What is rap music all about these days? The answer seems simple, as Lauryn Hill puts it “Hip-hop started out in the heart / But now everybody’s tryin’ to chart.” Turn the radio on, and you’ll hear the same theme over and over. Deal drugs. Womanize. Cash out, floss. Repeat.

Understandably, many believers altogether reject secular hip-hop, thinking of it as hopelessly depraved. Surely, anyone serious about their walk with Christ must be careful to tune out the waywardness of unredeemed hip-hop, right? Yes and no. Rap music contains a strain of constructive honesty that people who feel at home in hip-hop culture can deeply identify with.

Lyrics of Fatherlessness

“Now ain’t nobody tell us it was fair / No love from my daddy cause the coward wasn’t there / He passed away and I didn’t cry / Cause my anger / Wouldn’t let me feel for a stranger / They say I’m wrong / And I’m heartless but all along / I was looking for a father he was gone”

- Tupac

“Though I was brighter than a polo sweater / No pops was like Martin with no Coretta / So many things you could have told me / And saved me the trouble of letting my mistakes show me / I feel like you barely know me”

- J. Cole

“And my pops it don’t help that you gone / Myself to move on / It’s scary and I’m gonna need help”

- The Diplomats

Many rappers bear the marks of fatherlessness, like a defiant scar cutting across a prizefighter’s face. It would seem like talking about fatherlessness is out of harmony with the rest of the hip-hop braggadocio; discordant tones of vulnerability amongst the loud bass boom of arrogance. But it’s not. Somehow, the ethos of hip-hop bestows special honor on boys who have made the trek into manhood alone. It’s like climbing Everest without a Sherpa – either you freeze to death or you survive, deserving to tell everybody that you’re the man.

A Case in Point

This attitude was on full display in a recent YouTube video. In a freestyle tour de force that wowed a room full of rappers and professional athletes twice his age, Louisiana teenager Lil Snupe rapped about the difficulty he had faced growing up. “My heart cold cause I grew up without my father / But it really made me smarter / Made me grind harder.” Afterwards veteran rapper T.I., himself known for gritty lyrics, raised his hands and shook his head, mouth agape, as if he had just heard an incredible sermon. “You remind me of how I used to kick that. Your daddy really ain’t in your house. You got things you worried about.” And the room laughed in agreement. Sadly, less than a year later, talented young Snupe was shot and killed.

So what’s the point? I can hear some saying, “Nothing’s new under the sun. Growing up without your dad doesn’t entitle you to have a self-destructive attitude and to be a liability to your community. Grow up. Be your own man. Make better choices than your dad.” True. But knowing the truth doesn’t mean it’s not incredibly difficult to live it out. It’s like the motif of Ecclesiastes. Solomon knew “the end of the matter” before he started writing his book. But he needed to work through the vanities of life, the futility we’re all subject to, before being able to fully grasp the fear of God.

A Soldier’s Spirit

For brothers in the urban community, who have yet to know Christ, hip-hop is a kind salve for their wounds. It’s the only place they know to get gritty, unsanitized masculine affirmation. This is not to say the church is ill-equipped to minister to young men. Rather, to the contrary, I believe God has prepared a band of broken, yet bold brothers to dispose of religious pretense and be real before hurt, zealous young men. Let’s wisely leverage secular hip-hop to minister to the brothers.

Called to Serve

Not everybody’s called to this mission field. But as a young brother who mentors in urban San Antonio, I can tell you that being laced with Jordans and listening to Jeezy has allowed me to reach guys in a way I didn’t know was possible. And they also reached me.

In the end, these brothers are in desperate need of knowing Jesus — the one who can carry the weight of the cross for them. But to get them there, it takes relationship building one step at a time. We’re going to have to meet these guys in the streets, through youth basketball leagues or programs like Big Brother. And we don’t withhold truth from them. We’d be foolish not to also teach our young brothers about the ills of hip-hop.

We can’t replace anybody’s father, but we can grab a brother by the shoulder and say, “walk with me as Christ helps me figure this thing out.” And as my little brother and I ride down the highway, listening to Pac, he begins to recite from memory the lyrics about a mother struggling with drug addiction. As the track fades out, he looks out the window and reminisces about his mom, casually remarking he’s not sure where she’s at now. I turn those lyrics into an opportunity to testify about how God has held me up since I lost my father. As the bass boom of the next track fades in, “I’m still working through this myself lil’ bro, but I pray the Spirit will cut through your discouragement and show you his love.”