An Icon in the Dark
A reflection on faith formation, fatherhood, and music as a means of grace.
I have a nightly ritual with my four year old son. As 8pm nears, we jump into his bed and read a book or two—right now he insists on reading the mischievous adventures of Curious George—that is despite my constant efforts to redirect him toward his beautifully illustrated theology readers. After the good little monkey fixes the mess he’s made, we take a few moments to recite a call and response bedtime liturgy that my wife and I adapted from Justin Earley’s Habits of the Household. My son and I then take turns praying. Most of his prayers are expressions of gratitude, but I've recently coached him into the rhythm of narrating his day to God, an elementary Examen if you will. After our amens, he pops out of bed to turn off the light and then quickly shimmies back under the covers for the apex of our ritual: listening to a song.
It’s a precarious thing to play music off an iPhone for a four year old right before bed. Beaming particles of blue light and the interactive weather app interface on my home screen are constant threats to a routine meticulously designed for winding down. It’s a device designed to keep attention, not to cultivate stillness. One night in particular, as I fumbled with my phone in the dark trying to open Spotify, my son asked: “Dad, can we listen to Metallica? They pray in a song.” I was initially caught off guard, but quickly came to understand that my dad’s classic rock playlist had introduced my four year old to “Enter Sandman,” which has a refrain that echoes a “now I lay me down to sleep” prayer that his four year old brain latched onto. I told him plainly, “no, we're not listening to Metallica before bed,” but that we could listen to our regular evening headliner, Jon Guerra.
I was introduced to Guerra by a friend who had seen him play live and had sent me a link to his album Jesus. The first track that stood out to me was “I See the Birds.” It's built around a line from Matthew 6, where Jesus tells his disciples to not be anxious, that the Father who feeds the birds knows exactly what they need. These infamous words from the Sermon on the Mount are an antidote to anxiety that speaks plainly to my heart, with both comfort and conviction in the same breath. Guerra takes the motif and turns it into a poetic, deeply personal prayer. It's a song you can listen to in the dark with a four year old and feel mystically connected to, and compassionately cared for by, the Creator of the universe.
In the last few weeks my son has taken to Guerra’s most recent release, “Just Because You Wanted Us.” On the nights he isn’t overcome by sleep after the first chorus, he asks if I want to see the actions he made up for the song. He then proceeds with a series of randomized wrist rotations, until Guerra sings “one God, one Father, one Son, one Spirit, one God interceding for us.” The only consistent choreography, night after night, is a single finger pressed rhythmically into the darkness each time Guerra sings “one.”
Guerra is shaping my son’s Trinitarian theology, and my insistence on listening to him may be a subtle form of parental payback for being asked to read nightly tales about an impatient and undisciplined monkey. But even more than catechizing my son, I’ve come to recognize that Guerra’s music has been actively ministering to me.
I've spent most of my life around church and Christian spirituality in a professional capacity. I can talk theology with the seminarian, wax on about sermon preparation frameworks and discipleship pipelines, hold my own in nearly any room full of people who do this for a living. But in the darkness of my son’s bedroom, none of that counts for anything. Here, in the dark, Guerra’s music, degraded by my spotty wi-fi connection and squeezed through the pinprick speakers of my iPhone, provides for me a moment of encounter. As my son slips into neverland, the sound of scripture sung fills his subconscious and the melody of the gospel gets stitched into him one repetition at a time. And as for me, in my hearing and remembering that the birds are well fed, and in my son’s recitation of the three-in-oneness of our God, I am met with the presence of the Holy Spirit, reflecting back the goodness of the Saviour. And for five minutes, often from 8:04 to 8:09pm, I'm at rest in the Father’s love.
I don’t know Jon Guerra. I’ve never met him. But most nights, in a dark bedroom, competing with the low hum of the sound machine, he’s the last voice my son and I hear before we let go of the day. Guerra has used his God-given gift to bring an increased measure of beauty into the world. His art hangs in the sanctuary of my son’s bedroom, and like an icon, draws me deeper into the presence of my Creator, the one who called and commissioned me, both to proclaim his gospel, and to raise my son in His way. So thank you Jon, for being a companion on the journey.
Jon Guerra will be at The Pastorate Conference, May 11 to 13, 2027. Come experience music that feels less like Sunday morning worship music, and more like Monday morning prayer music. It’s music for attending to the soul and for listening to God. Listen to Jon Guerra wherever you stream.
About the Author
Jordan Michalski is Director of Ministries, Content, and Communications at The Pastorate, where he produces The Pastorate Podcast and facilitates pastoral formation initiatives that strengthen and support pastors across Canada. He lives in Winnipeg, with his wife, Lauren, and two children.
