You can add Nathan Evans Fox to the list of artists who are in the country music scene without entirely being of it. Or maybe it’s better to say Fox is operating in a purer, livelier stratosphere of country music that neither needs nor wants the approval of the Nashville ruling class. So far, he’s doing just fine. His “Hillbilly Hymn (Okra and Cigarettes)” made a viral splash; a rich tune in the tradition of old Appalachian spirituals that envisions a cop-free Heaven where “the rich get scared” and “the guns are all for shootin’ clays.”

If asked to pick one Lady Gaga song to encapsulate who she is and what she stands for, you’d be hard pressed to come up with a better choice than “Born This Way.” Released in 2011, the song is a vibrant, full-body dance anthem that calls on listeners to celebrate who they are. “God makes no mistakes,” she sings in the refrain. “I’m on the right track, baby / I was born this way.” The song was immediately embraced upon release, particularly by the LGBTQ+ community. 

As it turns out, this wasn’t the first time a song by that name made that kind of impact. In 1977, Motown Records released the disco anthem “I Was Born This Way,” an upbeat tune featuring a largely unknown Black gospel singer who responds to critics with a refrain that was a head-turner for its time: “I’m happy. I’m carefree. And I’m gay. I was born this way.”

Released five years ago, Kristin Kobes Du Mez’s Jesus and John Wayne: How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation is no orindary history book. Since it published, the treatise on militant Christian masculinity has shaped conversations about Trumpism in both Christian and secular spaces. A surprise New York Times bestseller, the book resonated with many readers who found that it clarified their own experiences of growing up in the American evangelical subculture — and it drew criticism from others who found it to be an unfair takedown of conservative Christianity.

Now, it has a theme song.

I’VE SPENT MOST of my life explaining to people why movies and TV shows are more than just a way to pass time. My favorite screen stories — serial or cinematic — help me connect with their creators or the depicted characters. Narratives help us make sense of our experiences and recognize ways we can help others consider their own. Jesus knew this when he told parables, using stories to communicate some of his most important teachings on how we should live generously and faithfully.

A sci-fi series about a robot who struggles to relate to human beings may seem an unlikely example of how good storytelling helps us walk through the world. But that’s what the Apple TV+ show Murderbot offers.

MICHAEL ALBERTUS’ THESIS is both simple and grand: “Land is power.” From the earliest settlements of Mesopotamia to the land reforms of Communist China, Albertus insists that control of land has played a central role in intensifying economic disenfranchisement, ecological destruction, and racial and gender inequality. Too often, a minority has centralized land to plunder for resources, no matter the cost.

In Land Power, Albertus, a professor of political science at the University of Chicago, calls the past two centuries of large social redistributions of land the “Great Reshuffle.” These transformations, which continue today, have taken various forms.

In 2002, director Danny Boyle and screenwriter Alex Garland released a post-apocalyptic horror movie that would redefine the zombie genre forever. 28 Days Later was not only ambitious for its experimental cinematography and reliance on relatively obscure actors, but also because of its critical commentary on violence and militarism. Boyle and Garland have partnered up again for the newest installment in the 28 Days Later film series, with the release 28 Years Later (now playing in theaters).

There’s nothing wrong with a gross and scary zombie movie that just stops there, but the 28 Days Later film series offers more than jump scares and blood-barfing, fast-moving zombies, which are called “infected” in the films.

IN MAY, THE Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, located in Harlem, N.Y., celebrated its 100th anniversary. Originally known as the 135th Street Branch Library Division of Negro Literature, History and Prints, it is named after Arturo Schomburg, a Black Puerto Rican from Santurce, Puerto Rico. He moved to New York City when he was 17 and is widely considered one of the great luminaries of the Harlem Renaissance.

Schomburg recalled an encounter with his fifth grade teacher, who told him, “Black people have no history, no heroes, no great moments.” That moment left an indelible mark. He would go on to dedicate his life to collecting artifacts, papers, and works of art from Africa and across the African diaspora. In his seminal essay, “The Negro Digs Up His Past,” Schomburg referred to his 10,000-item collection as “vindicating evidences.”

Since learning about Schomburg, I have reflected on how, as a Latino, Schomburg could have chosen to suppress the story of his own Blackness. Instead, he embraced his full Puerto Rican identity, Blackness and all.

Sojourners spoke with DeBlois about the film’s relevancy, the importance of wonder in the creative process, and filmmaking as an act of faith.

“Inside the soul of this accountant who loves his job and loves his wife and loves his son, is this dancer,” Hiddleston said during a press conference. “And that might be true of anyone you know or anyone you see on the street … Inside that human being is greater breadth and depth and range than we could possibly imagine.”