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This is a modified-for-a-blog-post version of a talk I gave at my kid’s high school FCA meeting this morning.

Three quick stories, if I may.

Before we get into it, to address two pressing points:

First, YES, this is another instance of some 40-something white guy insisting that Eminem is the best rapper alive, and that it’s not close. But the fact that Em singlehandedly created the genre of “I’m going to stop trying to compete with Eminem and just be impossible to understand instead” mumble-rap is not what I’m here to talk about.

Next, YES this is a “sermon” about Eminem and NO I’m not sure if I’m allowed to share it at a high school, so if I get escorted out someone please grab a photo for Instagram, because that will seriously up my street cred.

Ok, to the stories: First up Marshall Mathers, who you might know as the rapper Eminem. But to understand his story you should grasp something critical about the genre of rap (which I’ll also refer to as Hip Hop even though there are distinctions).

Hip hop started as a protest genre, speaking truth to power. Rappers, DJs, Break Dancers, and MCs were in large part a mostly-peaceful alternative to gang violence and aggression. Instead of taking up a gun, an emcee could pick up a microphone to resolve a beef. By its very nature Hip Hop is explicit.

A good rapper or rap lyricist therefore is someone who looks around (or looks internally) and then describes what they see in ways that help others see and feel something. That’s honestly true of any artist, only that rappers get a pass for making the explicitness a feature of the art.

Back in 1997 Eminem released an EP (Extended Play–like an album, but shorter) called “Slim Shady” where he introduced an alter-ego who was like an uncensored version of himself. Eminem (who he’d self-reference as “Marshall”) might not get away with saying especially offensive and lewd things, but Slim could get a pass.

Slim Shady is a character who represents what it’s like to remove all morality and sense of “right and wrong” from who Eminem (or Marshall) is. He’s “free” to spew whatever blasphemous, vile, and sick things he thinks without having to worry about the “shackles” of a conscience.

The Slim Shady EP was a monster hit that got Eminem noticed and the rest is history (financially speaking) as Marshall skyrocketed in popularity and notoriety. Nearly 30 years later, and he’s honestly still playing with the concept of Slim Shady.

That brings me to story 2: the one about Henry Jekyll.

It’s a “story” in a more literal (and literary!) sense, written down in the 1886 novel Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson.

I can’t help but think that Marshall Mathers used the story as inspiration for Slim Shady.

As the story goes, Henry Jekyll saw in himself a similar evil impulse, and sought a way to repress those tendencies. There’s even an alter-ego (this time named Edward Hyde… a wonderful play on the fact that we humans naturally try to “hide” this side of us). Stevenson follows the same train of thought as Eminem, exploring what it would look like if there were a potion that actually turned Jekyll into Hyde. How dark could it get? (spoiler? pretty dark.)

Sidenote: In 1997 Dr Timothy Keller gave a sermon on Romans 7:1-25 where he does a better job of making the point I’m going to aim at today. I owe much of the insight to Dr Keller. I’m honestly just tacking on a more-recent example of Slim Shady to his already-masterful application of Romans 7.

Last week Eminem released another album, and as before ever since the concept of “Slim Shady” was introduced, he spends a lot of time making Slim the scapegoat, and playing with the concepts of causing offense, being a sort of dark prophet committed to truth-telling at all costs, as well as typical “I’m the best rapper ever”-style bravado and machismo.

In 2024 Marshall is still dealing with the same exact struggle and he even went about solving the problem (so far!) in much the same way that Henry Jekyll did.

It should go without saying, but just so we’re clear: I don’t recommend listening to this album on a regular basis, and I certainly don’t condone anything that Eminem says, how he says it, or the implications that might flow from it.

But as a case-study in how the non-Christian mind works, I’ve never seen a better and more honest text.

In the song “Guilty Conscience 2” (again, lyrics not for the faint of heart, and don’t say I didn’t warn you) takes a blatantly Jekyll/Hyde approach and has Slim and Marshall rap at each other, battle-rap style. From a production standpoint, whenever he’s “Slim” the tone of the vocals are a little more compressed and filtered, and when he’s Marshall it’s clearer and unfiltered.

The setup is that “Slim” has taken “Marshall” hostage, setting the stage for the conflict. By the end of the song “Marshall” convinces “Slim” to untie him, and the song ends with a self-described murder-suicide. The “good guy” murdering the “bad guy.”

There’s a masterful bit of production that goes on through the song. As he has this internal battle between “the real Marshall” and “the fake Slim Shady” there’s a spot a little over halfway through where “Slim” says this (with parenthetical interjections throughout by “Marshall” and only one bit of censorship—which feels like a record in quoting Eminem 😆)

Yeah, and I scare you ’cause (why?)
I’m who you used to be (who?)
The you who didn’t crumble under the scrutiny (wait, what?)
When it was you and me (yeah)
I gave you power to use me as an excuse to be evil (I know)
You created me to say everything you didn’t have the {guts} to say (yep)
What you were thinking but in a more diabolic way
You fed me pills and a bottle of alcohol a day (okay)
Made me too strong for you and lost control of me (you’re right)
I took over you totally
You were socially awkward ’til you molded me (yeah)

Eminem

As this section of the song builds, the two “styles” of production start to blend, and you can hear both Marshall and Slim rapping together. The track is literally doubled, and the two sides are perfectly in sync.

Back real quick to Henry Jekyll.

Apologies for potentially spoiling a 135-year-old book, but late in the novel, Dr Jekyll is sitting on a park bench, having run out of the “potion” that turns him into the unfettered and evil Edward Hyde, but something happens: he begins comparing himself (favorably) to those around him, and that “vainglorious” thought is the direct preamble to him once again turning irrevocably into Edward Hyde. The “bad guy” summoned by dark impulses of the “good guy.”

Wait, what? What’s going on there?

That brings us to the Apostle Paul, for a potentially shocking take.

By way of introduction to this Biblical text, it was written by inarguably the most famous Christian preacher of his day, and the author of a significant portion of the New Testament (most likely after he’d written much of it!), so I want you to take special notice of the verb tenses.

This is a world famous pastor, and he’s speaking very intentionally in the first person, singular, present tense.

Here’s Romans Chapter 7:

We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?

Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in my sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.

Romans 7:14-25

If you stop reading before the last paragraph there, the story bears a LOT of similarities to how both Jekyll and Marshall’s ends come about.

The preacher here is saying something majorly profound: if you follow through on *effort* to be holier, trying really hard to be the “good guy” or to do the “right thing” it’ll end the same place as Eminem so explicitly draws out: staring down the barrel of a loaded gun that your own effort to be good enough is pointing at you.

That vainglorious comparison, that insidious and self-justifying pride, that scorekeeping Jekyllism is exactly the fuel that the unredeemed flesh feeds on, and it will (guaranteed) end in the same spot Paul gets to: “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?”

Both the Slim Shady obscenity and the Marshall self-justification (though he never really gets to that corner to turn it) are attempts to not need Jesus. The “good guy” turns out to not be so “good.”

So how is Paul’s response any different? Well we have the last few lines of the text to show us.

We’ve established that there’s no hope in just muscling it out to do better, so the only freedom can come from *gratitude*. Paul rebounds HARD off of the “ground” of reality by aggressively turning to GRATITUDE. “Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ.”

Thanks for what? Well you kinda have to read the entirety of Romans up to that point to really get it, but here’s the summary, which Christians have called the “gospel” or good news.

Paul has spent the previous chapters of this letter to the Romans explaining the NEWS. (Sidenote: there’s a difference between news and instruction. The Gospel is news.)

Briefly: Jesus Christ came and lived the perfect life that Eminem, myself, and you couldn’t. Even at the level of motive, all of his deeds were right, his actions were glorifying to God, and he never failed. He never once gave in when tempted.

Then, he died the death that we deserve, and offers his record of perfect righteousness for our record of sin. His death pays a ransom, averting the righteous wrath of God that has to exist against sin.

Paul goes on later in the letter to tell the Romans exactly how to be saved: rest in Jesus, declaring with your mouth and believing in your heart that he was raised from the dead for you.

I really do hope that Eminem can make it there. As it is, I’ve got such respect for his ability to own, call out, and publicly do battle with his demons. But it’s not enough. I don’t have a hundredth the platform that Eminem does, and I can’t imagine calling out my sins and owning them the way he does. He’s both flippant and dismissive of the hurt he’s caused and deeply and openly troubled by it. His lyrics are startlingly raw.

My challenge to Marshall, that he seems to have already figured out: keep digging into that self-justifying and “righteous” facade, and what you’ll find is that no matter how you slice it from skin to core, you’re a bad apple. A “wretched man.”

Then bounce off of Jesus, turning the corner. All you need to turn that corner is nothing. Surrender. Discover the news of what Jesus did for you. Cease the striving to save yourself. Join our line of screwups and failures.

Early on in my days as a Father, I started to notice something, and continue to find really funny: namely that there’s a difference in how churches treat parents on their special days of honor.

Here’s a slightly dramatized version to highlight the difference:

Mother’s Day prayer:

“O Lord we thank you for the perfection that is our mothers. And we pray for all women everywhere regardless of if they are mothers or not. Protect the women! We Fathers have done a pretty bad job of doing that. Amen.”

Your pastor (probably)

Father’s Day prayer:

“Lord, thankfully we’ve got you as a Father, because these jackwagons on earth have failed in lots of extravagant ways. Forgive us for being such bad fathers, and not living up to the calling you’ve given us. Amen.”

Same pastor (most likely)

Did you notice it, or should I circle back and slather on a few more layers?

First off, it started as (and remains) mostly a joke to point this out, but the more I got to thinking through it, the more I think there’s something true there that makes the joke funny as opposed to making the preacher cowardly.

That’s right: I think these are appropriate and Biblical ways to highlight that men and women are different, created by God to glorify each other in different ways. Of course, my hyperbole above might be problematic, but what I’ve actually seen in churches (my own and others) is generally not crass or flippant.

Are there certain instances of pastors over-placating women and mothers, and not appropriately calling them to repent, or to do better? Conversely: do pastors sometimes over-emphasize the failings of men and fathers when they could be more encouraging? Almost certainly. It would be foolish to try and argue otherwise.

But here’s the thing: our culture and world does those two things (berate moms and placate dads) without ceasing, and by default.

Women are constantly being berated (mostly by other women) to do more, be more, and do better. In my (albeit limited) view, there’s essentially an internal voice for moms in our culture that they are failing and their kid is going to resent them and they should do more.

Men (and particularly fathers) on the other hand have a comically low bar set for them. I get praised just for the act of showing up. “You’re such a good dad” they say when they see me do literally the base level of making sure my kids don’t die.

My wife left for a work-related trip and had to reassure everyone who asked that I was perfectly capable of watching the kids for 3 days. I was a hero despite doing very little more than driving to and from the school two more times per day.

Men and women are different, and are treated differently.

As a note: this article is talking about parenthood from the perspective of a two-parent family, and I’m not here to argue or really discuss the particulars of how single-parenthood applies, but I will note that in general what I’m saying holds true in those situations, too. Men are given a cultural pass and pat on the back and women are… not.

The Bible has entered the chat…

In the very beginning of the Bible, there are specific and distinct curses given to both the original man and the original woman when they sinned against him. Here’s a list, taken from Genesis 3:

I notice two sides of the curses: all the curses for the woman are family-based while all the curses for Adam are vocation-based. The man got the economic curses, and the woman got the relational ones.

Here’s my point: the gospel is good news that directly addresses the bad news of the curses in Genesis 3. The gospel “un-curses” those in Christ.

There’s a definite “already-but-not-yet” to the gospel promises that undoes the curses.

Moms still have pain in childbirth, and sorrow over children, and a sinful nature that produces desires contrary to her husband (and a bonus curse that the husband has a bent toward authoritarianism instead of partnership!)

Dads still have work that is both physically hard and emotionally hard. There are still “briars” mixed in with the “fruit” and his role of provider and protector is more difficult.

But the more they are in Christ, the more those curses are being turned inside-out. There’s blessing where there was only pain. There’s an expiration date.

So when your pastor prays for moms, encouraging them that they are walking toward the curse expiration date, that’s gospel.

And when that same pastor prays for dads in a way that challenges them to step up, and acknowledge the ways that they are falling short, and to reject a passive attitude toward their family and calling, that’s gospel.

Men and women are different. Our culture denies it with their lips, but can’t stop acting like it’s true in their actions. Here’s a thought experiment to prove that point: take church out of it and let’s start a viral campaign on “Moms are failures” and/or “Dads are perfect” and see how each is received.

My wager is that few will find the joke funny, yet we’ve got decades of evidence from Everybody loves Raymond to Caillou that have essentially that exact character arch and plot line (with the characters of course reversed) and it’s genuine comedy.

I for one am here for bearing the brunt of jokes and being bluntly told the truth: because the gospel is true, all of us moms and dads are being sanctified just as surely as we were justified. In Christ there is grace and truth.

How We Pray on Father's Day, and Other True Jokes. Share on X

This past weekend, I was bamboozled. Worked over. Scammed. Taken advantage of.

This post is a warning, lest you too be taken in by small-town charm mixed with the crafty wiles of scheming 13-year-olds.

Theo spent the night with a friend on Saturday night. Sunday after church I was doing some work in the woodshop (AKA my neighbors’—Jacqueline’s parents—garage) when my oldest (and henceforth favorite for the foreseeable future) child called to say “hey, you might want to come up here to the house… it looks like Mrs. Tonya is about to give us a dog.”

Surely not. Surely my lawfully wedded wife would refuse the offer of a free puppy. After all, we have a beach trip in a few weeks! She remembers the last dogs we’ve had, and how much work and expense they are. After all, we have 2 dogs that essentially live with us!

I brushed off my favorite child, and hung up the phone.

It wasn’t until 15-or-so minutes later that I looked up and saw my wife with two beaming children walking down the gravel drive, carrying a little black-and-brown bundle.

“That had better not be our dog!” I yelled over the noise of the handheld electric sander. But all of their faces betrayed the simple fact: that was our new dog.

This is the third dog that Jacqueline and I have had since getting married, and keeping with tradition, we named him after a country music great. First we had Loretta, followed by Wynonna. So without further ado, I introduce the newest “Meredith:” Cash.

Here’s the bottom line, friends: Always check that there are no free puppies for the taking at a friend’s house, before agreeing to say yes to them spending even the briefest amount of time there.

From a brief perusal of my social feeds this morning, two things seem fundamentally true:

You can’t talk about how affairs with porn stars are bad. That’ll anger the Christians.

You can’t say anything negative about the presumptive nominee for President of the United States (and a former actual POTUS) being convicted of 34 felony counts involving hush money paid to a p*rn star without a significant backlash from Christians online.

Make no mistake: I’m not talking about the disputed facts like “is this a political witch hunt?” I’m talking about the undisputed facts like “This man who we want to represent us as President had an open affair with a p*rn star, and doesn’t seem repentant about it at all.” It doesn’t feel possible to pump the brakes at any point to say “hey, that’s morally wrong” without being chastised by normally-morality-conscious people.

That strikes me as odd.

You can’t say that women are valuable, need protection, and are easily definable, without angering the largest voting block of folks who identify as women.

You can’t say anything about an entire major political party not being able to abide by basic, settled, and nearly universally-agreed upon (until approximately 15 years ago?) scientific fact that gender is a binary based on biology without being accused of being somehow “afraid” of the opposing ideology (at best) or bigoted.

Further, if you dare to say that this new ideology is harmful to women, by fundamentally erasing them as a category by allowing men to compete against women in athletic events, you’re shunned with religious zeal by folks in that party.

So what’s actually going on?

Far too many people on each side are acting like the outcome of the election is more apocalyptic than ever, and weaponizing their talking points.

When you can’t agree that the people on the other side of an argument have worth and value that is not rooted in their ideology, you’re not proposing an argument, you’re advocating a genocide.

When you can't agree that the people on the other side of an argument have worth and value that is not rooted in their ideology, you're not proposing an argument, you're advocating a genocide. Share on X

What are we trying to do in this election cycle? Have a functional Republic where you can disagree with one another, or force everyone at gunpoint to agree with us?

There doesn’t seem to be anyone who actually wants to persuade someone to their side of the argument. They apparently want to end the other person and not just the argument.

One again, my fear is that the real forces at work here are an anti-American abuse of the social algorithms to focus on pitting us against one another. And we just keep taking the bait.

But then again, I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong before.

My Side of The Political Fence is Morally Superior to Yours Share on X

The other day, I pulled up at a red light next to a custom-painted Chevy Impala.

The dude in the car was probably half my age, with multiple pieces of hardware drilled into or dangling from his face, and tattoos that would make a Puritan have to ask for definitions in order to properly blush.

But back to his car, as it’s the first thing I noticed. This paint job was unbelievable in at least two senses of the word. First, it was *perfect*. I am assuming he just finished his 6-step waxing and buffing process just hours before, because the sunlight did things to that paint that gave it an almost Pixar-esque cartoonishness, standing out amongst us mere mortals with our cheap factory paint jobs.

Next, this Impala had color-shifting paint: meaning that as you approached, it was greenish, and as you passed the car it changed to a radiant and sparkling purple. Somehow, throughout all phases of color, it appeared to be subtly gold in addition to the other colors. Like I said: unbelievable.

Beyond the paint job, the car was sitting on wheels at least 30 inches in diameter, and tires with such a low profile they looked like the rubber bits attached to a shopping cart’s wheels.

All of what would normally be chrome on the car (wheels/rims, seams, bumper and exhaust) was a lightly brushed gold, that served to give it a sort of glow.

I honestly didn’t notice many of the details until I got done repenting.

See, my first step in what’s hopefully becoming a quicker process (as I don’t foresee ever being able to get rid of the impulse altogether) was to immediately do what the Bible calls “seek to justify myself.”

From 80+ yards, I’d already started a list of why God, my mom, and everybody I’ve ever met should like me more than this guy. Since I don’t know his name, I’ll call him Marshall.

Here’s what the list looked like, and I’d completed much of it in my head (and a little bit of it out of my mouth, alone there in my painfully boring car) by the time we landed side-by-side right there by the supermarket:

• Marshall spent more on each wheel of his vehicle than I spent on my entire vehicle. So financially irresponsible!
• The hopped-up suspension and Wal-Mart buggy wheels served no purpose other than to call attention to himself. So self-centered!
• The music blaring from his open window (not to mention the smoke coming from the cigarette dangling from his bottom lip) was proof-positive that Marshall wasn’t raised right. So inconsiderate to others around him, and smug!

I could go on, but it would reveal some pretty gnarly things about what goes on in my heart, so I’ll let you fill in the blanks.

It’s not just strangers and their automotive displays, though. The default mode of my heart is to make lists of why what I am doing or thinking is right, and others are either not-as-right, or just (almost cheerfully!) wrong. I’ve got a scorecard, and a need to win.

I do this score-tallying nonsense (we’ll get into why it’s nonsense in just a bit, hang tight) with friends, family (both immediate and extended), people at work, and readers of this very blog. Left to my own devices, I desperately want to be weighed and not found wanting.

Another example? Another example it is.

Recently I’ve started eating differently in an effort to improve those Lipid Panel numbers my doctor seems so obsessed with. It’s taken a good bit of work, and it’s a bit of a potentially controversial diet for some.

The other day, as I was verbally processing things with my supernaturally patient wife (who has no doubt grown tired of everything being somehow related back to Ben’s New Diet™) she remarked with something like “It’s funny how with this diet you find yourself defending things that people have not even yet said to you. You always have to have a reason and be ready to win an argument.”

There it is. My good ol’ default mode. Not only do I have a constant need to justify myself, I plan for it.

• I gather evidence and stats.
• I prepare and rehearse what I am going to say. (no really… I literally will talk to myself while driving or walking around, in preparation for a still-nonexistent debate)
• I am rarely satisfied with being misunderstood.

That last one’s a reliable tell for me, actually. I’ve written about it before, but one of the most astounding parts of Jesus’ earthly ministry was an episode (recorded in John 6) where the religious leaders overhear him refer to himself as “the bread of heaven.” The leaders get confused (rightly) and say something to the effect of “so… we’re all just supposed to eat your flesh?” and instead of stopping to explain himself, Jesus doubles down: “yep, eat my flesh and drink my blood!”

I could never.

These men walked away from the conversation with at least 2 distinct impressions: (1) Jesus is *weird* and (2) following Jesus sounds messy in more than one way.

Why and how can Jesus walk away from the conversation without thinking twice about it? At least this: he derives exactly none of his worth or value from being understood. He’s not loved more when he’s understood more, or based on whether the people he’s speaking with learn something or have a right opinion of him.

Graciously, I noticed it quickly as I pulled up next to Marshall and his Impala on Highway 72, and began preaching at myself.

One neat thing about being a musician having played hymns and hymn retunes for some years is that sometimes the lyrics of a song that’s nestled into my brain (even though I haven’t sung it in years) will find their way out. That’s what happened as I shifted into 2nd gear heading toward my house. I found myself reminded:

Not what my hands have done can save my guilty soul
Not what my toiling flesh has bourne can make my spirit whole
Not what I feel or do can give me peace with God
Not all my prayers and sighs and tears can bear my awful load

Thy Grace alone oh God to me can pardon speak
Thy power alone oh Son of God can this sore bondage break
No other work save thine! No other blood will do
No strength save that which is divine can bare me safely through

I praise the God of grace, I trust His truth and might
He calls me His, I call Him mine: My God, my joy, my light
Tis He Who saveth me and freely pardon gives
I love because He loveth me, I live because He lives!

Horatious Bonar

Riding Shotgun with Grace: Lessons Forgotten and Remembered at a Red Light. Click To Share on X