Pastor Chancelor J. Bennett: Part 1

In a constant “God dream,” Chancelor Bennett–known on stage as “Chance the Rapper”–stands apart from other rappers in his reverent approach to music. While this approach is not uncommon among Christian artists, and other musicians in the religious genre, it is entirely opposite that of most rappers.

Here’s the scene: about 20,000 rap fans push and shove to get as close to the stage as possible. Shoulders bump into heads; elbows hit clavicles; hips shove ribs; feet step on feet. It is one big mess of tangled-up, rowdy humans. They are wearing as little as possible, and the ground is made up almost entirely of empty soda bottles and beer cans. Some of the female attendees used to be wearing glitter on their faces and chests, but at this point, the whole crowd sports a shimmery sheen of sweat and sparkles. People are rolling blunts, smoking cigarettes, and drinking more than they probably should. About twice an hour, a group of audience members decides to push down a whole area of people to storm closer to the front. People fall, others elbow, lean, and shove, and multiple fights almost break out.

Then, Chance takes the stage. All the artists before him asked the crowd to party, to go insane, to put their middle fingers up and scream expletives with them. He does not. Instead, he walks on stage wide-eyed with an innocent smile, and starts rapping immediately. Chance was born in the south side of Chicago in the West Chatham neighborhood. Even though he grew up in a middle class family, his neighborhood’s murder rate is over three times the national average. His senior year of high school, he recorded his first solo mixtape, which he released for free, and he has never signed with a major label. He later went on to release Acid Rap in 2013, followed by Surf (with The Social Experiment and Donnie Trumpet) in 2015, and finally Coloring Book in 2016, which became the first streaming-only album to win a Grammy.

Now, back to the show: As he opens with “Mixtape,” for the first time all day, people stop shoving. His voice is calm and genuine, and every note seems to grow naturally from his soul. Even the curse words sprinkled throughout the lyrics seem meaningful and devout. This is a man who knows where he came from, and appears undeniably grateful to be here. His presence conveys that the performance is not about showing off or having a good time; it is worship.

“Mixtape” flows right into “Blessings,” and the crowd seems to collectively exhale with content. There is no need to push to the front; the audience soaks up every lyric. “Don’t believe in kings, believe in the Kingdom,” Chance raps. He understands that the metaphorical kings of Earth do not always serve the people, but he invites everyone to have faith in the Kingdom of God instead. It is a call to worship, a promise that “when the praises go up (good God) the blessings come down,” and they will come down for them just like they have for him. The crowd sings along, as effortlessly as if the lyrics had been projected on a screen at the front of church.

Fittingly, next comes “Angels.” The crowd is drawn in even more as Chance declares that his critics cannot touch him (na, na, na, na), because he has angels watching over him. Then, somehow, the mood grows even calmer as he begins, “Juke Jam.” He raps so slowly it sounds as if he could be having a normal conversation with someone, and his voice is steady and smooth. Then, a slideshow plays that shows him creating music, performing, and going to the baseball park with Kanye West, who was once his childhood idol, but is now his friend and collaborator.