As we poured out into the Manhattan streets I saw the potential of tens of thousands of people who had been reminded that the status quo isn’t good enough for a lot of people in the world. Discontent can function as a seed of awakening in a society, and I could feel the fruit of that awakening growing inside of me through an evening of discontented reminder. Imagine if we could channel that sort of discontent into churches and communities in a way that made us respond not in the sin of anarchy but in the love of the Kingdom of God. Imagine if we took the time to hammer our rage on the anvil of love until it turned into a tool useful for human flourishing?

The early reviews were gushing, ready to anoint Taylor not just as a queen of pop but as a decent candidate for the UK’s next Prime Minister. But then, as a few days passed, the curmudgeons emerged from the dark wood paneled writing pits they inhabit with critiques so vociferous, so grumpy and so personal that you would swear that Ms Swift murdered one of their children with one of the many synthesizers that she wields on this record.