He did it on platinum albums. On festival stages. In interviews that veered from chaos to confession without warning. Long before faith became a branding lane in hip-hop, Earl Simmons made his belief unavoidable — raw, imperfect and public.
That lifelong tension between devotion and struggle will be formally acknowledged this week, when Simmons is posthumously ordained to the office of minister nearly five years after his death.
The Gospel Cultural Center announced this week that Earl Simmons, the Yonkers rapper known globally as DMX, will be posthumously ordained as a minister during a ceremony scheduled for Saturday at Foster Memorial A.M.E. Zion Church in Tarrytown, New York. Simmons died in April 2021 at age 50.
Founded in 1860, Foster Memorial A.M.E. Zion Church is recognized as a historic Underground Railroad “Safe House,” a designation organizers say mirrors the themes of refuge, struggle and deliverance that ran through Simmons’ music and public life. The ordination is being framed as a symbolic acknowledgment of what the Center calls Simmons’ lifelong ministry — one carried out not from a pulpit, but through microphones, stages and records consumed by millions.
“Earl Simmons wrestled with God in the public square, turning his pain into a ministry of raw truth,” said Bishop Dr. Osiris Imhotep, founder of the Gospel Cultural Center, in a statement announcing the service. “This ordination recognizes the divine calling he fulfilled every time he spoke a prayer into a microphone.”
The Gospel Cultural Center is a faith-based cultural organization that focuses on the intersection of Black history, spirituality and contemporary art. While it is not a traditional denominational authority, the Center has previously organized public ceremonies and educational programming intended to reinterpret cultural figures through a spiritual lens. Organizers emphasized that the ordination is not meant to retroactively position Simmons as a conventional clergy member, but rather to formally recognize the spiritual leadership he exercised in public view.
That leadership was never subtle.
From his 1998 debut “It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot” through the height of his commercial run and beyond, DMX made prayer inseparable from his artistic identity. Nearly every studio album included a spoken or sung prayer — moments of vulnerability that stood in stark contrast to the aggression and volatility surrounding them.
Those prayers weren’t ornamental. They were confessions.
On “Prayer (Skit)” from “It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot,” “Ready to Meet Him” from “Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood,” “Prayer III” on “And Then There Was X,” “Prayer IV” on “The Great Depression,” “Prayer V” on “Grand Champ,” and later “Lord Give Me a Sign” from “Year of the Dog… Again,” Simmons repeatedly returned to the same themes: fear, accountability, temptation, mercy.
He prayed on record the way others flexed — publicly, imperfectly and without reassurance that redemption was guaranteed.
That tension reached its most vivid expression in the “Damien” trilogy, a three-part narrative spread across albums in which Simmons dramatized conversations with the devil, temptation embodied, and the internal war between faith and self-destruction. Rather than resolve the conflict, the songs left it open — a refusal of tidy salvation arcs that made his spiritual struggle feel uncomfortably real.
Off record, the pattern continued. DMX frequently broke into prayer during concerts, award appearances and interviews, moments that disarmed audiences and confounded expectations of what a rap superstar was supposed to sound like. His faith was not performative piety; it was confrontation.
The ordination announcement has been met with reflection rather than spectacle — a response that mirrors Simmons’ complicated legacy. For many fans, the idea of DMX as a minister feels less like reinvention and more like acknowledgment of something already present.
In April 2021, following Simmons’ death, Black Westchester published a tribute issue examining his cultural and spiritual impact. In an essay titled “DMX Was a Modern-Day Paul the Apostle,” the argument wasn’t that Simmons was righteous, but that he was relentless — unwilling to separate belief from brokenness.
That refusal is what made his prayers resonate then — and why they still do.
The upcoming service does not resolve the contradictions that defined Earl Simmons’ life. It doesn’t erase addiction, violence or failure. It doesn’t pretend faith fixed what suffering didn’t.
What it does — carefully, symbolically — is place those contradictions inside a longer Black spiritual tradition: one that allows testimony without triumph, prayer without purity, and ministry without perfection.
For an artist who spent his career asking God for strength rather than forgiveness, that framing may be the most honest recognition of all.




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