Hip Hop & Hermeneutics: How Four Gospels and a Few Rappers help us disciple youth through lament
Influence shapes everything.
From the clothes we wear to the thoughts we trust, someone is always narrating the moment, framing what matters, defining what’s real. Influence doesn’t always come with a podium. Sometimes it’s a playlist. Sometimes it’s a post. Sometimes it’s the quiet voice in the back of your mind that sounds a lot like your favorite song.
Music drives mood, trends shape truth, and attention equals authority, the question isn’t who’s talking? The question is, who’s being heard? And, by who?
Whether it’s a rapper dropping a bar, a pastor preaching from a pulpit, or a teen scrolling for soundbites, the mic directs the story. It sets the stage.
In Black communities, music has been a sacred form of resistance, lament, truth-telling, and even celebration. Music has always been more than sound - it’s been the narration of our survival. A sacred language when words fail. It became the voice for the voiceless, carrying what couldn’t be said out loud in courtrooms, classrooms, or Sunday sermons. Whether through spirituals, soul, or hip-hop, music has told our stories when no one else would.
And the same is true of the Gospel writers: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Each one picked up the pen with a different perspective. Each one gave us the same Jesus but through a lens that made the truth hit home. Matthew and John walked with Jesus. Mark likely wrote what he learned from Peter. Luke pieced the story together through careful research and testimony. They saw the same Jesus, but told His story in their own way. Their differences don’t dilute the truth, they deepen it.
So what happens when we put their witness in conversation with our culture’s soundtrack?
What if we let the rhythms of hip-hop help us hear the heartbreak of Holy Week in a fresh way?
Let’s explore that… together.
Matthew presents Jesus as Teacher: the one who fulfills the law, embodies wisdom, and offers a radical ethic for living. Mark gives us Jesus the Healer: a suffering servant, constantly moving, urgently restoring what is broken. Luke lifts up Jesus as Mercy and Justice: the one who defends the marginalized, centers the outsider, and speaks to systems. John shows us Jesus as the Word made flesh: the one who knows who He is, and fully steps into that identity.
One of the rawest moments in the Gospel story: the betrayal and arrest of Jesus. This single scene shows us the weight of obedience, the pain of injustice, the chill of isolation, the tension of identity, and the limits of what it means to be human. And while that moment happened centuries ago, its echoes live on, especially in the lives of young people today.
They, too, know what it means to be expected to obey while carrying the weight of things they didn’t create. And every day, they brush up against their own limits, burned out, stretched thin, expected to be strong without being given room to be human. Like Jesus, they deserve space to name their pain, to be seen, and to know their story is sacred too.
So many teenagers turn to music. Not just for escape, but for the conversation and the language. For a rhythm that understands their racing thoughts and lyrics that say what they’re not allowed to. For many teens, the appeal of music, across genres, is its honesty. It speaks openly about real-life experiences, naming struggles, emotions, and questions they don’t always hear acknowledged at home, in church, or at school. Doechii asks, “I still got trauma, where do I put it?”
Like a trusted narrator, music doesn’t just reflect their world. It helps them make sense of it.
“Heart been broke so many times, I don’t know what to believe / Mama said it's my fault, it's my fault, I wear my heart on my sleeve.” - Rod Wave
For all, young and old, who have ever wrestled with pressure, performance, or pain, this one’s for you. Keep reading as we explore four Gospel writers’ accounts of “The Betrayal and Arrest of Jesus” and learn how hip-hop, the story of our people, helps our youngins process their reality, express their truth, and survive what they’re carrying.
If you listen closely, you might even hear Kash Doll or Tupac echoing in the background.
Matthew 26:52–54 — Obedience Ain’t Easy
52 Then Jesus said to him, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. 53 Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? 54 But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen in this way?”
In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus’ teaching is elevated. So in this narrative, when Jesus tells Peter to put away the sword, He’s not just de-escalating the moment, He’s embodying a deeper lesson. Jesus says He could call down “twelve legions of angels” to shift the scene in His favor. Jesus is informing Peter and everyone else of His power. But power isn’t the point here - obedience is. Not obedience to the authority arresting Him, but obedience to His life’s mission. While power gave Jesus the ability to change the moment, His obedience is the greater lesson.
Submission isn’t easy. It’s not passive, and it’s not blind to the cost. As BossMan Dlow puts it, “You wanna be a boss, you gotta pay the price.” The struggle within obedience exists precisely because there’s always another option. And that other option might look easier, quicker, or more comfortable. But real obedience isn’t about convenience—it’s about choosing what’s right, even when it costs you something.
DMX’s “Lord Give Me a Sign” is one long prayer of submission. He wrestles with obedience and surrender in every verse: “I really need to talk to you, Lord / Since the last time we talked, the walk has been hard.”
Most teenagers today are likely not listening to DMX (RIP Brother DMX), but the sentiment still lands. Music gives voice to what many young people feel but haven’t yet named. It helps them realize that the challenge of obedience, especially when it costs something, is human, and at times is hard. When a song reflects their struggle, it doesn’t just sound good, it feels like being seen.
Mark 14:46 — The Hands That Hurt
44 Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; arrest him and lead him away under guard.” 45 So when he came, he went up to him at once and said, “Rabbi!” and kissed him. 46 Then they laid hands on him and arrested him.
Mark’s Gospel is fast-paced and action-heavy. Jesus is always doing something—healing, feeding, casting out demons. He is the Healer. So when Mark tells us, “They laid hands on him and arrested him,” it hits different. The Gospels only mention a few moments when people actually touch Jesus, and here, in this single scene, it happens twice. First, an intimate kiss from Judas to betray Him. Then, hands grabbing Him to arrest Him.
The same Jesus who touched lepers with compassion and lifted the dead with care is now being seized and bound by people who should’ve known better. This isn’t just betrayal. It’s disconnection. Isolation is more than being alone—it’s the experience of feeling unseen, unknown, or deeply misunderstood. And in this moment, Jesus—the one who healed their sick, fed their crowds, wept with their grief—was treated like a criminal. Had they truly seen Him, they would’ve known He wasn’t about any foolishness.
When the experience of being unseen lasts too long, when it’s intense and constant, it can lead to a deeper sense of disconnection from everyone and everything. That feeling is familiar for many young people, too. As Tyler, The Creator confesses in “911 / Mr. Lonely”: “I can't even lie, I’ve been / Lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely… / I say the loudest in the room / Is prolly the loneliest one in the room.”
It’s the paradox of being surrounded yet still feeling invisible. And just like Jesus in that garden, many youth are still showing up, still speaking loud, still serving—hoping someone might actually see them.
They likely connect with Kendrick Lamar: “Ain’t nobody praying for me.”
In isolation, it’s easy to feel like nobody sees you—like nobody’s even praying for you. Like Jesus in this moment, many young people are left wondering if anyone truly sees them or understands their intentions.
Luke 22:50-53 — No More of This
50 Then one of them struck the slave of the high priest and cut off his right ear. 51 But Jesus said, “No more of this!” And he touched his ear and healed him. 52 Then Jesus said to the chief priests, the officers of the temple police, and the elders who had come for him, “Have you come out with swords and clubs as if I were a bandit? 53 When I was with you day after day in the temple, you did not lay hands on me. But this is your hour, and the power of darkness!”
Luke centers Jesus as the one who brings mercy and justice. When a disciple cuts off a guard’s ear, Jesus says, “No more of this!” And then, only in Luke, He heals the man. Yet even Jesus’ mercy doesn’t stop the machine. Even healing doesn’t prevent harm. Jesus speaks out, heals the one who came to arrest Him, and still gets taken. He changes one moment (an ear), but He can’t stop the momentum of injustice already in motion.
For youth, seeing injustice, especially when it’s layered and complex like it is in this story, can be confusing. That’s where music steps in. Hip-hop becomes a lens: a way to recognize, interpret, and name what’s wrong. Whether it’s more recent like Lil Baby’s “The Bigger Picture,” or as far back as Queen Latifah’s “U.N.I.T.Y.” or KRS-One’s “Sound of da Police,” music has the potential to teach what we should accept, what we should resist, and what’s repeated. It draws historical parallels and exposes what systems try to hide.
“Who you callin’ a b****?” - Queen Latifah
“The overseer rode around the plantation / The officer is off patrolling all the nation.” - KRS-One
“It’s bigger than Black and white / It’s a problem with the whole way of life / It can’t change overnight / But we gotta start somewhere.” - Lil Baby
I’m sure when Tupac rapped, “They got money for wars but can’t feed the poor,” many people, especially young people, connected instantly. He gave language to the injustice they were living, but hadn’t yet figured out how to communicate.
John 18:4-5, 7-10 — Knowing Who You Are
4 Then Jesus, knowing all that was to happen to him, came forward and asked them, “Whom are you looking for?” 5 They answered, “Jesus of Nazareth.” Jesus replied, “I am he.”
7 Again he asked them, “Whom are you looking for?” And they said, “Jesus of Nazareth.” 8 Jesus answered, “I told you that I am he. So if you are looking for me, let these men go.” 9 This was to fulfill the word that he had spoken, “I did not lose a single one of those whom you gave me.”
John gives us a different vibe altogether. Jesus is the Word made flesh, and much of John’s Gospel centers on identity. When the soldiers come to arrest Him, Jesus steps forward and says, “I am he.” Not hiding. Not blaming. Just being. And because He knows who He is, He knows what He must do. He protects His disciples, saying, “Let them go.” He takes it all on, Himself.
This is the tension of identity: knowing who you are and what that means you have to do. That standing in who you truly are may mean standing alone. It’s a tension many young people feel as they discover who they are and gain confidence in setting themselves apart from the crowd or what’s popular. Tracks like “Heaven Only Knows” (Eve), “5 O’Clock” (Nonchalant), and “Kash Kommandments” (Kash Doll) give voice to that struggle. Their songs wrestle with the cost of living in the tension and serve as cautionary tales offering both insight and warning to anyone listening closely.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning, where you gonna be? / Outside on the corner. / You better get yourself together / While you wasting all your time, right along with your mind.” - Nonchalant
Whether we like it or not, artists shape how young people see themselves and the world. And while not every message is positive, there’s hope in music that helps a child learn from someone else’s pain and choose a different path.
And if the cross teaches us anything, it’s this:
Even when justice is denied,
even when isolation feels endless,
even when obedience hurts,
even when identity costs you something,
even when your limits show—
youth are still held.
So what do we do with all this?
We engage youth in their feelings. We ask what they’re listening to and how they think it relates to their life. Then wait. We don’t judge or condemn their music choices, we try to understand.
We share our own songs, our scriptures, our stories.
We help them name what hurts and honor the tension they’re carrying.We don’t rush to fix. We sit with them in the questions. Because whether it’s through the Gospel or a 16-bar verse, the story still matters.
We build relational bridges by engaging their world with curiosity, not control, because understanding their playlists might just help us understand their pain.
