By The Rev. Nathan Hart
Taylor Swift’s latest single, Anti-Hero, begins with the lyric: “I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser.” It’s a surprising way to start a pop song. The chorus is even more pointedly honest: “It’s me, hi. I’m the problem, it’s me.”
Lyrics about self-limitation and culpability don’t usually appear in hit singles. We are more accustomed to the crooning of unabashed pride or lists of accomplishments. “I did it my waaaay.” But Swift’s song cuts through the radio noise and feels more like a confessional than a promotional.
The song is really striking a chord. It was released less than a week ago and has already been played millions of times and remains the #1 single on all the streaming services and radio. The accompanying music video, only four days after its release, had over 30 million views. I’m not even a “Swiftie” and I’m hearing the song everywhere. Why are so many people rocking out to someone’s else’s personal confession?
I can think of two reasons. First, it’s very rare in our current cultural climate for someone to admit personal fault about anything. Far more common is self-righteous rage about the sins of others. Just a few years ago, even politicians were frequently seen making public apologies when they had been caught in some personal error. But no more. Now such mea culpas are rarely heard. In their place is a lot of finger-wagging and shaming about the wrongdoings of one’s enemies. Taylor Swift seems to have missed the memo. Her song might be resonating because of its refreshing novelty; here is a dose of (admittedly calculated) humility in a climate of arrogance and blame-shifting. Here is a dose of low anthropology in a climate of secular humanism. (For more on this topic, check out my friend David Zahl’s new book Low Anthropology).
A second reason the song is resonating might have to do with church. Well, more correctly, a lack of churchgoing. Statistics show that fewer people are attending weekly church services than ever before in this country. In a traditional church service, worshipers recite a Prayer of Confession before receiving Communion. The weekly ritual gives people a space in which to admit their own sins and speak them aloud. When a society no longer goes to church, people stop verbally confessing their errors, yet they do not stop making those errors throughout the week. This means there’s a lot of pent-up, unconfessed sin being carried around. Perhaps Taylor Swift’s song has given people an opening, like a release valve on a pressure cooker, to express what’s been building up inside them. I am imagining people driving down the highway, Swift’s song blasting through their car speakers, cathartically shouting the lyrics, “I’m the problem, it’s me!” Honest confession can be a therapeutic epiphany.
Refreshing as this catharsis may feel, it lacks one all-important aspect that religious confession offers: redemption. The song ends with a nod to the popstar’s fans who listen to her sing constantly about herself. The final lyric is: “It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.” Admission of guilt eventually becomes exhausting for both the confessor and the listener if there is no resolution or solution to the problem. This is where religious confession, especially at the table of Communion, is life-changingly helpful.
If you haven’t been to church in a while, let me offer a reminder of what many Christians say before coming to the table. Here is the version we recite each week at Stanwich Church:
Merciful God, we confess that we
have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our
whole heart and mind and strength.
We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
In your mercy, forgive what we have been,
help us amend what we are,
and direct what we shall be,
so that we may delight in your will
and walk in your ways, to the glory
of your holy name. Amen
Notice in the first half the very real, very honest admissions of guilt. “We have sinned against you…”, “We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves…” It would not be incongruous to insert Taylor Swift’s “I’m the problem” in these lines. But also, in the second half, there is a plea for mercy and forgiveness, and there is an ask for correction. “Direct what we shall be,” we pray, so that we may “delight in [God’s] will,” and “walk in [God’s] ways,” which is to say, not my waaaay. Please, Lord, put us back on the right track. Fix our attention on you. Help us not make these same mistakes again.
Having confessed, pleaded for mercy, and asked for correction, we are then brought to the Communion table, where we encounter the redeeming love of Jesus Christ. Torn bread and poured wine symbolize his body and blood, broken and spilled as the due punishment for our sins. He received the consequences of the wrongdoings of the whole world. This is how he can offer us the forgiveness we ask for. It’s not that our confessed sins go unpunished; it’s that he took the punishment in our place. Because of his finished work on the cross, we are forgiven. Hallelujah.
While Taylor Swift’s song is good because it gives people an outlet to express their honest self-limitation and culpability, it is still me-focused and ultimately ends in exhaustion. But at the Communion table, sinners encounter what Christians call the “inexhaustible grace” of Jesus. The focus shifts from the self to the Savior. Week after week, we experience the great exchange: confession of sins and the assurance of pardon. Over time, the ritual changes us from the inside out.
I see now that Taylor Swift’s lyric is not wrong but incomplete. The “anti-hero” is us, but who is our Hero? We can sing, “I’m the problem, it’s me,” but we can also proclaim this truth: “He’s the solution, that’s Him.”
The Rev. Dr. Nathan Hart is the Senior Pastor of Stanwich Church.
