I’m a little child, I have to be entertained at all times.”

That love/hate relationship with celebrity—and himself—yields an element of spiritual longing in his music. That was apparent on 2002’s Escapology, where he sings (in “Feel”), “I sit and talk to God/And He just laughs at my plans.” And then, “I just want to feel real love/Feel the home that I live in/I just want to feel real love/and a life ever after.” He also expresses guilt in over his self-obsession (“Handsome Man”), shame in light of his Catholic upbringing (“Monsoon”), and belief in heaven (“Nan’s Song”). But contradictions abound; the album littered with profanity and sexual references.

Intensive Care (2005) offers more evidence of his spiritual journey and struggles with self. The cover art sums up his life, showing Williams with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. On “Tripping,” his egomaniacal tendencies are on full display, yet with an interesting juxtaposition of attitudes: “I’ve taken as much as I’m willing to take/Why do you think we should suffer in silence/When the heart is broken, there’s nothing to break.” But the backing vocals paint a different picture: “Want you to love me/Want you to be/The heavens above me/Eternally.”

“Make Me Pure,” one of the album’s best tracks with beautiful gospel backing vocals, perfectly demonstrates Williams’ desire for freedom from sin, and his inability to shake it: “Oh Lord, make me pure, but not yet”—a line apparently borrowed from St. Augustine. With “Please Don’t Die Again,” Williams longs for redemption in his personal relationships—”And if you die before I leave/What on earth becomes of me/Look around there’s no one here/To love me and hold me.” In stark contrast, “Spread Your Wings” shows his self-deprecating nature resurfacing on the relationship front: “‘Cause she feels I’m the scar from the wound/That time can’t heal.” Nothing like taking a little responsibility, right?

Other songs offer intriguing messages that indicate a deeper side. “Your Gay Friend” paints a picture of emptiness caused by an adulterous affair; whether it’s a hom*osexual one or not is unclear, but Williams vehemently denies rumors of being gay. In “Random Acts of Kindness,” he says the antidote to a self-centered society is, indeed, kindness. Then there’s “Sin Sin Sin,” sure to cause a stir. Essentially a rationalization for indulging in a one-night stand, Williams gives a glimpse of his temptation-cluttered worldview: “Hate the sin, not the sinner/I’m just after a glimmer of love and life deep inside.”

Williams recently moved from London to Los Angeles to escape the constant scrutiny of the tabloids and live “where he can be a little more normal.” In an article with Calcutta’s The Telegraph, he said he’s “learning about religion and faith” to give his life meaning after “a spiritual lull.” And so Williams continues to seek fulfillment beyond what fame has granted him so far, though one can only hope he’ll find the deeper life he longs for by embracing Christ—a relationship that’s closer than he realizes.

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“They say prayer has the power to heal / So pray for me mother / In the human heart an evil spirit can dwell / I am a-tryin’ to love my neighbor and do good unto others / But oh, mother, things ain’t going well.” —from “Ain’t Talkin'”

Bob Dylan once titled an album Time Out of Mind, but it might be more fair to say that he’s got time on his mind. “The Times They Are A-Changin'” he told us in the early ’60s, and, nearly forty years later, he was still telling us the same story—”Things Have Changed.” And now comes Modern Times, the third in a series of bewildering latter-day masterworks from the Voice of a Generation, and further proof that, over the course of a career that has spanned four decades, innumerable musical genres, and at least two belief systems, Dylan’s song has always been the same. Nothing has changed and everything has changed, both at the same time.

Entire volumes could be written (and have been written) about Dylan’s peculiar and indelible vision, and, in the past year alone, his story has been well documented in his own set of memoirs and in a celebrated documentary by Martin Scorsese. The socially aware protest songs, the druggy absurdist storytelling, the albums of heartbreak and romantic desolation, the Jewish upbringing and shocking conversion to evangelical Christianity—it’s all part of the Dylan lore, and any one phase of his career gives ample material for interpretation and speculation. What’s curious, though, is that his past three albums—masterpieces Time Out of Mind and Love and Theft, as well as the brand new Modern Times—have, in a sense, summarized everything that he’s ever said before: The world is going to pot, humanity is nothing but a bunch of cads and villains, women are nothing but trouble, death lies in wait around every corner, and only God can save us now.

Musically and lyrically, ModernTimes falls somewhere between the two albums that came before it; with its laid-back blues and gently crooned parlor songs, it’s the perfect follow-up to the somber confessions of Time Out of Mind and the careening rockabilly of Love and Theft. If that first album found Dylan looking Death in the eyes and wearing his heart on his sleeve, and the latter found him cracking knock-knock jokes and bad puns like a half-crazed court jester, the new record finds our humble narrator once again in pensive, serious mode, but not without a faint smirk. Dylan knows that these are perilous days, but he can’t help but see some humor in them just the same.

Of course, these songs are sung against a backdrop of death; Dylan, 65, has been increasingly aware of his own mortality in recent years—especially in the wake of a life-threatening heart infection in 1997. In the sweet love song “Spirit on the Water,” he’s seeing ghosts, and even feels like one himself. Just a few lines later, Dylan pledges to join his lover in Paradise, but immediately retracts the statement—”I can’t go to Paradise no more,” he sighs, wearily recalling that he “killed a man back there.” Later, he reworks the vintage tune “The Levee’s Gonna Break,” and it’s hard to hear it as anything other than a somber reflection on the destruction of New Orleans. (The same song also acknowledges—perhaps bitterly—the awesome power of the Divine: “Everybody’s saying this is a day that only the Lord could make.”)

There are songs of love and commitment throughout the album, but don’t think ol’ Dylan’s gone soft on us—in some of these tracks, the ladies are still nothing but trouble. “I’m flat-out spent, this woman’s been driving me to tears/ This woman’s so crazy, I swear I ain’t gonna touch another one for years,” he vows in “Rollin’ and Tumblin'” before going on to say that “there’s nothing more depressing than trying to satisfy this woman’s mind.” It’s not that Bob dislikes women—rather, he’s tapping into that well-worn vernacular of the blues. After all, Christ never promised a life of ease, and Dylan’s lyrics bear witness to the fact that even the faithful walk a hard road, and nothing in this world ever truly satisfies. “Now I’m all worn down with weeping / my eyes are full of tears, my lips are dry,” sings our man in “Ain’t Talkin,'” and, with his jaded and weathered voice, it’s hard not to relate.

Through it all, Dylan admits his own failures. At the beginning of the album he tells us that he’s “already confessed, no need to confess again,” yet in the same song he admits that he “ain’t no angel,” and even reveals his own fallen perspective: “shame on your greed, shame on your wicked misdeeds / I’ll say this, I don’t give a damn about your needs.” In the epic “Ain’t Talkin'” he’s more apologetic: “I’m a-tryin’ to love my neighbor and do good unto others / but oh, mother, things ain’t going well.”

He’s a fallen pilgrim trying to make it through a fallen world—he’s “walkin’ through the cities of the plague.” There’s “no altars on this long and lonesome road,” and the forces of darkness lie in wait, seeking to “crush you with wealth and power.” And all the while, Dylan can’t stop “thinkin’ bout that gal [he] left behind.” It’s the same story he’s been telling us for forty years, rendered here in the rich language of the blues—as he sang on Time Out of Mind, “it’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there.” For the faithful, though, there’s still one light shining in the night sky, and it’s enough to make the journey bearable. Dylan reminds us of this beacon in “Thunder on the Mountain,” and it’s enough to carry us through the rest of the album: “Some sweet day,” he vows, “I’ll stand beside my king.”

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“Well you praise him / Then you thank him / ‘Til you reach the by and by / And I’ve won hundreds at the track / But I’m not betting on the afterlife / …What have I done? / Why am I always messing with / The big guns? “—from “The Big Guns”

“I didn’t intend to write a bunch of songs about God,” singer/songwriter Jenny Lewis told NPR’s Melissa Block about her solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re about to turn 30… maybe being broken-hearted is not the only thing you want to sing about.”

Rabbit Fur Coat takes Lewis in a different direction musically as well as lyrically. The Rilo Kiley lead singer and sometime vocalist for indietronic collaboration The Postal Service moves away from indie-rock and toward folk, country and soul. Reviewers frequently compare Lewis’ sound to Neko Case, Patsy Cline, Laura Nyro, and Loretta Lynn.

The result is collection of soulful, occasionally anthemic musings marked by Lewis’ ambivalence toward faith and the tensions she experiences between her questions and spiritual experiences of grace and joy. She’s joined by Kentucky natives The Watson Twins, who bring a southern gospel sensibility to background vocals. Tracks were recorded on tape, using vintage equipment, and an eclectic, occasionally tough-to-identify mix of instruments (including an ebow, Wurlitzer organ, and lap-steel guitar) gives a track or two an especially haunted feel.

The album opens with a mournful, blues-gospel “Run, Devil Run,” before segueing into the rollicking “The Big Guns,” in which Lewis laments her inability to avoid difficult questions—and asks for mercy for the tired and lonely in the world. “Rise Up With Fists!!” is a modern protest song, lamenting social ills and offering a pointed critique of prophets with suspect lives. “Rise Up” suggests that God’s grace—”there but for the grace of God go I”— is the force that prevents one from hypocrisy, and posits belief—and waking and rising up—as alternatives, if not solutions.

“The Charging Sky” extends the gambling metaphor from “The Big Guns.” But rather than refusing to bet on the afterlife, Lewis bets for and against: “It’s a surefire bet I’m gonna die / So I’m taking up praying on Sunday nights / It’s not that I believe in your Almighty / But I might as well / As insurance or bail.” It further critiques indifference toward suffering and the “fear and consuming and fight” that she views as a result of “institution.” The title track is a ballad in which the narrator tells the story of a coat that seems to function as a symbol of wealth, greed or status-consciousness. In interviews, Lewis doesn’t say to what extent the song is autobiographical, but it seems to be a fictionalized account of her life as “a million-dollar kid”—Lewis was a child/teen actress who appeared in several commercials, television shows and films in the ’80s and ’90s.

“Born Secular” stands out as a kind of anti-hymn. Lewis describes herself as “born secular and inconsolable.” Yet in her insistence that God goes where he wants but is “not in me”—the last word one lilting, extended note—Lewis sounds an emotional note that’s not easily identified. It’s not the bold rising up with fists, but it’s not necessarily a longing melancholy.

The album includes several other songs with a similarly confessional tone, including the haunting “Happy” and a cover of the Traveling Wilburys’ “Handle With Care.” It’s an honest look at the messiness of wrestling with (messing with?) the big guns—God, life, and the past—for oneself.

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“On a crystal clear blue morning/There is a peace that only you can know/It is truth and love, and it is always there/Even if you fall down/Even if you fall down/Love shines” —from “Love Shines (A Song For My Daughters About God)”

Although most music aficionados would agree that Live’s career peaked in the ’90s, the band known for spiritually-charged songs like “Sell the Drama” and “Lightning Crashes” experienced a career revival of sorts when rocker Chris Daughtry performed “Mystery” (from Songs From Black Mountain) alongside the band on last season’s American Idol finale.

Even though teaming up was a successful move for everyone involved as the remake climbed the Billboard charts, the band has continued to make music regardless of its declining sales figures. And like many of its previous projects, the group’s quest for life’s deeper meaning is front and center on Songs From Black Mountain, Live’s 10th album.

When I say “deeper meaning,” that doesn’t always fall into the explicitly Christian category. In fact, at times, the album couldn’t be a more fitting example of religious pluralism, a place where the teachings of Jesus and Buddha happily co-exist in lead singer Ed Kowalczyk’s mind.

The best example is “Love Shines (A Song For My Daughters About God).” While the line quoted above will certainly resonate with those who are already Christians, other lines—like “Think of gentle Jesus/Think of the Buddha underneath his tree/They taught the world about love and how we all can be/How we can all be free … Love shines”—would indicate that Kowalczyk’s personal beliefs are a little more ambiguous.

Although it’s been widely reported that Kowalczyk grew up in a Christian home, he says he doesn’t necessarily want his two young daughters to learn about God by attending church. “I have to teach them about God one day, and I don’t want to take them to some boring church. This [song] is their catechism,” Kowalczyk says in an interview with Starpulse News Blog. “It’s a simple lyric about awareness and how it’s shining all the time. It’s something you can take refuge in. No matter what happens in life, it’s always there. No matter what faith, there’s a presence—whatever name you give it—that’s always there as an internal refuge. I thought that was a beautiful message for kids to learn.”

But whether this “presence” is God—and God alone—is in debate. In the same interview, Kowalczyk admits he’s always been fascinated by songs that possess a “mysterious quality” that allows the listener to fill in the proverbial blanks. “U2’s ‘Where the Streets Have No Name’ is the perfect example,” he says. “You know the band had a spiritual background, but they approach it so artfully on this song. They didn’t beat you over the head with a point of view because it would have limited the song.”

Yet despite his obvious lack of specificity, there are songs on Black Mountain that will certainly resonate with believers. For instance, on “Mystery” Kowalczyk seems to find peace, despite not fully understanding the complexity of God’s nature—”Mine eyes have seen the glory of a love that does transcend/Mine eyes have seen the worst inside of man/And fear is like a fallen bridge broken from an edge/And the proof is in the bloodshot eyes of the one who failed to see.”

Meanwhile, “Where Do We Go From Here?” is a relatable rant that everyone’s felt during a time of frustration—spiritual or otherwise. “I wanted a mountain, you gave me a sea/I wanted a hurricane, you gave me a breeze/I wanted to run, made me stand there and breathe/I wanted to dream, you made me sleep/I wanted to touch the bottom, but it was too deep/I wanted a revolution, you said I was already free.” And while most Christian artists would’ve inevitably pointed back to God for answers by song’s end, Kowalczyk leaves things more open ended.

And open ended is precisely how the conversation of faith is ultimately addressed on Songs From Black Mountain. But unlike the more Eastern philosophies embraced on earlier endeavors such as Mental Jewelry or the more sexually-explicit sentiments on Birds of Prey, there’s certainly more spiritual food for thought here that’s ultimately closer to the Truth than Kowalczyk would care to admit.

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“Because you cannot walk with the holy, if you’re just a halfway decent man / I don’t pretend that I’m a mastermind with a genius marketing plan / I’m trying to tap into some wisdom, even a little drop will do / I want to rid my heart of envy and cleanse my soul of rage before I’m through”—from “Wartime Prayers”

Paul Simon is one of those artists, like U2, whose music may be familiar to anyone who has a history with Christian music. Never listened to a Simon and Garfunkel record, or any of Simon’s celebrated solo releases? Okay. But what about “Mrs. Robinson,” a vintage Simon folk ditty once recorded by Charlie Peaco*ck? Or “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” another classic that has practically become a gospel standard, having been recorded by everyone from Michael W. Smith to Johnny Cash.

What’s remarkable is that “Bridge” never actually mentions the name of Jesus Christ—a curious trait for a gospel song. Some, of course, will contend that it isn’t a gospel song; rather, it’s a hymn to vague spirituality that doesn’t offend anyone because it doesn’t actually say anything. Then again, others will argue that the song is a prime example of the transcendent quality that makes Simon’s music so enduring and universally appealing—it’s not afraid to wrestle with big questions of faith and religion, even when Simon doesn’t necessarily know all the answers.

That’s never been as true as it is on Simon’s latest disc, Surprise, which indeed lives up to its title. Simon isn’t necessarily doing anything new here—he sings in his gentle everyman voice and plucks away at his acoustic guitar—but this time there’s a slight change of scenery; Simon’s just doing his thing, but he’s doing it out in front of vast, electronic soundscapes, created by sonic wizard and celebrated producer Brian Eno. Eno’s rich musical backdrops are imaginative and full of twists and turns—they give Simon a perfect environment in which to “sit down … and think about God for a while” (“Everything About It Is a Love Song”).

Simon’s perception of God is likely different from that of his Christian listeners. Like any good veteran of the 1960s folk music scene, he’s had his share of flirtation and experimentation with different belief systems. Simon was born Jewish, and he’s long been associated with various schools of Buddhist thought, but his songs have always included language that suggests a more Western, Judeo-Christian worldview.

And, again, like any old-school folk singer, he’s dabbled in songs with a decidedly political nature. That’s sort of true on Surprise, but he’s not interested in polemics and pulpit-pounding so much as reflecting the uncertainty of life in a fallen world. “How Can You Live in the Northeast?” Simon asks in the song of the same name—”How can you be a Christian? How can you be a Jew? How can you be a Muslim, a Buddhist, a Hindu? How can you?” In a world torn apart by cultural wars and religious turmoil, these questions seem like as good a place as any to begin the process of spiritual seeking.

Simon doesn’t necessarily align himself with any one of these religions in particular, but one thing is clear: the man is no deist. He repeatedly affirms the existence of a God who loves his children, and who cares enough to intervene in our lives. “Who’s gonna love you when your looks are gone?” he asks in “Outrageous,” repeating the question several times before offering the answer: “God will, like He waters the flowers on your windowsill.” By contrast, Simon finds little peace in the good works of human beings: “Acts of kindness, like breadcrumbs in a fairytale forest / Lead us past dangers as light melts the darkness / But I don’t believe, and I’m not consoled.”

Okay, so maybe he’s still a skeptic, and maybe he doesn’t have all the answers. But he has the humility to admit it, and to appeal to a higher power—perhaps that is the first step in the right direction. Simon knows he’s not good enough to save himself: “You cannot walk with the holy / if you’re just a halfway decent man,” he sings in “Wartime Prayers,” the album’s most memorable and inspiring song. What comes a few lines later is the album’s best answer to all the questions it asks, and a source of solace for anyone moved by the record’s depiction of uncertain times. “To drive away despair,” Simon sings, he “says a wartime prayer.” Amen.

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“Lift every voice and sing/’Til earth and heaven ring/Ring with the harmonies of liberty/Let our rejoicing rise/High as the listening skies/Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.”—from Lift Every Voice and Sing

For Jewish rock musician Rick Recht, music, heritage and social justice have always gone together. Recht is known for writing songs that celebrate Jewish heritage and culture in contemporary forms. “I’m a teacher,” he says in an interview with Christian Music Today. “I happen to play music—that’s my medium.”

Recently, the guitarist felt a need to take his music beyond the stage. “Over the last couple of years, I started getting an itch for coming up with a way to make these songs turn into action,” he says. “I wanted to give kids an action plan—something to do with it rather than just to feel good about it.”

The resulting action plan includes a CD, Tear Down the Walls, featuring Recht’s contemporary, guitar-driven rock (similar to Steven Curtis Chapman or Dave Matthews), and a touch of gospel, with background vocals by black and Jewish teens. Released in partnership with the Anti-Defamation League, it’s part of a four-phase program designed to train teens to fight racism and to lead diversity awareness programs. Recht, who is white, hopes the program and an album-based curriculum can spread to cities beyond his native St. Louis.

“When teenagers get into something, they become role models for everyone who’s younger than them, and they become role models for everyone that’s older than them,” he says. “Have a teenager lead, and everyone’s gonna listen.”

As part of the recording process, Recht gathered a group of Jewish teens and drove down to Memphis’ Stax Academy, a charter school operated by Soulsville, a non-profit organization that also operates the Stax Museum of American Soul Music. There, they joined local Jewish and African-American students in listening to two speakers: Rabbi Micah Greenstein, co-author of a chapter of Quiet Voices: Southern Rabbis and Black Civil Rights 1880s to 1990s, and Rev. Samuel “Billy” Kyles, an African-American pastor and Civil Rights leader who witnessed the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King. Then, together the students recorded “Avadim Hayinu,” which blends Hebrew lyrics describing the Israelites’ journey from slavery to freedom with the lyrics to “We Shall Overcome.” The song features soulful lead vocals from one-time American Idol contestant Philippe Crymes. The group later performed the song at Memphis’ National Civil Rights Museum on Martin Luther King Day.

“Just looking at our histories,” says Recht, “we really do have a strong commonality of oppression as minorities, and I think we have a lot to learn from each other by reigniting the relevance of oppression, and the relevance of community, and of safety.”

At Rabbi Greenstein’s suggestion, Recht recorded the African-American national anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing” in his contemporary style. Recht’s version of the historic anthem sounds similar to the praise-and-worship music one might sing in an evangelical megachurch.

“The lyric resonates with me and with the Jewish community in general,” he says. “I wanted to create an upbeat, really relevant version of it.”

The reaction to the piece in multicultural, interfaith gatherings has been mostly positive, partly because Recht explains the history of the poem, written by James Weldon Johnson, wherever he performs. “We have sacred pieces as Jews, and this is, certainly to the African-American community, a very sacred piece,” he says. “It’s very important to me that people understand the meaning, the intention, and the history of this piece every time I play it in a live setting.” After his explanation, he asks people to follow the black tradition of standing when the song is played “out of respect for what this song means not just to one people, but to all people.”

The album also features the St. Louis’ Cote Brilliante Presbyterian Church Choir on “Let My People Go,” a call-and-response chorus that tells the story of the Exodus.

“The Exodus is an experience that resonates for so many religions, particularly the Jewish and African-American experience of oppression,” he says. “But you hear those words come out of a lot of people, from a lot of different backgrounds, because most religions throughout history, if not in the present, know what it means to be oppressed.”

To Recht, learning from the traditions of others strengthens his own commitment to work for justice.

“When you know what it means to be oppressed, you know what it takes to survive. And you know why you need to believe in God and why you need to have faith, and why you need to have love.”

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“Good morning optimism / Good morning to my faith / Good morning to the beginning of a brand new day / I know that God’s will be done / So I lay down my pain and I’m moving on / I know that God’s will be done / So it’s a good morning after all” —from “Good Mourning.”

India.Arie is heartbroken, and she wants the whole world to know it. Not only is her latest, Testimony: Vol. 1, Life & Relationship, essentially a breakup album through and through. It may very well be the first-ever inspirational breakup album.

Other breakup albums—Bob Dylan’s Blood On the Tracks, The Cure’s Disintegration, and, more recently, ahem, Nick Lachey’s What’s Left of Me—generally wallow in regret, self-pity and remorseful sentiments toward the other party. But not Testimony, a breakup album marked by faith, resolve, closure, forgiveness and new beginnings.

Interestingly enough, it’s a theme that apparently resonated with many. Testimony, which has since gone gold, was the first album by a female Motown artist to sit atop the Billboard 200 sales chart since Diana Ross did in 1972. Motown President Sylvia Rhone has called India.Arie “one of our culture’s most uplifting and empowering artists,” while The Daily Star said that “with Testimony, the world will be a better place.”

While a few hip-hop and neo-soul proponents have subtly championed spirituality and positivity in their music—Common, Talib Kweli and Jill Scott come to mind—Testimony outdoes them all in terms of religious frankness. From the opening strains of the brief intro “Loving” to the breathtaking hidden track “This Too Shall Pass,” it’s a testament to India.Arie’s strong spiritual pulse.

But that’s nothing new. Her previous albums, Acoustic Soul and Voyage to India, brimmed with clear-cut declarations of faith, but none as bold as those on Testimony.

“Loving” quotes the ubiquitous “Serenity Prayer” verbatim. It’s unclear how the popular Alcoholics Anonymous maxim fits into the framework of relationships, but India.Arie could be making a case for addiction to toxic affection.

Whatever the case, the two songs that most clearly reference her breakup are the haunting “These Eyes” (“Our life is the greatest story never told”) and the bittersweet “The Heart of the Matter,” a Don Henley cover: “I want to be happily ever after/And my heart is so shattered/But I know it’s about forgiveness … even if you don’t love me anymore.”

From there on, it’s all about the “ever after” and the catharsis needed to get there. In the acoustic slow-burner “Good Mourning” (excerpted above), India.Arie uses a play on words to equate her grief to that fateful morning of the break-up: “I prayed for God’s will to be done/The very next day you were gone … Good morning optimism, good morning to my faith.”

On the bouncy “There’s Hope,” she continues on her mood upswing, but this time in a more general sense: “It ain’t about the size of your car/It’s about the size of the faith in your heart/There’s hope/It doesn’t cost a thing to smile/You don’t have to pay to laugh/You better thank God for that.”

The zenith of her renewed outlook comes during the hidden gem “This Too Shall Pass,” a chilling, rousing number where she comes to terms with her newfound singleness: “I pray for quiet in my head/That I can hear clearly what God says/But then I hear a whisper that this too shall pass/I hear the angels whisper that this too shall pass/My ancestors whisper that this day will one day be the past/So I walk in faith that this too shall pass.”

The song is so dense and climactic, you’d think you’re listening to a gospel record. But things, lamentably, aren’t that clear-cut all the time.

As straightforward as India.Arie is at times, she can be just as dualistic and ambivalent. In the song “Wings of Forgiveness,” for example, she declares that the “highest truth … is ‘to thine own self be true.'” The irony of that spiritual vagary—coined by Shakespeare, curiously—is that, right after it, she alludes to Christianity’s highest truth, the death of Christ, in the awkward line, “If Jesus can forgive crucifixion/Surely we can survive and find a resolution.”

The song isn’t about the Son of Man, but the fact that she namedrops him to make a point about forgiveness—rather than pointing to him as a vehicle toward forgiveness—sheds some light on India.Arie’s seemingly feel-good ideologies. Could it be the soulful diva is simply exercising poetic license? It would sure be unfair to discount the spiritual strength of the record—or the singer’s, for that matter—based on only one song.

In a recent edition of Relevant magazine, the chanteuse declined to delve into specifics about her religious convictions, but said that, though ambiguous, her belief system was “full of truth.”

“I believe in being accepting, kind, compassionate and empathetic,” she said in the article. “I believe in a Creator that is vast and that there are different ways to learn and discover God. I know that music fits into so many different philosophies, that I was given a gift to heal through music and that we are all called to seek truth.”

A bit Unitarian, no doubt, but the intent of India.Arie’s music, particularly Testimony, isn’t to promote one single faith. Rather, it’s an example of how faith—however she defines it—helped her enjoy being single all over again.

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“Under your spell again / I can’t say no to you / Crave my heart and its bleeding in your hand / I can’t say no to you” —from “Good Enough”

Christian rock pundits know Evanescence very well. They know the band as the ones who started out “Christian,” but soon chose to turn their backs on the CCM scene, not only slamming the door on their way out, but verbally slamming the genre overall.

Promotional efforts leading up to their smash 2003 debut, Fallen, were tailor-made for a massive, twofold launch in mainstream and Christian rock circles. In the latter, the band played industry showcases, got their music shopped to Christian radio, and had a presence at brick-and-mortar retail outlets.

Wind-up Records was banking on them, too. After experiencing unprecedented success with faith rockers Creed (who never claimed to be a Christian band) and a decent outcome with newcomers 12 Stones (who essentially did make that claim), Wind-up hoped Evanescence would be their first true dual-market success story. Young, unassuming, and from the Bible-belt state of Arkansas, founding members and youth-camp buddies Amy Lee and Ben Moody were simply too good to be true.

But then the f-bomb happened. Moody dropped it in an interview with Entertainment Weekly, in which he expressed his distaste for being on the Christian music charts, while co-founder Amy Lee simply nodded in agreement.

Chaos ensued. The news spread, livid Christian fans bombarded the band’s message board—which was shortly shut down—and an apologetic Wind-up was forced to issue a press release ordering a recall of all Evanescence product from Christian outlets.

As fate would have it, various dysfunctions have plagued the band since. Moody quit in late 2003 over creative differences, Lee got involved in a tumultuous relationship with Seether frontman Shaun Morgan, the band sued and dismissed their former manager, and new guitarist Terry Balsamo suffered a stroke.

In retrospect, the band was never all that spiritual to begin with. Some of their songs alluded to faith struggles (“Bring Me to Life,” “Tourniquet”), but on the whole, the majority of Fallen consisted of dark, cryptic diary entries about personal demons, love lost, and insecurities, all set to the larger-than-life, programmed sounds of nü-metal/pop.

In many ways, the band’s long-awaited second album, The Open Door, is an extension of what the band has done before. Industrial backbeats give way to thick metal riffs, orchestrated grandeur, and ghoulish choral elements, all complemented by Lee’s operatic soprano. The sound is loud, yes, but it’s almost indistinguishable from its predecessor—a disappointment considering the opus was nearly three-and-a-half years in the making.

Still an enigmatic and sinister songstress, Lee uses most of The Open Door to channel her frustrations with recent toxic liaisons, utilizing a few curious faith-based metaphors in the process. In the self-explanatory first single “Call Me When You’re Sober,” she tells her ex, “Don’t cry to me … If you loved me, you would be here with me / … How could I have burned paradise? How could I … you were never mine.”

In “Weight of the World,” the singer tells a needy co-dependent, “Feels like the weight of the world / Like God in heaven gave me a turn / Don’t cling to me, I swear I fix you,” only to tell him a few lines later, “If you love me, then let go of me / I won’t be held down by who I used to be.”

It’s unclear what the God reference means, but the bulk of The Open Door is like that: Lee is tired of what’s holding her down, so she fights, kicks, and screams to be set free, at times referencing a higher power for deliverance.

“Lithium” follows the same pattern. The song is an ode to the prescription drug lithium—a one-way dialog between Lee and the drug where God, once again, makes a casual appearance: “Lithium … don’t want to lock me up inside / Lithium … don’t want to forget how it feels without / Lithium … I want to stay in love with my sorrow / But God, I want to let it go.”

The lamentations persist in “The Only One,” a number where Lee decries human guidance and, to an extent, favors heavenly direction instead: “All our lives / We’ve been waiting / For someone to call our leader / All your lies / I’m not believing / Heaven shine a light down on me.”

Then there’s “Lacrymosa,” a track that was reportedly intended for an artist-driven Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack that never materialized. But the song has nothing to do with Lucy and her escapades into the land of Aslan.�� Rather, it’s just another bitter break-up anthem: “And you can blame it on me / Just set your guilt free, honey / I don’t want to hold you back now love.”

The only song where Lee doesn’t spend time despairing is the album closer “Good Enough” (excerpted above), a tender ballad where the singer talks about the rapturous hold of something bigger than herself in her trademark, gothic style: “Shouldn’t have let you torture me so sweetly … / Shouldn’t have let you conquer me completely / Now I can’t let go of this dream / Can’t believe that I feel / Good enough for you.”

Though it leaves a sweet taste in your mouth, “Good Enough” may not mean much in the larger scheme. But after an album chock-full of sour postscripts about failed partnerships—romantic, professional, or otherwise—it does stand in stark contrast to everything else. It’s a breath of fresh air.

Could it be Lee is finally coming to grips with her band’s royal about-face on Christian rock? Who is the “you” she’s referring to? Or is it just another “boy” song? We may never know, but the song at least gives the impression she’s turning a corner and opening the door to a new outlook, shining some light on the darkness that has permeated Evanescence’s image and sound since they first started.

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here

“I’ve never been the kind of man who hits his knees/Got no answers for big questions/I don’t know, maybe tomorrow lightning will hit me on the head/And we can find out if we’re just a joke/Jesus I’m told can build a bridge finer than any other man/There’s a certain peace to a country road with a wheel in your hand”—from “Road to Heaven”

For close to ten years, John Ondrasik has been recording with various bandmates under the moniker Five for Fighting, a hockey term for the penalty given to brawling players. Things started off with the 1997 release of Message for Albert, but it took the sophom*ore effort America Town to put Ondrasik on the map in 2000. A Platinum-selling effort that eventually earned him a Grammy nomination as a songwriter, the album was spearheaded by the hit single “Superman (It’s Not Easy),” which became a post 9/11 anthem for New York’s fallen heroes.

It was the perfect vehicle for the burgeoning artist’s gifts—introspective writing, a distinctive falsetto-drenched vocal, and piano-based balladry inspired by ’70s mainstays like Elton John and Billy Joel. And if “Superman” made a humbling introduction to a broader audience, it also paved the way for Ondrasik’s increasingly maturing perspective in songwriting, evidenced by 2004 follow-up The Battle for Everything with the breakout smash “100 Years” about making the most of our days on this earth, not to mention “If God Made You,” which explores faith in the tragic aftermath of a friend losing a child.

“That song took me aback after I wrote it,” Ondrasik told Christian Music Today. “I’ve always looked at faith analytically, but that one was pure love, loss, and hope. It made me rethink my own interpretation of faith. ‘If God made you, He’s in love with me’ is still my favorite line from the album.”

Now comes Two Lights, an album even more inspired by world events, familial relationships, and yes, a little bit of soul searching. “Perhaps the biggest factor is becoming a father,” says Ondrasik when asked about the newfound spiritual focus. “I now have new eyes to look through. But like so many, I have been looking to understand our place in existence my entire adult life.”

His latest hit single “The Riddle” does indeed ask the bigger questions about why we’re here in this life, ultimately serving as a love song to his 5-year-old son—”There are secrets that we still have left to find/There have been mysteries from the beginning of time/There are answers we’re not wise enough to see/He said, ‘You looking for a clue, I love you free.'” Such musings on mortality and eternity didn’t come easily to the Los Angeles songwriter. “It took me over eighteen months to write, which I likely deserve for undertaking such subject matter. I have three phonebooks worth of research and readings for that song—Popes, theologians, philosophers, comedians, skeptics, scientists, and Bible passages.”

Does that mean Ondrasik is a Christian? “My sister Shelley and I were raised in a Christian household, though we were not regular churchgoers. Shelley is currently in the process of ordination in the Presbyterian Church. I think you’d be correct in describing me as a seeker. But it’s interesting how much religion—imagery, symbolism, or exploration—finds its way into my lyrics. I rarely start out with such intent, but God keeps finding his way into my songs.”

The Almighty does come up, for example, in “Freedom Never Cries,” a moving ballad that hearkens back to The Eagles’ “Desperado.” In it, Ondrasik sings about cherishing life (“I only talk to God when somebody’s about to die”) and appreciating the freedom we enjoy at the sacrifice of those who face enemies in war. He told us, “I’ve recently realized that I only have conversations with God when someone I love is ailing. I guess it’s human nature to appreciate things more in time of need, and perhaps that realization is in the pavement of the road [to grace].” Similarly, the gorgeous title track finds a Vietnam veteran almost prayerfully coping with fear and pride for his son who chose to serve in Iraq.

The album’s most overt exploration of faith comes with “Road to Heaven” (excerpted at the top of this article). With a mellow and soulful style straight out of the ’70s, the ballad finds Ondrasik thinking out loud about what he believes. “On the way to my Grandmother’s funeral, my son looked to a big cloudburst and asked, ‘Daddy, what if there was a road to heaven?’ It is the truest song for me in its sincere desire for a path to salvation.”

The chorus of the song concludes, “If there was a road to heaven made of gold or made out of clay/Would the angels wave me up the hill, or in my mirror just fade away … If there was a road to heaven, it’d be one long and crazy ride/If there was a road to heaven babe, that’s a road that I’d like to find.” Perhaps one day—as Ondrasik continues to reflect more deeply with every album that he writes, it seems like he’s that much closer finding the answers—and maybe the Answer—to life’s greatest riddles.

Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here