Wordplay and power: Exploring Language, Literature, and Lyricism 101

From "He a fan" in Not Like Us, to "Dead Dog" in II Samuel

Hi hello Hi. I promise I still exist. I’ll be honest though. I’ve had a lousy time as of late untangling my brain enough to even find a starting point to write. But given the post Super Bowl halftime discourse that we’re wading through, I want to talk a bit about language. I think this might be a helpful post for curious Christians who find themselves too humbled to ask for a translator. My hope is that this post inspires us to reevaluate the ways that we think about art, stories, music, and even scripture by remembering a few basics about the nature of language.

First, let’s recognize that all language is analogous

It points beyond itself, never a perfect one-to-one.

This is true in our day to day lives. This is true in scripture. This is true in art and literature. Creatives use words to paint illustrations and draw connections analogously. Think about memes. Think tiktok. Think about these seven second videos that feature our beloved cutie patootie Kendrick Lamar strutting in his bell bottoms captioned “Me on my way to start something.” That’s an analogy. Robert Smithson notes that “Language operates between literal and metaphorical signification.” Language is first and foremost a means of connection, and it matters that we prioritize connection before meaning or we will fail as translators. Why? Because words are like stained glass windows. They refract meaning, they don’t contain it. If we expect a single word to hold the full weight of truth, it’s like mistaking a yellow tinted window for the sun. We must look at the whole piece of art first. We need to observe the way the mosaic fits together before we begin to measure and examine the angles of the chard that glinted the sun in a particular way.

Read with context in mind

Words always inhabit a specific time, place, and culture.

Put simply, not everything belongs to us. When we demand that every word choice must past through our filter so that we can bless it before calling it beautiful, that is internalized white supremacy. Whiteness cannot be the standard through which we judge the world’s art, or we will never appreciate it, experience it, or be able to give credit where credit is due. Unfortunately, because all language is analogous, the downside is that when we white people see something that we don’t understand but we still want to be a part of, we prioritize the analogy, our tiny chard of yellow glass, and hinder others from seeing the larger piece of art because we ourselves can’t see it. This is why context matters. If we fixate on a single word or phrase without considering the larger framework, we risk distorting its meaning for ourselves and others. We see one fragment, assume it represents the whole, and impose our own lens onto something that was never ours to define. Words are fish, and context is water. Try pulling a fish out of water and expecting it to swim—it flops and gasps, stripped of its meaning. Swim first.

Identify the primary audience

—every text speaks to someone first.

Primary audience refers to the original group of people for whom a message, text, or piece of communication was intended. This audience shapes the language, references, and themes used by the author, as they write with their specific culture, knowledge, and experiences in mind. I’m doing it right now. My primary audience is curious thoughtful Christians. Everyone is welcome, but this is tailored for them. Understanding the primary audience helps us interpret meaning more accurately rather than imposing our own assumptions onto the text. When we create algorithms that revolve around us, we start believing that everything we read and see was made for us, speaks to us, and is about us.

But not every message has us in mind—every text has a primary audience and ignoring that distorts its meaning. That means, decentering ourselves while looking for truth and honesty in stories frees us to see more of the world, grow in empathy, and imagine. In Walking on Water, Madeleine L’Engle reminds readers that stories aid us in becoming more alive, more human, more courageous, more loving. This includes the stories that are told through art, poetry, and music. This includes the poems and the parables of the bible. Jesus didn’t pass out rulebooks; He told parables—stories that made sense to his primary audience while simultaneously confounding the people in power that were simply never going to get it. The Pharisees didn’t get the analogies about farming and mustard seeds because Jesus was talking to someone else. They were his focus. If we ignore who Jesus was speaking to, we might twist a vineyard into a boardroom or a mustard seed into a metaphor that misses the mark entirely and messes with the meaning. When we let go of the need to be at the center of everything, we open ourselves to truth that isn’t ours to control, but that we can still learn from and celebrate.

Ditch the ego

(phrases don’t always mean what we think they do)

So now that we’ve talked about the metaphorical nature of language, context, and target audience, now we’ll talk about meaning. Postmodernity is fickle in the way that it affects culture, but we don’t often acknowledge that postmodernity is the screaming child of modernity. And the church of modernity has in many ways reaped what it’s sown. But when it comes to meaning and language, understanding who decides what words mean is very important and affects the way everyone else understands.

Let’s talk about II Samuel chapter nine for example. In this section we can observe that after David retrieves Mephibosheth, in the text Mephibosheth self identifies as a phrase that is translated to “dead dog.” Throughout the centuries many dudes have wrongly interpreted that this phrase is a profession of humility or even shame. But they’ve read the story through an androcentric lens, forgetting the context, and subsequently losing the meaning. That phrase occurs two other times in the text, and its always in the context of a potential usurper. Mephibosheth, despite his disability, is identifying himself to David as Jonathan’s sole heir, a political threat to David’s crown. Remembering the rest of the story reminds us not only of the ongoing bad blood between families and the power dynamics at play, but it ramps up the tension of the narrative. Suddenly we see that instead of an image of God preparing a psalm 23 inspired feast in front of his enemies, David is orchestrating a copycat version, a photo op. More on that here.

But what does this have to do with the super bowl? With Kendrick’s lyrics? With Not Like Us? I’m so glad you asked. :)

Because a lot of people did the same thing with the phrase “he a fan” that evangelical commentators did with the phrase “dead dog.” Let’s talk about it. Not like us ends with Kendrick repeating “he a fan he a fan” over and over and many assumed that because it’s a diss track against Drake, that he was insulting his level of fame or stardom, reducing him to the status of fan. “He’s just a fan.” And that might be one layer. But let’s think about the context. And let’s look at the surrounding lyrics.

After Kendrick raps “He a fan he a fan” he repeats another phrase.

I will not repeat the phrase. Look it up. :) And please notice that FAN is an acronym. The phrase following that one is likely a comparison between Tekashi 6ix9ine the disgraced rainbow haired rapper who once faced prison.

The song begins to close with Kendrick rapping “hey hey hey hey run for your life.”

Given the earlier lyrics about Drake being a pedophile, what do the ending lyrics tell us in context? That this song is a warning about a dangerous sexual predator. That’s the message. “Run for your life away from this man.”

Now. What if you don’t care for the delivery he used?

What if you deemed the words too _______(fill in the blank).

That’s fine. But when our arbitrary filters force us to miss the meaning, we need to take a step back. And it’s a little curious how evangelicals can be very particular about policing words and language while failing to care a single iota about child sexual abuse in churches.

So, which is worse? The words that make us pay attention to warn us, or the silence that abusers operate within. Matthew 11:15 comes to mind: “Whoever has ears, let him hear.” The challenge is in recognizing that sometimes the loudest truths come wrapped in discomfort, while silence can be the most dangerous form of complicity.

Skip the excuses

—seek understanding instead.

So perhaps we evangelicals need to move beyond simplicity, because God didn’t ever design the church to exist in a bubble. Our job has always been to find points of connection with culture. Think of Paul at Mars Hill. When he’s out of his element, he’s thinking about how he can connect, even with a culture that’s not Christian flavored, blessed by evangelical publishers, or otherwise neatly branded “Jesus-ish.” Engaging with art, literature, music, and scripture means being willing to hear hard truths, even when they come wrapped in unfamiliar or uncomfortable language, listen more than we speak, and delight in learning.

This is why my friends and I interact theologically with spicy fantasy literature over at The I Read Something Bad Podcast. Like rap, genres like romance and romantasy are often dismissed as shallow, frivolous, or lacking depth. But more often than not, critics aren’t uncovering a lack of value—they’re just too offput, flustered, or unwilling to keep reading for whatever reason. And while we can certainly have personal limitations about our preferences, that shouldn’t automatically translate to an unwillingness to learn (nuance nuance).

While as believers we absolutely need to be aware of the content that we consume, the way we speak, and honor God with our words, righteousness and justice are two sides of the same coin in scripture. We don’t get to pretend we’re more righteous by hiding behind language to avoid addressing and learning about injustice. Words aren’t walls designed to protect us; they’re bridges towards better belonging. The most foundational purpose of language is connection, but it’s also an expression of power. In the words of prophetess Margaret Attwood, “A word after a word after a word is power.” Stories are power. Lyrics are power. And that halftime show was a master class in the power of subversion.

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Again, there are people way more qualified to explore the details that I’ve barely touched on. My goal here was primarily to talk about the weird relationship we evangelicals tend to have with language, power, and control.

Obviously, we barely scratched the surface.

Obviously, we could go a bunch of different directions.

But I do hope that this playful exercise was helpful and maybe even fun. I hope it reminds us to remain curious, thoughtful, and humble as we engage with culture.

As always, thanks for being here. The best way to support my writing is to subscribe here so that more of us can find one another.

Keep the conversation going in the comments below :)