Rap, Sex, & Church: The Gospel, According to Hip-Hop Pt. 2
One evening David got up from his bed and walked around on the roof of the palace. From the roof he saw a woman bathing. The woman was very beautiful, and David sent someone to find out about her. The man said, “She is Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam and the wife of Uriah the Hittite.” Then David sent messengers to get her. She came to him, and he slept with her.
(This is part 2 of a 3 part series about God & hip-hop. Here’s pt. 1 and here’s pt. 3. Hope they are all a blessing!)
I haven’t gotten a lot from sermons in 2020. Not from worship either. I guess that means I’m backsliding.
I’d argue much of this has to do with in person church being limited for me. Probably due to Oregon caring about the survival of people.
Sorry, that got a little political. But hey, that’s actually one thing I’ve always loved about hip-hop. Resting in the mind of one dude or one lady, you follow along on the ride of their stream of consciousness, done poetically and done with swag.
It’s nice, actually. Sometimes they are just feeling it, arrogant as all get out and talking with the confidence I wish I had. Key reason white guys listen to black rappers (and because 95% of the time they are 1,000% better than white rappers).
Other times they are just reflecting, wading between sorrow and joy like a masterful wizard. Again, this is true to real life, true to real day to day circumstances, an accurate assessment of seasons in life.
But the past few weeks I’ve been treading water around the deep end of the rap waters. Scott Mescudi, my favorite rapper, just dropped Man on the Moon III. The guy is a black version of me. Honest. That might be a racially insensitive way to put it, but what I mean by that is that he is sensitive as hell, just like me.
I can’t think of a single track he has written about a girl, per se. Or about social issues, per se.
He’s only talking about the world of Scott, full of space, depression, drug use, sex, and trying to make sense of all the adverse life experiences thrown his way.
See I am a born again, proper, white middle class guy. I am going to grad school for counseling, probably a decade away from wearing a nice sweater vest, having a nice house with a nice picket fence, having a nice demeanor flanked by a nice wife. Nice, nice, nice.
But something tells me inside that there will always be apart of me that is… not so nice. And hip-hop appeals to it.
One of my favorite tracks from 2Pac is called Keep Ya Head Up. An anthem for single black mothers, 2Pac validates the felt experience of a people group that have endured a level of adversity that I as a white dude couldn’t even skim the surface of. And yet, he does it in a way that makes that centuries long struggle accessible, if only for a little over four minutes.
Alternatively, and quite to the contrary, 2Pac also has a track called “I Get Around.” An anthem it may also be, but for the behalf of women? Empowering, uplifting, “deep?” Definitely not. It’s essentially his opening up about his sexual exploits, his annoyance with women he sees as clingy, and the fact that he won’t ever quite settle down. He’s always “getting around.”
Now, if this kind of song came out in 2020, if the actions of him were more thoroughly examined, if the rape crime he was accused of blew up on social, we might have a totally different perspective on the guy. In this era of the left constantly canceling those with even the slightest whiff of misogyny and the right constantly catering to misogynists, being a man is more… complicated.
No longer able to openly promote their misogyny, famous men are now being far more scrutinized than ever before in western civilization. This is a good thing. I will say it again; it is excellent that toxic masculinity is now understood as such, condemned as such, canceled as such.
But, can I be honest? Just for a split second?
First, disclaimers.
I’ve never been called misogynist. I was raised by a strong woman and forged in the fire of adolescence by a strong girl now a strong woman. I’ve spent years in school districts, 80% women, who are all fierce (if also tender) warriors. I know more Rorys than Rachels, I have gotten close to more Dianas than Loises. I loved Leia as a little boy (truth be told, especially in Return of the Jedi) and I loved Rey as a character just as much.
An ally is what I strive to be.
But I am also a bit of a sleez. I also objectify quite a bit. I also am a lot like David, pre repentant from the story I started with above.
And a lot of times I don’t know what to do with it. But one thing I know for damn sure, acting like it isn’t there sure as hell doesn’t work.
Sermons have tried to tell me otherwise. Which is why I have often seen rappers as reverends, because within hip-hop lies the most frank discussions about sexuality I’ve ever heard.
The good, bad, and the especially ugly.
Pastor Cole has taught me a lot about sex. By Cole I should’ve started with J.
As I am writing this, G.O.M.D. is playing in the background. I’ll tell you three parts of that acronym; Get Off My…
Dictionary. Just kidding.
The opening verse of bars starts with him rapping with the bravado of the most swaggy MCs. All about conquests, all about his emotional disinterest, all about how cool he is in the midst of it. Halfway through, however, the tides turn. He starts to get a little bit more shaky in his voice.
And then he says “this is the part the thugs skip.”
Then he spits his best bars all about the the good, the bad, and heartbreaking ugly of love, particularly, a love that is falling apart.
See this reverend intentionally adjusted his sermon mid point to throw off his congregants. He was supposed to continue riffing about sexual conquests, breaking women’s hearts, and riding off to the sunset as the coolest MC that doesn’t care about anything.
But he does care. He really does.
And I do too.
See, there is a shallow part of me that wants to sleep with many women. There is a “douche” in me that wants to “get around.” There is a flesh inside that wants to be the cool guy that sleeps with all the girls even if that trope has rightfully been deemed immoral, uncool, and bad form, both in real life and on the screen.
But some piece of me thinks James Bond is cool. Some piece of me wants to be an aloof, Don Draper esque player. Some piece of me wants to be “getting around” as 2Pac would say (and often acted).
Yet it’s just a part of the whole. Most of me doesn’t want that.
Most of me, in some sense, all of me, wants a lovely wife. Wants the white picket fence. Wants the sweater and the kids and the car and neighbors and that elusive-for-millennials-thing we call the American Dream.
But if the love life of my 20s has been a learning experience, if it’s been a trial by fire, than boy has it been one hell of a volcano.
Rejected umpteen times, permanent “will I, won’t I” battle of deleting dating apps, scrapping, clawing, holding onto that sliver of a silver lining they call true love.
Actual love.
Honest love.
Thankfully, I really do believe I’ll get it. I will fulfill this prophecy for myself.
And apart of it is me going toe to toe with the douche inside me. The sleez, the tool, the player.
Sure, I’ve never been a true heartbreaker (for the most part), I haven't slept with many women, and I vehemently condemn any kind of what was once called “womanizing.”
Yet though my spirit is very, very willing, my flesh feels so damn weak.
I could have slept with her.
(But I didn’t do it, Charlie. I didn’t.)
This feels like the riskiest blog I have ever written. I always strive to be honest but I am wondering if this is too brutal. I am the Christian guy, the one who waits to be abstinent because Josh Harris tried to make it cool. I really am convinced it’s all for the best. It is a sacred thing, this sex thing that nobody talks about openly but privately consumes a lot of our energy.
The first song I truly “snogged” too was “No Church in the Wild.” What can I say, Frank Ocean puts you in the mood. Young unmarried kids, avoid it at all costs. Slightly older married people, you are welcome.
(Snogging is British slang for making out. Don’t be a pervert now!)
Truth be told, the church is starting to do way better about this whole coaching about the pros of not making love. I am happy for those Gen Z’ers who won’t have all this weird shame and baggage around sex.
But hey, maybe this is my attempt to let go of some of mine.
First confession; not a virgin. Whoops. Woo, somehow that feels pretty ok to admit.
Second confession; I am a recovering porn addict. This is a weird subject again (how come everything about sex has to be weird) because there are somethings perhaps best left unsaid. Yet the pressure feels like it’s so much more off admitting that to the internet.
Third confession; kinda already said this one, but sometimes I want to have sex. Shocking I know. But perhaps a little surprising is that sometimes I like the idea of sleeping with multiple women (coincidence I think not that Childish Gambino comes on as I write this line).
Fourth confession; I feel like I’ve never quite known what to do with the other three things I just confessed. Furthermore, what really blows is putting yourself out there in the war zone they call dating in the 2010s and coming up empty (maybe the 2020s will be better except the first one). Truth be told, it’s mostly been my bad. Sure, it’s good to go out there and not be intimidated by these wonderful alien life forms they call beautiful women by, well, talking to and dating them, but the Ls really start to wear on you over time (that alien life forms line is not my objectifying; it’s me admitting that I have no idea what the f&%$ to do when I am really attracted to a woman).
Sometimes I wonder if dating failures have led me to want to be the guy who is always “scoring.” Now, I know in my head and mostly in my heart that this notion comes from within. I wouldn’t dare believe that this toxic piece of me sprouting inside is the fault of the ladies.
It’s not, and I want to reiterate this again. All of the women I have dated have been wonderful, lovely, and just not quite the right fit for me and/or dated not at the right time. Just because it doesn’t work out has no bearing on their character, no subtle meaning that they really just want “the bad guy” or some other self-pitying sob story I spin in my head to comfort my heart.
Coincidence it isn’t, however, that when I believe a made up story that they didn’t pick me because I was a “good guy” suddenly I find it appealing to be a “bad guy.” I come screaming back to those dreadful high school years. When this wasn’t just a narrative I believed in; it was the story I was actively living into.
Reason #107 that Scott Mescudi is one of my best friends. Even if I’ve never met him.
Right now “Man on the Moon” is playing. It’s off of his first cd… Man on the Moon. The song is all about Kid Cudi wrestling with living a life wherein he feels alien to everybody else. A line I particularly like, “All I do is try to make it simple, the ones that make it complicated, never get congratulated.”
Elsewhere he says “I’ll wife her up even with her flat chest, the type that gets hurt, but that’s the past tense.”
I love how frank he is here. Starting off shallow by commenting on a woman’s lack of… bodacious-ness then following it up with how he would still marry her and that she wouldn’t get hurt anymore because she would be with him.
See this is where hip hop will go that I’ve never heard from a pulpit. This is the soul of a rapper I know like a friend I’ve never met as opposed to the dozens of sermons I’ve heard from a dozen pastors whose souls somehow feel far from me.
Now, to defend the literal reverends for a second; maybe this is the fault of church culture. Maybe the pressure of celebrity pastordom pigeon holes men into a subservient and fractured image of sexuality (rarely women because they are still slow to being allowed up on the pulpit).
Maybe Carl Lentz would’ve been faithful to his wife if he could have opened up more about feeling faithless. Maybe the idolization of the guys up on the pulpit dehumanizes people and men who are just like me.
Who also watch porn sometimes even though they shouldn’t.
Who also sometimes want to sleep with multiple women even though they shouldn’t.
Who so struggles with being the perfectly chaste guy that they secretly chase being the bad boy even though they shouldn’t.
I wonder if half of sinning is thinking we can stop sinning. I wonder if we were more open, honest, transparent, I wonder if we were more of that buzz word they call “authentic’ about trying to be a good guy and the legitimate costs that come with denying pieces of who we are, it would be easier to live out of who we mostly are.
Because I think even Donald Trump, if he was 100% honest, not full of shit, and actually slightly repentant, wants to be seen as a good guy.
All men do.
But so few men actually are because so few actually admit that a portion of them wants to be the bad guy.
Some of my favorite love songs come from the filthiest tongued rappers.
“LOVE” by Kendrick. “Pretty Little Fears” by 6LACK ft. J. Cole.
Well, NF doesn’t swear and I love his song “Time.”
LOVE;
“Am I in the way? I don't want pressure you none, I want your blessin' today (love me), Oh, by the way, open the door by the way”
Pretty Little Fears;
“Now I just wanna know, don't just sugar coat, or say it all if you want, now could you tell me like it is? Pretty little fears, music to my ears”
Time;
“Make you nervous 'cause you know I'ma break soon, every time I do I say somethin' that hurts you, actin' like I'm gone but we both in the same room, I don't like to be wrong, which I know you relate to”
I’m not married and all of these guys are. But, based on the lyrics in these tracks, I think I will survive being a husband someday.
See, coming from someone who isn’t wed, it seems being wed is really fricking hard (there’s the one). A lot of times it’s more about the unsexy kinds of love that lead to meaningful moments of making love. It’s as if sex is the culmination of doing all of the unsexy things needed to put your partner ahead of yourself.
I will say that the church has done a decent job talking about this. In particular, the emphasis of putting the other person ahead of yourself. For this, I say thank you to all of the spiritual mentors, advisors, pastors, and the like in my corner.
But the logistics of how to put the other person “ahead of yourself” when it comes to sex has confused me. “Just don’t lust” isn’t enough of a pep talk for me.
Formerly being the leader of a Christian style SA group (sexaholics anonymous) and still being actively being in the same one, undoing a decade of underground sexuality is a hell of a chore. I do believe it will be worth it when I find my person, but can I be honest? Again?
Staying “pure” while in seasons of singleness is difficult. Actually, for me and my life, it has been the #1 most challenging life I have ever worked for.
I’m in process about it. I was in 2019 too, and I don’t imagine 2021 will be that different.
Fifth confession; I want to be with someone who “gets this.” I wonder if the deep silence the church had for so long regarding sex, lust, porn, masturbation, and the whole gamut has been the root of a lot of pain for newly wed Christians. I have heard from so many of my fellow warriors for purity about the angst, the sorrow, the crushing weight of their wives first learning their man’s struggles with porn. Thinking about other women. Needing to go to a support group to curb some of these tendencies.
See a part of sex is learning about the sexual dysfunction of your partner. Which is why the church, the Bible, that angry pastor who made you feel shitty for wanting to have sex, told you to “wait.”
Yet even though I want to congratulate the crap out of people who did hold out and save themselves, what about the rest of us? The leftovers?
Apart of until death do we part is contending with the lust of your partner. The fact that they will, inevitably, as a point of fact, be sexually drawn to someone else. This isn’t me being worldly, secular, or whatever other stupid Christianese tag you can throw onto truth that fundamentalist types aren’t comfortable with.
That flesh is weak, boys and girls.
And a piece of the spirit being willing is being willing to be honest.
This actually assists in derailing lustful desire for others. Sin burns bright in darkness, but under the light, a safe, unashamed, compassionate light? What remains is the smoke of that once soul crushing shame.
I don’t have a nuts and bolts approach to newlywed Christian couples (or decades into marriages for that matter) honestly and lovingly learning about the sexual sins of their partners. I just know somehow it needs to happen.
And I know that for now, the reverend MCs on the mic have helped me unpack it far more than “Every Young Man’s Battle” and other Christian attempts at the same.
I am still holding out for hope that it will get better. In fact, truth be told, it already is.
I just hope it will be worth it when I find her.