Until recently, Taylor Swift rarely if ever addressed the topic of religion directly. In her earlier work, she alludes to Scripture and religious themes, but in ways that mirror her allusions to other corpora, like those of Shakespeare or T.S. Eliot. This seemed to change with Midnights (2022). In a bonus track on her 3am Edition “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve,” Swift depicts an unhealthy (to say the least) relationship at the age of 19. In the midst of the many Christian symbols that appear, she implies that this relationship is akin to “dancing with the Devil” and that the unknown figure is a “crisis of her faith.” But what is the connection between her religious identity and this person? Could the person even be religion personified? Like so much of Swift’s music, all listeners can do is wonder …
And this brings us to The Tortured Poets Department. In her own words, this album explores “dark days” and mental health, and here woven through songs about some difficult breakups, we find Swift’s most developed exploration of her faith. Although religious imagery abounds throughout the album, I want to focus on “But Daddy I Love Him” as a lens for this particular discussion. Here Swift describes a romance at the intersections of her religious background and family of origin. Although the song likely addresses Swift’s “situationship” with Matty Healy, parts of this song seem to reach backward to an earlier time in her life. In fact, the tone of this song deviates from many others on the album; it is upbeat and reminiscent of Fearless (2008). And so, in many ways, “But Daddy I Love Him” sounds like a love song.
But this song’s placement on TTPD is likely no accident. This is a breakup song, but it is about her breakup with religion. The religious people in this song primarily are characterized by their judgment. She describes them as “judgmental creeps” who “only raise you to cage you” and who “try and save you / ‘Cause they hate you.” But the description goes beyond their scrutiny. She seems to depict something akin to church discipline: “Soon enough the elders had convened / Down at the city hall.” They are “vipers dressed in empath’s clothing.” In the Gospel of Matthew where this image (typically) appears (Mt 3:7; 12:34; 23:33; cf. Lk 3:7), the religious leaders are bearing wicked fruit and opposing Jesus. Along similar lines, Swift describes her opponents as those who “slammed the door on [her] whole world / The one thing [she] wanted.” This could be read in terms of various forms of interference in her relationship (again likely with Healy), and yet the song doesn’t narrate a schism. It only narrates the judgment. Similar dynamics appear in “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)” where she says, “They shake their heads saying, ‘God help her’ / When I tell them he’s my man / But your good lord doesn’t need to lift a finger.” Again, the scrutiny is clear, but only the last line acknowledges a potential split between the couple when Swift’s confidence that “she can fix him” fades, and she acknowledges that “maybe [she] can’t.”
If these songs aren’t a narration of a breakup, then their heartbreak lies elsewhere. Swift sees how her identity and acceptance within that (and perhaps every?) religious community was tied to keeping up appearances (“Tendrils tucked into a woven braid”) and avoiding whatever could be characterized as “scandal.” For her, authenticity wins out over her religious affiliation.
While far more analysis could be directed at Swift’s narration of her relationship with God, let us consider instead our relationship with Swift’s corpus in light of her more explicit break with religion. Many Christian critics of Swift have emerged in the days following this album release. Some reference the profanity on the album; others her overall tone and themes. So, what does it mean for Christian women to engage with the music of Swift? And why might they not heed the demands of those who call them to “guard their hearts”? For the sake of space, I am going to sidestep broad conversations about secular music and Christ and culture. (We’ve done that already, right?) I want to address only the question: what does the music of Taylor Swift offer Christians — and specifically Christian women?
But first a word on what I am not claiming. I am not claiming that Swift’s music is wholly consistent with Christian ethics. I’m not suggesting that she has a healthy sexual ethic, and of course, I’m not claiming that she is infallible. I am simply claiming that she offers something that many Christian women need, despite the fact that she is not writing from a Christian perspective.
For one, Swift bridges significant gaps. Although she, born in 1989, is a quintessential millennial (something I personally take solace in), Swift speaks for and to Generation Z as well. These two generations at war over where to part their hair and boot cut jeans are united by a shared love for Taylor Swift. In her songs, both generations see themselves — their romantic failures, their betrayals, and the countless narcissists they’ve encountered. (Never trust ‘em.)
Swift narrates the experiences of these women, and in each of her “eras,” she often finds ways to explore complex topics with a measure of levity. Take, for example, “The Man” from Lover. Swift’s lyrics communicate exasperation, but the song is nothing short of a bop. This is by no means exceptional in her corpus. In the second verse of “Anti-hero” (Midnights, 2022), Swift depicts herself as a monster à la Godzilla, and yet the absurdity of this image clashes with the very real and very painful criticisms that she’s experienced. Even so, Swift doesn’t just speak for women in her juxtapositions or in the words spoken in socially acceptable modes. Her music admittedly has gotten progressively darker and more explicit over time. In fact, she pronounces the “old Taylor” dead (“Look What You Made Me Do”). But the appeal endures. No one could claim it’s her charm that makes “Mad Woman” (Folklore, 2020) compelling. “I Did Something Bad” (Reputation, 2017) isn’t delightful, but scream-singing it offers a meaningful catharsis, nonetheless.
This is perhaps the most important thing that Swift offers. Women need someone to name these dynamics for them. They need an empathetic witness to help them process, and music offers a particularly important means of healing from trauma of these kinds. A woman may feel isolated in her experiences of sexism, double standards, and even abuse; a woman may even be isolated further through gaslighting and excuses and retaliation. She may with Swift say for a moment: “I’m the problem; it’s me.” But the broad appeal of Swift’s music isn’t her ability to bring us into her story; it’s the way she somehow tells my story — and yours. When millions of women find resonance in a tale that sounds an awful lot like your own, when they belt it out in unison, the attempts of those “judgmental creeps” to silence you and isolate you loses power.
So why Taylor Swift? Why can’t we find a more “wholesome” prophet? Because there isn’t one. For some reason, the CCM isn’t cranking out albums addressing the wage gap or discrimination or spiritual abuse, and to my knowledge, no Christian artist is. And the other place we might go for empathy in our pain, the Psalms, doesn’t meet this need either. While it may contain the voices of female psalmists, among the many lamentations, no pain over sexism or sexual violence appears from a clearly female perspective. But the Psalms do portray such a broad range of responses to God that the anger of Swift and those who identify with her stories is validated. We’re angry because this is not the way things are supposed to be. So before you demand that Christian women set aside this resource for their pain, offer something in its place.
Swift’s ultimate breakup with religion may not resonate with those of us still showing up on Sunday morning. She has an uncanny ability to reduce a man to a series of images. This time, it’s the church she’s breaking up with, and the picture is unflattering. Still, we know “the Sarahs and the Hannahs” and the elders and the pastors that lie behind her disillusionment. Her grievances are as prophetic as they are mournful, and in their own way depict a longing for something better — something gracious and compassionate, abounding in steadfast love.
Many thanks are due to my friends and fellow Swifties Lanie Howard Walkup and Arabella Bryant for their insights and feedback.
Madison Pierce is an Associate Professor of New Testament at Western Theological Seminary in Holland, Michigan.
COMMENTS
8 responses to “The Tortured [Christian] Poets Department”
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Thank you so much for writing this . This is amazing . The fact she joined forces with Florence makes your analysis all the more real to me .
This is a wonderfully eloquent explanation of what I have so wanted to express on FB. Is there a post with this content already on FB that I can share?! The religious Sarahs, Hannah’s, and Elders need to see this article!! 💜
Thank you for this. As a Taylor fan and a former worship leader now agnostic, I was expecting this to be much more one-sided, but your perspective is nuanced, accurate, and validating. Appreciate you!
Thank you for the perspective.
I am not a Swiftie but I respect her a lot.
All the hate she is getting from conservatives/Christians since the new album dropped hasn’t been sitting well with me but i was having a hard time putting it to words.
Incisive as always, Madison. Thanks for taking the time to articulate this resonance. The first two chapters of Lamentations offer some female voiced rage/lament that things not the way they should be.
Thank you!
> Why can’t we find a more “wholesome” prophet? Because there isn’t one.
Is this really true? Surely some reader somewhere has a recommendation, right? I am looking.
I feel like we do have some “wholesome” prophets. The problem is that they don’t have a platform, and thus far, it appears that they never will. Most (if not all) have been forced into a prison of silence by the NDA’s they were forced to sign (under duress, I might add). May God bless these precious souls!
This is a much needed piece amongst the hot take blurbs of evangelical elitists telling us Taylor Swift’s music is demonic.
And you’re correct. Today’s CCM (and franky, 99% of CCM as a whole) is sanitized to avoid heavy issues in lieu of generic praise choruses. I scarcely can fathom the Creator of the entire world and all the humans that inhabit it want music done in His name to be so bland and void of depth and relevance.