Greetings, humans of the internet!
Before we get started, let me share with you that it is my strong encouragement to strengthen local relationships, attend live music shows, participate in hands-on land stewardship and nature conversation activities. In all my explorations of AI-powered music and upcoming deep-fakery these days, I’m sensing that the flourishing future we seek will depend on us digging in deep to offline, analog, natural, human and organic connections. (Personally, I have been loving spending my spare time this spring helping unblock and improve the flow of the stream in my backyard, and I’ve also been trying to sign up for more local events. It’s been really refreshing!)
In music + writing news, I’ve been doing some further research and planning about production and partnership and such, and…have noticed that simplicity is key: the path for me to walk is one of showing up to ideate, create and share, and not worry so much about the polish for now.
So I’m digging back into demos, lyrics and draft recordings — I spent some time recently updating my spreadsheet of songs (yes, I have one, because I’m a giant nerd), to help me surface which song are ready to share as demos, and which ones are ready for me to move forward into further home production.
It brought to light a song with you that’s been backburnering since I first wrote it, which is either called “In My Bible” or else “Biblianity.” The timestamps on my file storage interface suggests that was May 2021 since I last touched it. That’s almost three whole years ago! A lot changes in three years.
For me, this is a song I don’t think I would be able to write again if I had to. Why?
First of all, the chords are super weird (for me). I wrote this song first without a piano, just creating the melody and words by singing it into existence, until I had the general idea. After that, I turned to the piano to find out what key it was already in. I don’t think I’ve ever played these chords in my life! (Which is perfect, in a way, because 90% of my other songs are all in the key of G, which I hope is a metaphor for the restrictions of fundamentalism and confines of church music and finding one’s own way, and but is more likely a critique of my musical range. 🤣)
Secondly, the lyrical concept is an ouch. It was a surgery to write this. I don’t think I could get there again.
Let’s jump right in. The song hurts to listen to, at least for me, so I recommend headphones and some antacid or pepto-bismol or ginger ale and/or an ice-pack.
Lyrics:
I’d listen to the sound of my own heart, but my own heart is deceitful
I’d listen to voice of my own self but my own self is so evil
I’d listen to cry of my own flesh, but my own flesh is so sinful
So I listen to the word of my bible, for my bible is so simple
In my bible, I find everything I’m needing
In my bible, I trust everything I read
In my bible there is nothing wrong
And I always feel like I belong
In my bible I find everything I need
That’s what I call Biblianity
I would listen to the sound of the world but the world is deceitful
I would listen to the voice of the people but the people are all evil
I would listen to the cry of the planet but the planet is so sinful
So I listen to the word of my bible, for my bible is so simple
In my bible, I find everything I’m needing
In my bible, I trust everything I read
In my bible there is nothing wrong
And I always feel like I belong
In my bible I find everything I need
That’s what I call Biblianity
I would listen to the voice of the victims but the victims aren’t reliable
I would listen to the hurt of the harmed ones but the harm is justifiable
I would listen to the claim of the ones who claim that scripture’s genocidal
But I cannot seem to find any verses to support that in my bible
In my bible, I find everything I’m needing
In my bible, I trust everything I read
In my bible there is nothing wrong
And I always feel like I belong
In my bible I find everything I need
That’s what I call Biblianity
Where we deny all our humanity
And even all of our divinity
That’s what I call Biblianity
Some background and some questions:
First, yowza.
I want to affirm I do see people of faith engaging in healthy ways with reading scripture, and this isn’t intended to critique the ways in which humble, curious, compassionate, love-infused study can really help create people who continue to live in loving ways.
This is about what happens when we elevate a sacred text to become The Thing Being Worshipped. If reading a spiritual text comes at the cost of self-acceptance, at the expense of listening to others, at the cost of paying attention to emerging signs in our changes world, and with rigid and unquestioning compliance to external authority — trouble brews.
To the point where, I think it might accidentally be a whole different religion, a deviant strain, a corrupt alternative, an unhealthy offshoot, which the song calls “Biblianity.” It’s one thing to find comfort and wisdom in its pages; a whole other to wield is as a weapon that brings about destruction.
I’ve seen it happen — to me, and to communities I’ve been part of — where a rigid interpretation and religious reliance on the bible itself becomes a source of harm to its own participants, and for those outside the walls.
The song gives voice to those blocked-out voices, and each one gets its own verse: one’s own inner voice, the voices of people who aren’t part of the in-crowd, and the sounds of alarm coming from communities experiencing harm!
First, one’s own heart/body/mind. You might be familiar with some of those scripts: statements like “The heart is deceitful above all things.” If we’ve been conditioned to not trust ourselves, what does that do when we really do need to pay attention to something we’re sensing? It might be pain, or a contrarian idea, or simply a personal opinion. What happens if one does not trust one’s own heart, self, mind and body, and thus does not pay attention to the signals one discerns?
The next verse is about resisting the messages and insights learned from people, the planet, the “world.”
So often, in my experience, these voices were not just ignored, they were actively maligned, mocked, scapegoated, othered, and set up as an enemy. The entire mechanism was an us-vs-them machine, where inside the walls of the church is “rightness,” and everything outside — call it what you want — the culture, the world, secular-ness — was to be ignored.
I humbly submit that you can’t be in authentic relationship with people if you insist on such divides. If we’re not open to learning from voices of those who see things differently from us, then it’s not exactly a relationship.
I recognize that even in sharing a song like this, it creates a new us-vs-them divide. I struggle with this. The best response I can give is, “I know, and I’m not sure how to deal with that.”
I think of it like seeing two of my kids playing a dangerous game with kitchen knives. For a moment, I’m going to stop and point out the problem, and separate both the weapon and the kiddos, so we can return to peace. It might seem intense to stop the play, to confiscate the weapons, it might be a moment of “dominance,” and yet — the destruction that’s possible is intense enough to warrant a time-out.
In writing a song like this, I am not intending to shame a people-group for religious beliefs. I am intending to call a time out and say, “Consider the ways in which our religious activities are being used as weapons against those who we claim to love.”
But even then, writing this song was authorizing the time out for me. It was a way to say, to myself: “I need to choose to rebuild the pathways of self-acceptance, restoring healthy relationship with people and the planet, after a lifetime of unintentional othering.”
The last verse is horrible. I hate it so much. It gives voice to the way we can dismiss the cries of pain from entire people groups who experience suffering, because the message of pain is not found within our approved context.
When I wrote this song, I was growing intensely tired of having concerns that I was raising in a church community blocked, stymied, ignored, reduced and tossed aside, with the bible being used as the primary policing mechanism. Questions about the church’s role in pursuing reconciliation with Indigenous people? Questions about inclusion and affirmation of people with diverse sexual expression? Questions from personal alarm-bells and insights that needed more than just a pat answer? The bible was being used as a bulletproof riot shield to deflect inquiry, deny pain, and ignore stories of abuse. I think that might be called gaslighting? At the very least, it’s an extremely dangerous way to engage with human stories.
At some point, the stranger wounded on the road will not come with a pre-approved tag. You will not find that the pain and hurt of the world has been catalogued and nicely sorted, and conveniently written down for you to learn about. It will be up to us, as alive members of our current world, to use our senses, to listen to stories, and to discern how to move forward.
“Why do you looking for the living amongst the dead?” The answers you seek may not be found in a book never meant as a textbook.
Years ago, I remember hearing a pastor preach a message from Paul. He quoted the writing directly. He spoke it to the church that he was speaking to, as if St. Paul himself had had this congregation in mind. I nearly tore my hair out — [insert bald joke here]: Paul was in relationship with his intended community, reflecting on the messages of Jesus, and sharing a unique perspective as he saw it. Why wasn’t this pastor doing the same? Why was he, essentially, copy-pasting? What about the eyes and ears and heart in his own body, and in the bodies in front of him? What caused him to override his own relationships and abilities?
We are alive members on a dynamic planet with pulsing senses and the cosmic dust of quasars in our nostrils; we are relationally connected to the fabric of humanity, and co-stewards of this remarkable planet. We are people who are invited to be participants in helping bring about a flourishing future. We can listen to the feelings inside us, to the stories of others, and to insights and messages from those we’re in relationship with, as we move through these lives of ours. If religious practices are blocking us from doing that, it’s a false religion, and can be called such.
Welp, that was a nice and light one! Thanks for hanging out!
Please let me know how this song hits you. (I do wonder about fuller version; I can imagine it with drums, and I want to write an additional verse, but it’s such an intense song — the musical equivalent of a gross-but-effective antibiotic — that I can’t tell if it should rest here on my Substack list, or be nudged further for wider sharing.) I’d love to know what you think.
💜
Kevan
(Sidenote: my wife and I were dancing and singing along to Beck’s Midnite Vultures album in our living room this week, and I said, “I’m kinda looking forward to finishing sharing all my sincere, heartfelt songs I wrote so I can get into making fun stuff like this.”)
Biblianity