Elvis, Amy Grant, and the Devil
Summary
What does Christian art have to do with how followers of Jesus should relate to the world? Dominic Jackson opens with the question he wrestled with as a young film student—why is so much Christian art so bad—and uses it as a doorway into a bigger one: how should Christians actually see the world around them? Working through the tension between John 15 and John 3:16, he proposes a framework of four kingdoms—the kingdom of God, the kingdom of the world, the kingdom over the world, and the kingdom of me—as a way of navigating what it means to be in the world but not of it.
Questions for reflection
Do you tend to see the world primarily as something to avoid or something to engage? Where did that instinct come from?
Which of the four kingdoms do you find yourself most shaped by right now — and how can you tell?
What does it look like in practice to be in the world but not of it? Where is that line hard to draw in your own life?
Dominic says sin isn't bad because it's forbidden — it's forbidden because it's bad. How does that reframe the way you think about boundaries in your own life?
Is there an area of your life where you're more comfortable diagnosing someone else's kingdom than your own?
What area of your life is Christ not currently ruling — and what would it look like to invite him there?
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Shortly after I came to faith, twenty-plus years ago, I was in college in Los Angeles. I was a film major, philosophy minor, and deeply zealous in my faith — which is kind of an obnoxious combination, by the way. New radical Christian plus pretentious film guy. Apologies to everybody who knew me at that point.
At the time, I believed my calling was to write and make films. I wanted to go into the film industry. But I was wrestling with a deep, agonizing question I just could not figure out:
Why is Christian art so terrible?
Because everywhere I looked — Terrence Malick, Sofia Coppola, Sigur Rós, Arcade Fire was huge at the time — there was so much good stuff out there. But it seemed like there were only two paths. You could either create great, thought-provoking, creative art, or you could be a Christian. That was pretty much it.
For context, I was working at a Christian bookstore while I was in school. And I was surrounded by things like — well, we have some photos. NASCAR Jesus. Jesus as a UFC fighter. Some shirts. Some bands. No offense if any of these are hanging in your living room. Art's subjective.
But eventually, as I dug into the question, I discovered two compelling things.
The first was this: for roughly the first 1,900 years after the church launched, arguably the greatest art being created in the world came from followers of Jesus. Michelangelo, da Vinci, Van Gogh — who was actually a missionary, by the way. He would go to the caves where miners were working, share the gospel, then go home and paint. Rembrandt. And so on. For most of the history of the church, followers of Jesus were creating some of the greatest art out there — painters, musicians, composers, architects, potters. And it wasn't just for the church. It was for the world. It was bold, fearless, poignant, and unlike anything else.
However, in the late 19th century, commercialization and mass production started to change things. But the real shift came in the late 1940s and early 1950s with the moral majority influence — when roughly 63% of Americans were actively part of a church. Mix in the red scare and a few other cultural forces, and suddenly there was a moral standard not just in the church but in the broader culture. And it seemed that the more rebellious, promiscuous, and self-indulgent the world became, the more conservative, disconnected, and legalistic the church grew.
So if you were a Christian artist trying to make a living, you had two paths. The way of the world — Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Jack Kerouac, all self-professing Christians who largely had to separate their faith from their art. Or the way of the church — Pat Boone, the Guthrie Band, pretty much everything on TBN. And Christian art became almost always preachy, didactic, safe for the whole family. Tied up with a moral ribbon at the end.
So here we are in 2026, and you and I — regardless of whether you were raised in the church, whether you'd call yourself a follower of Jesus, whether you're a Democrat or Republican, an artist or someone who doesn't care about art at all — we have inherited both a culture war between the perceived goodness of the church and the wickedness and sometimes coolness of the world. And we've also inherited a lot of bad art.
Welcome to Gateway Church: social critics, art experts, and followers of Jesus. Good to be with you all.
The Real Question
This morning I want to ask the question underneath the original question. It's deeper than whether you can make good art and follow Jesus. It's deeper than the age-old question — is Jon Foreman from Switchfoot a Christian artist or an artist who is a Christian, which was an actual Rolling Stone headline. It's deeper than our role in the culture war.
The question is: How should the Christian view the world?
Is it wicked, broken, fallen — something followers of Jesus should avoid at all cost, which plenty of verses seem to suggest? Or is it an opportunity, an invitation, a mission field — loved and pursued by God, which plenty of other verses also suggest?
Which is it? That's where we're going this morning.
[Prayer]
The Language Problem
Our text is John 15:18. And just reading that one verse, the world sounds pretty bad — described almost as an enemy, not just to us but to Jesus himself. Flip over to John 17:14 and it seems to confirm this: the world has hated Jesus' followers because they are not of the world.
So based on those texts alone, the world is wicked, evil, lost — an enemy to Jesus. Which would mean we should all move to an island or a commune or at the very least a gated community, right?
Well, first, there's a language issue worth naming. The Greek word for "world" is a word most of us already know: cosmos. And just like in English, it can mean a lot of different things. Sometimes a physical space. Sometimes creation as a whole. In the poetry books of Scripture, sometimes the solar system. Sometimes just planet Earth. Sometimes the people on it. And very often in the New Testament, cosmos doesn't refer to a people or a place at all, but to a culture or a standard of the day.
And most confusingly, sometimes the Bible speaks of the world negatively, sometimes lovingly. Sometimes it's beautiful, other times it deserves judgment. But since it's all the same word — cosmos — it can be hard to tell whether God is talking about a planet, a people, a culture, or something else altogether.
So how do we hold John 15 alongside John 3:16 — the most famous verse in the Bible, the one that describes God loving the world?
Four Kingdoms
This morning I want to suggest a new lens — a word you'll find all over the New Testament: kingdom.
You can have the word "world" mean a lot of different things, but a kingdom always needs a king. And so instead of asking what "the world" means in any given passage, I want to look at four distinct kingdoms. Here they are:
The kingdom of God
The kingdom of the world
The kingdom over the world
The kingdom of me — my personal favorite
1. The Kingdom of God
Mark 1:14: "After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. 'The time has come,' he said. 'The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news.'"
Jesus shows up and announces that the kingdom of God is at hand — approaching, within reach. Sometimes he says it is already here, now. We've talked in past series about how the kingdom is both now and not yet. It began with the arrival of Jesus, but the fact that we are clearly not in paradise tells us it isn't complete.
In scholarship, this is called inaugurated eschatology. If you're curious about that, let's grab coffee sometime and I'll just plagiarize N.T. Wright for an hour and sound smarter than I really am. But basically: heaven is making its way here, but it isn't fully here yet. There will be a second coming of Jesus where he will be on his rightful throne.
So since we find ourselves somewhere in between, sickness still exists — but since Jesus came the first time, we pray for healing and peace for our friends who are sick. Death has been defeated on the cross, and yet for now our bodies still break down. Our knees crack when we get out of bed. Our toes hurt when it's cold. That's what it looks like to live between the two kingdoms.
If you want to know what the kingdom of God looks like and will look like, start with the parables. The mustard seed — small, tiny, but it grows and grows and becomes mighty and changes everything. The Good Samaritan — a person who welcomes and cares for someone they were raised to see as an enemy. When the man answers Jesus' question about the two greatest commandments and Jesus responds, "You are not far from the kingdom of God" (Mark 12:34). Or the hidden treasure — where what you think is valuable isn't, and what is truly worthwhile might go unnoticed unless you're looking.
But there's another way to know what the kingdom looks like: look directly at Jesus. His life, his healing, his hope, his love, his grace. If there is a kingdom, there needs to be a king on the throne. And we are invited to worship him — not because he needs it, but because it is the best thing for us.
2. The Kingdom of the World
When Jesus is on trial before Pilate, he says in John 18:36: "My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place."
Notice he doesn't say his kingdom is not for this world. He says it is not of this world. So if Jesus' kingdom isn't of this world, then what is?
This is the point in the sermon where, if you've been around churches long enough, you might expect a list — avoid Harry Potter, Elvis, HBO. We've all heard those sermons.
I think that's a limited understanding. The kingdom of the world should be seen as both a warning and a mission — a place in need of rescuing, but also one to be engaged with discernment.
The kingdom of the world is lost, going in the wrong direction. And that should concern us — but more than that, it should break our hearts. Because the real problem is that everyone is doing what is right in their own mind. Everyone wants a kingdom, but many of us want the kingdom without the king. We want the fruits of Jesus without Jesus.
Mark Sayers captures it well in Disappearing Church: the kingdom of the world attempts to retain the comfort of faith while removing the cost, commitments, and restraints the gospel places on the individual will. The world wants justice, peace, and love — all things the Bible says come from Jesus. But if we could get those things without God, we could make the kingdom whatever we want. Which goes all the way back to the oldest sin ever recorded. The first sin wasn't really about disobedience — that was the response. The first sin was about appetite. Not just for what was forbidden, but for becoming like God. Because if the world could become God, we wouldn't need God anymore.
So what's our job with this kingdom? To hide from it? Judge it? Police it? Go to war with it on Twitter?
Jesus gives a different calling. Matthew 5:14: "You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."
Here's the thing about light: it both guides the lost and illuminates the dark. It points toward where to go while also revealing what to avoid.
And by "avoid," I don't mean Jesus is trying to ruin your party or make sure your life is boring. It's actually out of love that God calls us out of the dark. Sin isn't bad because it's forbidden — it's forbidden because it's bad.
Some things are just no good for anyone. Others aren't so clear-cut, and if you want to be legalistic about it you'll get yourself into trouble. Some of you will go home and have an IPA or a glass of wine — that's fine. But I also have friends in recovery who shouldn't. There are certain shows I personally avoid because of my own history, and some of you wouldn't think twice about them. The point is, I'm not going to hand you an approved list of media and a naughty list. That's the role of the Holy Spirit in your life.
And speaking of which — that's one of the points of Lent. As we participate as a church, it's to create space to seek God, to shake up our routines. Not a checklist or a guilt trip, but an invitation for God to speak into our lives. To look to God to understand the world better, rather than looking to the world to explain God.
The kingdom of the world is a mission field. An opportunity. A warning about what happens when the wrong person is on the throne — and an invitation to renewal.
3. The Kingdom Over the World
You might have thought that was a typo. Kingdom of the world, kingdom over the world — what's the difference? Quite a bit.
1 John 5:19: "We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one." Colossians goes on to explain that the evil one has a kingdom that currently has power over the world.
Now, some of you are already thinking: I'm past that. I'm educated. I'm a modern, progressive thinker. We've evolved beyond these children's stories.
Once upon a time, I agreed. When I was an atheist, one of my favorite things to say to Christian friends was: the only thing crazier than having an imaginary friend is having an imaginary enemy. Because the image of a little guy with a pitchfork hiding in shadows and whispering in politicians' ears — that's absurd, right?
But as I came to faith, I began to notice things that couldn't be explained simply by the sins of the human heart. Yes, I have an ego. I should recycle more. I can be selfish. All of us have parts of us that are genuinely sinful. But there is something — or someone — in this world that goes beyond that. Things like genocide, human trafficking, slavery, political corruption. In our modern age, it's acceptable to call those things evil, to ask whether they're systemic, to condemn them. But to call them satanic — that's old-school grandma's church stuff.
C.S. Lewis, in The Screwtape Letters — a satirical novel written as correspondence between two demons, a senior demon training his nephew Wormwood — makes this point sharply. The book was published in 1942, but one of the demons writes: by calling evil anything other than evil, we are giving it power. Lewis's point is that by stripping the language of spiritual warfare from our vocabulary, we leave ourselves defenseless against it. And 1 Peter 5, Ephesians 6, and James 4 all reinforce this.
Here's what this means: the kingdom of the world — our culture, our communities — is more pawn than perpetrator. Which is exactly why God calls his people to enter in. Not of the world, but in it.
For the kingdom of the world, we enter it, love it, engage it, and work for change within it — while not being changed by it.
But for the kingdom over the world — the kingdom of evil — we fight it. We call it what it is. We lean on the power of Christ. We recognize that whether we like it or not, we are in the middle of a spiritual battle.
I was a chaplain at a homeless shelter for years. And the things I witnessed — the grip of addiction on people I knew to be good, intelligent, loving human beings — I could only describe as attack. I was having a conversation with someone this week who told me: my addiction is about to cost me my job. It's already cost me my marriage. I've been fired twice. And I cannot stop. That is beyond willpower. That is beyond any explanation the kingdom of the world offers. And I said: you can't do it on your own. Let's go to a meeting together. I'll be right there with you.
For some it's influence from the kingdom of the world. For others it's attack from the kingdom over the world. For many of us — and I'll put myself here — it's our own kingdom.
4. The Kingdom of Me
This one is simple. We can either hold tightly to our own self-perceived power, or we can step off the throne and follow Jesus. The call for the Christian is to be used by God to help usher in the kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.
Want to know where to start? The fruit of the Spirit. Love, joy, peace, patience, self-control. This is the picture. The call is to abandon our kingdoms for a better kingdom.
Jesus says in Luke 17 that the kingdom is within you. But it's not you — and it's definitely not me. It's our connection to Jesus. It's the Spirit within us.
Every single one of us has a kingdom. Marriage, for example, is the merging of two kingdoms — which is basically another word for war, but that's a different sermon. When it was just my kingdom, I slept in, spent my money on records, left my socks on the floor. Then another kingdom showed up that likes healthy food and early morning walks and absolutely no socks on the floor. And then you add little kingdoms running around everywhere. But the point is: to follow Jesus is to say, not my will but yours. Not my kingdom, but yours. To step off the throne and say — not only do you belong here, but I'll actually be better off with you in charge.
The question I've been sitting with is: which kingdom is influencing me most right now?
And it's so much easier to apply this to someone else. Those Catholics. Those Baptists. Liberals are so lost. Republicans are so power-hungry. My parents just can't get it together. My neighbors, my spouse, my roommate. We always see it more clearly in someone else. But the invitation is to start closer. To ask: what area of my life am I still on the throne?
And then to bring that to God.
Closing
The kingdom of God we pursue. The kingdom of me we lay down. The kingdom of the world we love and shine in. The kingdom of the enemy we fight against.
That is the call this morning, and every morning, on the road to the cross as we follow Jesus — our Savior and our King.