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Just as the family-friendly, tradition-oriented culture championed by old country (think Alan Jackson’s “Small Town Southern Man”) has undergone a sharp decline over the past couple of decades, so has country music. Traditional country has been largely replaced on the Top 40 charts by what has been dubbed “bro-country” or “stadium country,” which Wikipedia helpfully describes as “a form of country pop originating in the 2010s…influenced by 21st-century hip hop, hard rock and electronica…with lyrics about attractive young girls, the consumption of alcohol, partying, and pickup trucks.”

And he bowedHis head to JesusAnd he stoodFor Uncle SamAnd he only lovedOne womanHe was always proudOf what he had
Alan Jackson, “Small Town Southern Man”

Musical genres don’t have ideologies, but it is true that different genres were created to convey different values. Rock ‘n roll, for example, was a slang phrase for sex—and the entire genre served as the soundtrack for the Sexual Revolution and a coda to cultural rebellion. Country music, on the other hand—which evolved as a fusion of blues, spirituals, and Celtic music—was the music of the rural American (or those who shared their values). As Psychology Today put it: “If all I told you about someone is that she has an abiding love for country and western, how much money would you bet that she’s also a Republican?” Quite a bit, I’d wager.
That is precisely why music has become such a focal point in the culture wars. One of the most interesting essays I’ve come across on country music was written by Will Wilkinson in 2012, when our culture wars were less all-encompassing. Despite country music’s steep decline (more on that later), Wilkinson noted that country has a built-in appeal for a specific sort of American:
Country has an ideology. Not to say country has a position on abortion, exactly. But country music, taken as a whole, has a position on life, taken as a whole. Small towns. Dirt roads. Love at first sight. Hot-blooded kids havin’ a good ol’ time. Gettin’ hitched. America! Raisin’ up ruddy-cheeked scamps who you will surely one day worry are having too good a hot-blooded time. Showing up for Church. Venturing confused into the big wide world only to come back to Alabama forever since there ain’t a…single thing out there in the Orient or Paris, France what compares to that spot by the river under the trembling willows where first you kissed the girl you’ve known in your heart since second grade is the only girl you would ever truly love. Fishin’! How grandpa, who fought in two wars, worked three jobs, raised four kids, and never once complained…
And on it goes. That description now primarily applies to older, traditional country music—most of the newer artists, with a few notable exceptions, are pumping out a pop-lite party product focused on booze and hookups, with the songs and the artists becoming largely interchangeable. But Wilkinson notes that the key reason traditional country music sounds instinctively conservative is because conservatives are, psychologically speaking, less open to new experiences and more oriented towards rootedness and tradition:
More generally, country music comes again and again to the marvel of advancing through life’s stations, and finds delight in experiencing traditional familial and social relationships from both sides. Once I was a girl with a mother, now I’m a mother with a girl. My parents took care of me, and now I take care of them. I was once a teenage boy threatened by a girl’s gun-loving father, now I’m a gun-loving father threatening my girl’s teenage boy. Etc. And country is full of assurances that the pleasures of simple, rooted, small-town, lives of faith are deeper and more abiding than the alternatives…
Country music is a bulwark against cultural change, a reminder that “what you see is what you get,” a means of keeping the charge of enchantment in “the little things” that make up the texture of the every day, and a way of literally broadcasting the emotional and cultural centrality of the conventional big-ticket experiences that make a life a life. A lot of country music these days is culture war, but it’s more bomb shelter than bomb.
Country music was once about embracing a certain type of culture—one that, it bears pointing out, is rapidly dying in many of the very places where country music first originated. And just as the family-friendly, tradition-oriented culture championed by old country (think Alan Jackson’s “Small Town Southern Man”) has undergone a sharp decline over the past couple of decades, so has country music. Traditional country has been largely replaced on the Top 40 charts by what has been dubbed “bro-country” or “stadium country,” which Wikipedia helpfully describes as “a form of country pop originating in the 2010s…influenced by 21st-century hip hop, hard rock and electronica…with lyrics about attractive young girls, the consumption of alcohol, partying, and pickup trucks.”
The advent of bro-country—championed by artists such as Luke Bryan, Chase Rice, and Florida Georgia Line, among others—created what critics, and musicians referred to as a “civil war” within the genre. One bro-country artist stated that he didn’t care about the “old farts” who didn’t like his songs because the kids “don’t want to buy the music you were selling.” Which is probably true, as far as it goes. Once the values promoted by a genre begin to lose their relevance to a new generation, bro-country is a welcome replacement for those who like the sound but prefer less preaching.
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God is too loving to be unkind and too wise to make a mistake. We can trust him even in the dark times. If we do not know what tomorrow holds, that is OK, because we know and love the one who does. And again, that should be very reassuring and comforting, on the most practical of levels. 

In this piece I want to discuss both theological and pastoral aspects to how we believers are to live in the light of the God that we serve. Our God is an infinite, eternal God who is not caught by surprise at what happens. But we are finite, time-bound creatures who can only take one day at a time.
You and I live in time and we cannot fully know the future. But we do have Scripture telling us in broad-brush strokes – as well as in some detail – what the future will be like. There is a big difference between knowing a bit about the end from the beginning and knowing the One who does know the end from the beginning. While we may not know what tomorrow holds, we serve a God who does.
For finite Christians, there is always some uncertainty, apprehension and even fear in what is coming next, both in big matters and little matters. As for the big picture, while we know that one day Christ will return, we may not know how bad things will get first, say in Australia or the West. We may not know if the threat of Putin to engage in nuclear war will materialise in the coming days. We do not know who will win the next American presidential election, and so on.
And on a smaller scale, we do not know all sorts of things. Will I still have my job tomorrow? Will my kids one day accept Christ? Will my friend’s marriage last? Will I make it through this bout of cancer? If successfully treated, will the cancer come back some other time? Will I ever see an overseas loved one again? There are zillions of variables and possibilities in our own lives that we just do not know about and how they will transpire.
So we need faith and confidence in a God who does know about all these things. Let me here use a sporting analogy, then look at a bit of theology, and then try to make a practical conclusion to all this. As to the analogy, I often think about some great sporting event, whether a World Series, or a Grand Slam tennis final, or an AFL Grand Final.
If you happen to strongly support an individual or a team, and you watch the event live – either in person or on the television – it can be a real rough experience. The more emotionally committed you are to the team or player, the more nervous you will be and the more on the edge of your seat you will be. Will he or she win? Will my team prevail?
Let me at this point get a bit personal. I just went through this a few days ago, as have many others. As some of you might know, I am probably 95 per cent cerebral, and perhaps 5 per cent emotional. Not much gets me very stirred up emotionally. But since coming down under I have managed to end up supporting, somewhat passionately, one AFL team.
And as many will know, Saturday the Geelong Cats played in a Grand Final. Given the bad luck they have had over the past decade with finals footy, fans would rightly have been a bit worried. I was, so it was with some fear and trepidation that I sat down to watch the match.
I must have had a bit of emotional investment in the game, because even my stomach was feeling a bit churned up at the start. By halftime things were looking a bit more reassuring, and by the middle of the third quarter we knew it was going to be a big win, so we could then relax and enjoy the rest of the game.
And it was a big win indeed – go Cats. And for die-hard fans, the game is usually replayed the next day. So I watched it a second time – but minus all the angst and anxiety. Because I knew exactly how the game would end, I could sit back and enjoy it from the opening bounce. It was quite different viewing than how it was the day before.
But imagine if a game is much tighter and closer, where the winner is not known until the closing seconds of the game.
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