“Of course a band that looks like this desecrates a traditional and ancient Christmas song like O Come O Come Emmanuel.
”
The band? Skillet.
The offense? Looking like, well… Skillet.
Let’s be honest—doctrinally speaking, Skillet probably has more in common with C. Jay Engel than most churches within driving distance of your local Whole Foods. But theology isn’t the real issue here, is it?
Nope. It’s vibe.
It’s aesthetic.
It’s the leather jackets and tattoos. It’s the guitars and makeup. It’s the fact that some people still think “hard music” = hellfire.
And I’ve got to say… I’m tired of it.
—
Let’s Clear a Few Things Up
First:
If you think “satanic music” is defined by electric guitars and heavy drums… we might have a problem. And not with the music.
I’ve been in church services with pipe organs and choir robes older than your grandma’s dictionary—and they felt more spiritually dead than roadkill.
You can say something’s not your style. That’s fair.
Don’t like rock? Cool. Don’t listen to it.
You don’t have to force yourself to love a genre you can’t stand.
But don’t call it evil just because it isn’t your preference.
Not acoustic enough? Not “thee” and “thou” enough? Not pipe-organ-approved? That’s not just lazy—it’s wrong. And honestly? It’s dangerous.
Second:
If lyrics are the issue, then read the words.
Skillet’s entire discography is filled with themes of brokenness, grace, redemption, identity in Christ, and the battle between light and darkness.
And in O Come O Come Emmanuel?
It’s practically screaming for a rock arrangement:
“From depths of hell Thy people save,
And give them victory o’er the grave.”
Sounds like the perfect moment for a guitar solo and a double kick, if you ask me.
—
I’ve met John and Korey Cooper from Skillet. They were on the label I worked at years ago. They’re not perfect. (Shocker: none of us are.)
But they’re real. They love Jesus. They love Scripture. They’re not afraid to speak truth—even when it costs them. They stand up when most of us won’t even get off the couch.
What you see on stage is what you get off stage.
Faith. Grit. Conviction. Humility. All of it.
So when I see people throw stones because the presentation doesn’t match their preferred package, I just shake my head. Because somewhere along the way, we’ve confused form with faithfulness.
—
Years ago, I talked with a friend who grew up in a strictly Psalms-only church. Hymns were allowed, but only Monday through Saturday. And if you asked whether a modern artist could compose music for the Psalms? The answer was pretty simple:
“Not unless it’s in the Psalter.”
That mindset is everywhere. Same theology as the tweet above.
Old hymns? Good.
Old hymns with electric guitars? Evil.
Never mind that we’re singing lyrics about ransom, exile, victory over the grave, and the King of Nations binding all things together.
Nope. What matters is whether the singer wears eyeliner.
—
In moments like these, I have to remind myself that Jesus didn’t come to save aesthetics. He came to save souls.
He didn’t come to build a brand that fits neatly into reformed Twitter.
He came to ransom captive Israel—that’s you. That’s me.
So if a band that looks different can lead people to sing ancient truth with new passion—let them.
And if the words are good, true, and aimed at heaven?
Turn it up.
Let the drums pound.
Let the guitars scream.
Let the cry go out again: Rejoice, Rejoice… Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.
