U2
How can we use a Catholic imagination to envision what the world could be?
Ask me to pick one single favorite song, and I won’t hesitate – it’s “Beautiful Day” by U2.
It's been my go-to favorite song ever since it came into my life the summer I turned sixteen. In the same way a batter cracks open a line drive and turns it into a home run, U2's music collided with my strange mix of teenage angst and hope and carried me into young adulthood.
Very grainy photo of me and my BFF at the U2 360° tour in 2011. It was incredible.
I’ll be honest with you: I understand that it might be controversial to write about an Irish rock band in a newsletter devoted to the Catholic imagination. While many people automatically associate Ireland with Catholicism, the truth is the long-standing tension between Catholicism and Protestantism in Ireland is deep and personal, political and religious, and often (but not always) violent.
Bono himself, the lead singer of the rock band, lived through such tension. In his memoir Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story, Bono talks about being raised by a Protestant mother and a Catholic father. Early in the book, he proclaims his Christian faith without explicitly taking a side: “I took Jesus with me everywhere and I still do. I’ve never left Jesus out of the most banal or profane actions of my life.”1
Indeed, there is a certain sense of enchantment present in songs like “Beautiful Day,” and “City of Blinding Lights.” Bono's lyrics reveal a willingness to see beyond our physical reality to the spiritual realm that lies above, below, and around us, and a desire to recover that innocent wonder when it is lost.
But there is something else I love about U2’s music and lyrics. Present in them is a hopeful restlessness, a holy struggle, a clear longing for something more. In the quickening of Larry’s drums, in the progression of Edge’s electric guitar chords, in the deep and steady rhythm of Adam’s bass, in the earnestness of Bono’s voice, I hear them wrestling with love and loss, faith and doubt. And it is beautiful.
That’s because wrestling is a challenge that is meant to strengthen, not hurt or defeat, its participants. In the sport of wrestling, opponents are carefully and equally matched by weight to prevent injuries. In the ancient world, soldiers in the same legion wrestled each other as part of their training to strengthen and sharpen their battle skills.
The wrestling I sense in U2’s music demonstrates both a vision and a strength I find necessary for a life of faith that pursues justice.
Examining this wrestling further has expanded my definition of the Catholic imagination. My initial understanding of the Catholic imagination involved seeing the physical things of this world as windows that point us toward the unseen spiritual reality that surrounds us. But now I’m realizing that having a Catholic imagination also means being able to look at this broken, fallen world – with its many varied colors of profound suffering – and imagine what it could be. To see the possibility of peace, unity, and human flourishing — things that are inherent to the Kingdom of God, things that Catholics are called to pray and work for — and then discern how to bring us one step closer to this lofty and ultimate destination. This is the kind of Catholic imagination I see at work both in Bono’s songwriting and his life as a human rights activist.
To start, there is a deep longing for a clear yet unrealized vision in so many of his lyrics. In “Where the Streets Have No Name,” he sings:
I wanna feel sunlight on my face
I see the dust-cloud
Disappear without a trace
I wanna take shelter
From the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
These lyrics feel like a search for a place where suffering has ended and unity reigns as the material things that typically divide us fade away, a place that sounds a lot like the Kingdom of God.2 In “One,” Bono seems to take a page out of Catholic Social Teaching, recognizing the responsibility we share for the members of our human family, while still acknowledging our God-given differences:
One love, one blood
One life, you got to do what you should
One life, with each other
Sisters, brothers
One life but we're not the same
We get to carry each other, carry each other
But Bono doesn’t stop with lyrics. He has put his vision into action time and again, both in direct service to the poor and by advocating for justice within some of the most powerful halls of government. As I was reading his memoir, I was particularly struck by his vivid descriptions of living and volunteering in Ethiopia for a month with his wife Ali, and then lobbying President Clinton to join with other world leaders to forgive the debts of developing nations.
While I can’t say for sure that I agree with every single policy that Bono has ever promoted (this is a faith + culture newsletter, not a political one!), I do admire the fact that both his art and his actions demonstrate a commitment to his values, which are so clearly rooted in his faith: “Fame is currency,” Bono says. “I want to spend mine on the right stuff.”3 A rock star of his caliber — or anyone living a life of privilege, for that matter — might prefer to remain isolated in a bubble of comfort. But Bono, alongside countless other less-famous activists, has answered Jesus’ call to use his voice on behalf of the common good.
This is not easy to do. Pursuing justice is really hard work. It is often overwhelming and disheartening. The activist must remain strong – even in the face of struggle – in order to see her vision into reality. So perhaps it’s this kind of Catholic imagination that keeps an activist going on the days that inevitably feel impossible or futile: the kind that can see what could – or should – be, and wrestle with it, gaining strength from it, for the journey to the Kingdom of God ahead.
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What I’ve been reading and writing lately:
Did you know there are some very cool people writing very cool fiction on Substack? Bridget Riley and S.E. Reid are great authors to start with if you want to dive into the world of serial Sci-Fi/Fantasy!
This summer has seen a bumper crop in my writing: I’ve published three more articles online since my last post! Here are the links if you’re interested:
Coming up…
I’m heading back to poetry next time to talk about one of my all-time favorite poems. What’s one of yours? Leave a comment or tag me in a Note!
Bono, Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story. Knopf Books, 2022, p. 48.
Interestingly, at the end of chapter 15 in Surrender, Bono writes about how this song is often the climax of one of their live shows. While Bono explains that this song invites the audience to allow the music to transport them someplace else, I can’t help but notice that the band intentionally places a song with so much longing at the heart of their live performances. It’s almost like this is the core message that they want to communicate to whoever is listening: there is something more, something better, somewhere else — let’s go find it together.
Bono, p. 357.
I love this piece and so much of it resonates with my experience: discovery in high school, passionate following in my twenties (Rob and I waited all day in line to stand inside the stage loop during the 360 tour — it was absolutely worth it!)
It was hard for me to swallow the band’s party-line liberal stance on abortion a few years ago. It contradicts their efforts in so many other areas to preserve and affirm life, as you’ve pointed out here. But their music will always move me, even when their politics does not. Thanks for the reminder.
Love this, such beautiful writing! Hope to bump into you again sometime soon!