BAPTIZING WHAT WE LOVE, NOT BURYING IT
Somewhere along the way, we picked up the idea that becoming a Christian means becoming smaller—quieter, narrower, less human. That to follow Jesus, we must give up our favorite music, lay aside our hobbies, abandon the things that once stirred joy in us.
We mistook restriction for righteousness. And in doing so, we often drove tender souls toward guilt instead of grace.
But the gospel does not work by subtraction; it works by redemption.
Christianity is not a call to amputate the affections—it is a call to baptize them. Jesus does not ask us to burn our loves; He asks us to bring them to the water. He does not say, “Leave everything that made you human behind.” He says, “I make all things new” (Revelation 21:5).
For a long time, I believed it was more spiritual to listen to contemporary Christian music than to The Rolling Stones. I measured holiness by playlists. I ranked faithfulness by genres. And instead of producing fruit, it produced strain. The joy thinned. The soul tightened. The Christian life began to feel like a room with no windows.
I don’t like contemporary Christian music. I never have. If that’s your thing, you do you. I love that for you. It’s just not for me. I’d much rather hear House of Gold by Hank Williams than I Can Only Imagine by whoever did that song. That’s just me.
You do what fits you. But don’t tell me I can’t do what fits me. That kind of religion doesn’t sanctify—it suffocates.
The Gospel never teaches that the answer to sin is cultural exile. The apostle Paul did not tell the Corinthians to flee the world, but to learn how to live faithfully within it (1 Corinthians 5:9-10). He told the Romans that everything—everything—could become an act of worship when offered to God with gratitude (Romans 12:1; Romans 14:23). And he reminded Timothy that what God has created is good, and is to be received with thanksgiving (1 Timothy 4:4-5).
The problem has never been music; it has always been the heart. A melody cannot damn a soul. A guitar riff cannot dethrone Christ. But fear can. Legalism can. The subtle belief that Jesus is not strong enough to walk with us into ordinary places—that will do damage.
Jesus did not come to make us less alive. He came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly (John 10:10). He ate with sinners. He attended weddings. He told stories drawn from farming, money, weather, and daily work. He stepped into the rhythms of human culture and redeemed them from the inside out.
We do not disciple people by stripping them of what they love. We disciple them by teaching them to see Jesus within what they love. We help them ask better questions:
What does this song awaken in me?
Where does this story reflect truth?
How does this beauty point beyond itself?
When Christ is Lord, nothing is neutral—but neither is everything forbidden. The Spirit sanctifies not by fear, but by light. He teaches us to hear echoes of longing in a blues song; to recognize brokenness in a lyric; to see the ache for redemption that hums beneath even the most secular art. The world is groaning, Paul says, waiting to be redeemed (Romans 8:22-23). Why would we cover our ears to that groan?
If we require people to abandon their music and hobbies as a condition for grace, we preach a smaller Christ than the One who fills all things (Ephesians 1:22-23). But if we show them how Christ meets them there—how He walks into their playlists, their passions, their stories—then faith becomes spacious. Breathable. True.
The gospel does not erase your humanity; it restores it.
It does not demand silence; it teaches us how to listen.
It does not fear culture; it redeems it.
And sometimes, holiness sounds less like a worship chorus—and more like learning to hear Jesus whisper through a song you’ve loved all your life.
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Lord Jesus, teach us not to fear the world You came to save. Sanctify our loves, our music, our hobbies, our joys. Give us eyes to see You in all things, ears to hear truth even in broken songs, and hearts that rest in Your freedom. Make our lives living offerings—whole, grateful, and alive. Amen.
BDD
