If religious orders were music genres …

Ever wonder what religious orders would sound like if they were music genres? It’s a question no one asked—yet now you won’t stop thinking about it.

Let’s be honest: centuries-old habits (pun intended) can seem distant from today’s earbuds and playlists. But in reality, each order brings its own rhythm to the Church, like a divine mixtape. So here’s our take on seven classic Catholic orders as musical moods. Press play.

They’re barefoot. They love the countryside. Folk music is all about authenticity (“three chords and the truth,” they say) and acoustic joy — exactly the vibe of a Franciscan friar strumming praise to Brother Sun. Bonus: They’d probably compost the sheet music. Imagine St. Francis as the original indie folk singer-songwriter, preaching to the birds, unconcerned with fame but totally booked at every medieval town square.

Structured? Yes. Improvised? Also yes. Jesuits are the musical equivalent of a Thelonious Monk solo played in a Catholic university hall. They read (at least) five (modern) languages and casually fight heresies before breakfast. Basically, it’s jazz with a PhD. But don’t be fooled — beneath the academic brilliance is a deep, contemplative pulse. Think Miles Davis meets St. Ignatius: subtle, intense, and world-changing.

The Order of Preachers wouldn’t settle for just one genre. They’d open with a medieval chant, then drop a theologically dense monologue in flawless verse. Think Thomas Aquinas with a mic. Truth, but make it lyrical. Dominicans are the original content creators — equal parts beauty and argument. It’s liturgical rap with incense *drops mic*

And then there are the Hillbilly Thomists — same Dominican DNA, but with fiddles, harmonies, and a dobro. These bluegrass-playing friars might seem more front porch than pulpit, but make no mistake: they’re preaching. Their albums chart on Billboard and their tours crisscross the country like a catechism on wheels. Call them the Appalachian exception.

Benedictines don’t rush. They chant the hours, brew beer, and somehow make “stability” sound poetic. Their soundtrack? Peaceful polyphony, designed for praying and possibly sourdough baking. It’s music that is mysteriously compatible with a vow of silence.

Their lives are essentially Spotify’s “Monastic Moods” playlist — but 1,500 years ahead of the algorithm.

The quietest order with the loudest mystics. Carmelites live for solitude and the deep interior life. Their genre would be a minimalist ambient track that slowly rearranges your soul — perfect for cooking with St. Teresa of Avila (never forget that “the Lord walks among the pots and pans”) or writing with John of the Cross. But, oh, surprise, there are no lyrics — just the echo of the divine in stillness. It’s the music of the soul’s night shift.

Founded for street kids, loved by teens, and powered by joy. Salesians are pop (indeed, “S-pop”) — with meaningful lyrics, a beat you can clap to, and at least one key change that sounds like hope. Warning: may include impromptu skits. They’re the pop stars of religious life with a side of basketball ministry and heartfelt life advice.

If a single note could last 45 minutes and still be profound, that’s Trappist music. Silence is their jam (literally), and their life is basically a spiritual remix of “Be still and know that I am God” — on loop, forever. Their genre isn’t really music. It’s the sacred hum of time passing slowly enough to notice God.

So next time you’re struggling to pray, consider curating your own spiritual soundtrack. Because yes, the Church sings in many voices — and some of them sound like folk, jazz, or divine lo-fi. As St. Augustine famously didn’t say, “He who playlists prays twice.”