This is Father Jared Cramer from St. John’s Episcopal Church in Grand Haven, Michigan, here with today’s edition of Christian Mythbusters, a regular segment I offer to counter some common misconceptions about the Christian faith.

Earlier this week I was watching the Grammys, and one of the moments that really stayed with me was the memorial tribute honoring Ozzy Osbourne and his work with Black Sabbath. I know that might surprise some of you—either because I’m a Christian priest, or perhaps because you think I’m too young for his music (which, honestly, would be very kind of you to say). But that moment got me thinking about a myth I had to unlearn when I was younger: the fear I was taught to have of certain kinds of rock and roll.

When I was growing up, especially in evangelical Christian circles, there was a deep anxiety about Satanism lurking in popular culture. In the late Cold War era, with rapid social change, declining trust in institutions, and genuine moral panic about drugs, violence, and youth culture, many Christians were told that the safest response was suspicion. Music became a convenient scapegoat. Bands like KISS or Black Sabbath weren’t just loud or strange; they were portrayed as spiritually dangerous, gateways to corruption, or even tools of the devil.

But here’s the myth: that heavy metal, especially early metal, was primarily about glorifying evil. In reality, much of it was doing exactly the opposite. Black Sabbath’s dark imagery wasn’t an endorsement of violence or Satanism; it was a critique of evil. Their sound reflected the industrial grit, economic anxiety, and moral exhaustion of postwar Britain. They were naming the darkness of the world, not celebrating it. And that’s a deeply biblical move.

Take the song highlighted in the tribute, War Pigs. Written during the Vietnam War, the song is a blistering condemnation of political leaders who send the poor and powerless to die while they themselves remain safe. “Generals gathered in their masses, just like witches at black masses”—that’s not praise. That’s accusation. The song imagines those responsible for war eventually facing judgment for their actions. When it was released in 1970, it became an anthem not just of rock and roll, but of the broader anti-war movement, giving voice to moral outrage many people felt but struggled to articulate.

That’s prophecy. And prophecy doesn’t always come wrapped in polite language or religious packaging.

One of the central Christian convictions I hold is that all truth is God’s truth, no matter where it comes from. Scripture itself is full of unlikely prophets: shepherds, foreigners, women whose voices were ignored, even a talking donkey. God has never limited truth-telling to officially sanctioned religious spaces. Music often takes on that prophetic role. You can hear it in folk artists like Bob Dylan or Joan Baez, in soul and gospel-infused protest songs by Nina Simone, in hip-hop, and yes, even in heavy metal. You can hear it today in artists like Jesse Welles, a folk troubadour who’s been compared to the great social commentators of the past; in his song United Health he criticizes the commodification of care with lines like, “There ain’t no you in United Health, there ain’t no me in the company, there ain’t no us in the private trust.” In Jesse’s music, just like the music of so many who came before him, artists in sist that music can and should challenge the powerful.

So here’s the myth to bust: that God only speaks through “safe” or explicitly religious art. Nothing could be further from the truth. The truth is that God’s Spirit has always been more adventurous than that. Sometimes the clearest moral vision comes from the margins, amplified through distorted guitars and uncomfortable truths.

Rest in power, Ozzy, and rise in glory.

Thanks for being with me. To find out more about my parish, you can go to sjegh.com. Until next time, remember: protest like Jesus, love recklessly, and live your faith out in a community that accepts you but also challenges you to be better tomorrow than you are today.