LOS ANGELES (AP) \u2014 Indie musician Alex Cameron is known for his transgressive lyrics. So when he started singing passionately about Jesus during his concert in a trendy Los Angeles<\/a> neighborhood, the crowd seemed unsure if he expected them to laugh or worship.<\/p>\n \u201cJesus never had no porno \/ Jesus never had cocaine \/ Jesus never had Ibiza \/ He never even went to Spain,\u201d the Australian singer-songwriter crooned, prompting sporadic chuckles across the venue.<\/p>\n This mix of the absurd and sincere reflects a kind of artistic engagement with existential questions that is increasingly resonating with people, many of whom are disconnected from organized religion. Some scholars even have a name for it: \u201creverent irreverence.\u201d<\/p>\n When Cameron reached the chorus, the laughter stopped. \u201cBut every time he spoke \/ The people gathered round \/ When he washed their feet \/ The demons all came out \/ So when\u2019s he gonna come again?” he sang over a wistful electric guitar.<\/p>\n Funny to some, potentially offensive to others, there\u2019s a palpable earnestness to \u201cJesus Never Had No Porno\u201d and other Cameron songs invoking similar themes.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve been disarmed with laughter. Now you\u2019re kind of open to anything. You\u2019re open to profound sadness or hope,\u201d Cameron said in an Associated Press interview ahead of his album, \u201cLate to Set,” dropping July 24. \u201cThat\u2019s my entire life. It\u2019s serious, but it\u2019s funny.\u201d<\/p>\n This phenomenon of irony collapsing into sincerity is being interpreted by some as a way for younger generations to grapple with ritual, meaning and authenticity, even as participation in organized religion in the United States has dropped dramatically in recent decades.<\/p>\n \u201cReligion is understood as a source of power, whether or not you believe in it,\u201d said Kathryn Lofton, who studies religion and pop culture at Yale University.<\/p>\n As the world feels increasingly chaotic and stripped of moral boundaries, Lofton is seeing more skeptics seeking out sacred settings where they can experience transcendence and community.<\/p>\n Despite the rise of people unaffiliated with an organized religion \u2014 so-called \u201cnones”<\/a> \u2014 it remains a creative touchstone. Its enduring usefulness as a shared language extends to the upper echelons of popular culture, from Beyonc\u00e9\u2019s engagement with Yor\u00f9b\u00e1 religion<\/a> and other African diasporic spirituality, to Rosal\u00eda’s 2025 concept album, \u201cLux,\u201d<\/a> inspired by Catholicism, female saints and mysticism.<\/p>\n These themes are not siloed to overtly evangelistic channels, like contemporary Christian<\/a> radio. But when religion is invoked by comedians or artists whose work is assumed to be funny, it can have a distinct appeal to people who see themselves as impervious to the cultural and political associations with traditional faiths.<\/p>\n \u201cSomeone who is playing with it, is humorous about it, has a sense of irony \u2014 it\u2019s a way for them to engage these kinds of questions and at the same time retain plausible deniability that they really are interested in religion,\u201d said Leigh Eric Schmidt, a professor at Washington University in St. Louis.<\/p>\n Throughout Nathan Fielder\u2019s<\/a> HBO docuseries, \u201cThe Rehearsal,\u201d religion is a recurring theme as he explores ideas surrounding interfaith relationships, antisemitism, forgiveness and numerology.<\/p>\n \u201cI was raised Jewish and I still do all the holidays and stuff,\u201d he narrates in one episode, adding he \u201chadn\u2019t been to synagogue in years because it\u2019s so boring.\u201d<\/p>\n For some fans, ambiguity is what attracts them to Fielder\u2019s humor. \u201cYou never know if he\u2019s serious or not,” said Shelah Marie, a 41-year-old wellness influencer from Atlanta.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s an increasing level of disassociation that we have to feel in order to maintain sanity. It is psychotic, the amount of information that we receive,\u201d she said. \u201cMaybe being absurd is our protection.\u201d<\/p>\n Cameron Winter, the front man of the rock band Geese<\/a>, blurs these lines in his debut solo album \u201cHeavy Metal.\u201d \u201cGod is real, God is real \/ I\u2019m not kidding, God is actually real,\u201d he belts.<\/p>\n Though saying one is \u201cnot kidding\u201d may invite skepticism, his commanding voice carries such gravity that it’s hard to dismiss his proclamation as mere sarcasm.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a fine line,\u201d said Schmidt, who co-organized a series of lectures in 2024 titled \u201cReverent Irreverence: Parody, Religion, and Contemporary Politics.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re not going to convince people that you\u2019re not just making fun of them sometimes.”<\/p>\n One of those talks was on The Church of Stop Shopping, led by director Savitri D and the character of the Reverend Billy, played by actor and playwright William Talen. As this anti-consumerist collective satirizes tropes surrounding conservative Protestant denominations, \u201cirony gives way to an articulation of communal values that are sincerely held,\u201d said sociologist George Gonz\u00e1lez, who wrote a book on the group.<\/p>\nArt still loves religion, regardless of whether people believe in it<\/h2>\n
Making jokes that are \u2018seriously full of God\u2019<\/h2>\n