1. Songs point people to the church/movement behind them

The case. For many people, a song is how they first come across a church. They hear a song on a Sunday, save it on Spotify, and the algorithm serves up albums, sermons and podcasts from that church or group.

The response.

• If leadership can explain why a song was picked, the congregation can understand that songs are chosen for their content, which can build discernment.
• Many congregants couldn't actually tell you who wrote most of what they sing.
• If people are taught to read their Bibles and test everything (1 Thessalonians 5:21; Acts 17:11), one song by a certain writer isn't what sends them off course. If a congregation is soaking up a church's theology uncritically, that's a teaching problem that removing songs won't fix.
• Co-writing is so common that the algorithm is very likely to recommend these churches anyway (see writer connections).

The counter. Shepherding is the ideal, but leaders don't have a say in what a church member consumes throughout the rest of the week. Mature believers may be able to separate a song from its source, but some church members aren't biblically literate enough to recognise false teaching, and may assume a church's teaching is safe because their own church sings its songs. Shepherding reduces the risk but doesn't remove it.

Conclusion. It's a risk, but one that many will feel is manageable. It's stronger for songs whose identity is tightly bound to a single church or movement. It's weaker for songs that have become common property across many churches.

2. Using a song funds the ministry behind it

The case. Songs from places like Bethel Music, Hillsong Music and Elevation Worship are tied to the ministries themselves. When a church uses their songs, royalties flow back and may help pay for things you object to. Even if each church's share is small, thousands of churches add up to a lot of money.

How licensing works. The common assumption is half right. Most churches that use contemporary songs hold a blanket licence, commonly from CCLI. The annual fee is priced by church size, so using a particular song doesn't change what your church pays. But licence holders are required to report the songs they use, and the pooled fees are distributed to publishers and writers based on that. The money leaves your church regardless, and what your song choices decide is how your share is divided.

The response.

• The amounts are minuscule. You can say any amount is too much, but that shifts from a practical argument to a matter of principle.
• The line is arbitrary. Almost everything a church buys has a morally mixed supply chain: the projector, the PA, the coffee. And you almost certainly already sing songs from churches and publishers whose wider ministry you know little about. Why does the money argument only bite on certain names?
• It's not clear cut that the money funds anything bad. It assumes royalties flow specifically into the things you object to rather than staff, buildings or charitable work.
• Paying people for good work is biblical. "The labourer deserves his wages" (1 Timothy 5:18; Luke 10:7). If a song is good and you use it, its writers are owed fair compensation.

The counter. The "everything is compromised" point can theoretically excuse anything. Not being able to be perfectly consistent doesn't stop you choosing where you can act. The supply-chain comparison also has limits: a store isn't a ministry teaching theology to your people, so funding one is a different kind of decision. Those who make this argument usually limit it to teaching they regard as false, not to secondary disagreements (see section 4).

Conclusion. The cost is real but tiny, it's spread across co-writers, and the same logic is rarely applied consistently. It carries more weight for songs written and published entirely by the ministry itself, rather than co-writes.

3. Would we sing it if a non-Christian group wrote it?

The case. We wouldn't use a song written by a Jehovah's Witness or Latter-day Saint, even if every line was biblically accurate, so the author must matter. If it matters for them, why not for a church whose theology we also think is seriously wrong?

The response. Groups outside historic Christianity don't confess Jesus as Lord and God in the orthodox sense. They wouldn't write a song that affirms what we affirm, because doing so would contradict their beliefs. Bethel, Hillsong and Elevation do confess Christ, His death and resurrection, however much you might dispute their wider theology. Treating them as equivalent to groups outside the faith is a much bigger claim than "we disagree with them". The church has also always sung songs by flawed writers.

• David, a man guilty of adultery and murder, wrote much of the Psalter, and the church has sung his words for three thousand years.
• Isaac Watts (When I Survey; Joy To the World) later wrote speculatively on the Trinity and the pre-existent human soul of Christ, which drew accusations of Arianism. His major hymn collections were published 1707-1719, and he didn't begin writing on the Trinity until 1722.
• Horatio Spafford (It is Well) later rejected eternal punishment, taught universalism, and led a sect. It is Well was written in 1873, while he was still an elder in good standing in an orthodox Presbyterian church. His drift came after 1880.
• Martin Luther (A Mighty Fortress is Our God) wrote antisemitic works later in life.

The pattern supports the song-first view: the hymns were sound, and churches continued to sing them while knowing about the writers.

Likewise, Calvinists sing Charles Wesley, Arminians sing Toplady, and evangelicals sing hymns by Catholics such as Newman ("Praise to the Holiest") and Faber ("There's a Wideness in God's Mercy"). Many beloved tunes were written by composers who weren't believers at all: Vaughan Williams, an agnostic, wrote Sine Nomine ("For All the Saints") and Down Ampney ("Come Down, O Love Divine").

The counter. David repented (Psalm 51). Sin in a writer's past is one thing, but continuing, unrepentant influence is another. And nobody streams Horatio Spafford - a dead hymn writer has no platform, no conference, no school, and no publishing house that profits today. Bethel and Elevation are living, active institutions with a pipeline from song to content, so the historical examples answer the "flawed writer" objection, but not the attention or money objections.

Even so, that objection isn't applied consistently either. Matt Maher (Lord I Need You) is a living Roman Catholic, with albums, streaming and royalties like any other. Many evangelical churches that would have serious doctrinal objections to Catholicism sing his songs without much debate.

Conclusion. Unless the false-teacher charge in section 4 holds, the non-Christian comparison fails because these writers profess Christ, and church history shows that a writer's flaws have rarely on their own disqualified a sound song. The platform question is better handled under attention, money and false teachers.

4. Are these churches false teachers, or just wrong?

The case. The strongest form of the argument isn't "we disagree with them", but that these churches teach a different gospel. Scripture tells church leaders to guard their people from false teachers (Acts 20:28-30; Galatians 1:6-9; 2 Timothy 4:1-4). On this view, professing Christ isn't enough if what's taught about Him is false. Most churches wouldn't sing a song written by an organization whose message actively opposes the gospel, even if every line were true.

The response.

• "False teacher" is a specific charge. In the New Testament, it describes those who deny or distort the gospel, rather than those who are wrong on secondary matters. Some passages (2 Peter 2; Jude) also mark false teachers out by greed and immoral living, which is where some critics place concerns about prosperity teaching and leadership conduct. Applying the charge means showing one of these, not just that a church holds errors on things like spiritual gifts or worship practice.
• A song isn't a pulpit. Singing a vetted lyric endorses those words, not the person who wrote them.
• The three commonly referred to in this argument aren't the same. Concerns about Bethel are mainly doctrinal; concerns about Hillsong are mainly about governance and leaders' conduct; and concerns about Elevation are mainly about shallow preaching, associations with prosperity teaching, and some contested statements about the Trinity. Each may be serious, but they're different problems, and one verdict for all three is hard to defend.
• The burden of proof is on the one making the claim. Calling a church a false teacher is a serious claim, and criticism online doesn't make it true. (The internet can spread gossip, untruth, and claims with lack of proof very quickly). It has to be shown from what the church actually teaches about Christ and the gospel; teaching that is unusual, or that you'd disagree with, isn't the same as a different gospel. If the charge can't be shown, the church should be treated like any other church we differ from on secondary matters.

The counter. Endorsing the words still puts the writer's name on your screen and their song in your people's playlists. If the charge of false teaching is true, sections 1 and 2 become much stronger. Some would put the 'burden of proof' the other way round: rather than needing proof before avoiding these songs, a church should need a good reason before using them, and should pick songs from sources it trusts first.

Conclusion. This is actually the question everything else hinges on. If you're convinced a church teaches a false gospel and can clearly articulate why, avoiding its songs follows naturally. If you see them as errant brothers and sisters, the rest of this page applies.

5. Is a song tainted by who its writers work with?

The case. Even if a writer isn't from one of these churches, working closely with them, recording on their albums or co-writing with them shows a level of alignment.

The response. Modern worship songwriting is heavily collaborative, and the same writers move between camps:

• "Living Hope", a staple in many Reformed-leaning churches, was co-written by Phil Wickham and Bethel's Brian Johnson.
• Matt Redman ("10,000 Reasons") and Mitch Wong ("Behold Him") have both appeared on Bethel releases, and Redman has written with Elevation and Hillsong writers.
• CityAlight have collaborated with Hillsong musicians and writers. They've also written with Matt Redman.
• The Gettys have written with Phil Wickham, who has written with Bethel.

Follow this through and very little survives. If the rule is "no connections", it's unworkable. If it's "some connections", nobody can say where the line falls, and a line you can't explain is one a congregation can't learn from.

For many writers, we have no idea what they believe beyond the song in front of us. A rule that rejects any song unless every writer is known to agree with you results in rejecting almost everything or applying it only to well-known names.

Using songs from an associated writer also brings back the 'algorithm' argument from section 1. If your argument for not using songs from certain sources is that they'll be recommended by the algorithm, then you're back to square one, because the algorithm is highly likely to recommend them through the likes of Matt Redman, CityAlight and the Gettys anyway.

A useful parallel is 1 Corinthians 10:25-29. Paul says to eat whatever is sold in the meat market "without raising any question on the ground of conscience". But if someone tells you it was offered to idols, don't eat it, for the sake of their conscience. Applied here: don't investigate every writer's connections as if the song is guilty until proven innocent. But when a song's origin is causing someone a real crisis of conscience, that changes things (see conscience and unity).

The counter. Critics would say there's a difference between a writer who has co-written once and an institution's in-house output. Drawing a line at songs written and published entirely by the ministry is at least explainable, even if it's imperfect.

Conclusion. This is fairly weak as a general principle, because it can't be applied consistently. The most defensible version is narrow: favour co-writes and widely shared songs over songs that are purely in-house and tied to a brand - and say plainly that this is a preference, rather than a test of orthodoxy.

6. What the songs themselves teach

Scripture treats congregational singing as teaching: we sing to one another, teaching and admonishing (Colossians 3:16; Ephesians 5:19). People often remember songs long after they've forgotten sermons, so a church's songbook works as a statement of what it believes, and church leaders are responsible for it just as they are for preaching.

The case. Some songs carry a movement's distinctive emphases even when no single line is heretical:

• spiritual warfare framing, where worship is a weapon that shifts things in the heavenlies
• an emphasis on encounter, presence and feeling over truth
• vague or interchangeable lyrics ("you" could be anyone), focused on me, with little of the cross, sin or resurrection
• contested phrases such as "reckless love", which can be defended but need explaining
• declaration theology, where speaking or singing something is treated as making it happen (see Digging Deeper)

The deeper point is formation. One song does little, but a repertoire built mostly from one stream teaches those instincts over years.

The response. That's an argument for vetting each song, not for ruling out sources. Plenty of songs from these churches pass a careful lyric review, and plenty of songs from other sources fail it. Passing a lyric check isn't the whole test either. A repertoire can be orthodox line by line and still be thin. Over a year, does it cover sin and forgiveness, the second coming, God's character, and the Psalms?

Conclusion. This is a strong argument about songs, but not about sources. The source can raise the level of scrutiny (where a church or movement has known distinctives, look for them), but it doesn't settle the verdict on its own.

7. Monoculture

The case. A handful of sources dominate, crowding out other traditions and local songwriting. They also shape what people expect worship to sound and feel like: arena arrangements, keys pitched for the leader rather than the congregation, long emotional builds.

The response. That's true, but the fix is to broaden your repertoire, rather than banning specific sources. You can sing a Bethel song in a congregational key with a simple arrangement and without the bridge sung six times.

Conclusion. It's a good reason to cap how much comes from any one source and to arrange songs for the congregation, but not a reason to exclude a source completely.

8. Conscience and unity

The case. Romans 14 and 1 Corinthians 8-10 call the stronger to limit their freedom for the sake of the weaker. Here, that can apply to three groups:

• Those who object. Some members know the background and can't sing these songs in good conscience.
• Those who might be led in. In 1 Corinthians 8, the "weak" are mainly those who might be led into harm by what they see others doing (8:10-11). Here, that would be the member who trusts a song because their church sings it and follows it into the teaching behind it. A church is responsible for that pastoral effect, even if its leaders feel free to sing the song.
• Those who have come out. People who have left these movements, sometimes after genuine harm. For some, the songs are tied to experiences they're still recovering from, and hearing them in a new church could be painful.

The response. That principle is real, but it has limits. It's about not causing someone to sin against their conscience, and isn't a veto for preference. If one member's objection decides the repertoire for everyone, the strongest objector always rules. The second group is answered by teaching and shepherding (see section 1). The third is different: if there are people like that in your congregation, that is a strong reason to rest certain songs, even if they would otherwise pass.

Conclusion. This works in both directions. Leaders should take troubled consciences seriously and be open about their criteria. Members who are troubled should raise it privately and kindly, rather than campaigning. Churches land in different places on this - using these songs doesn't make a church leader a false teacher, and avoiding them doesn't make someone a Pharisee. The best step is usually a conversation, and perhaps holding off on a particular song for a while, rather than a church-wide ban.

The consistency test

The question that runs through every argument is consistency. Objections to these songs tend to land on three famous names, and the same scrutiny often isn't applied to the many lesser-known publishers, churches and writers.

A rule based on the source can also change over time. Writers and churches that seem uncontroversial today may become controversial in the future, and some songs that were sung widely for years only became contested after later scandals or changes in teaching. A source-based approach means being willing to drop well-loved songs from your church's repertoire when that happens. Some will see that as a reason to judge songs solely on their content instead; others will say that if a source has gone wrong, dropping its songs is the right thing to do.

The test cuts both ways. If the main reason for using a song is that it's popular, familiar or works emotionally, that's not discernment. Popularity isn't a measure of truth. The case for using a song has to rest on it being good - and hopefully this website can help you easily find such songs.

Ultimately, some worship leaders will find that one of the above arguments is strong enough to outweigh the others. This is a "conviction" area, and each person has to decide for themselves where the line is and be sure they can explain it. Whatever you decide, don't let the worship debate get in the way of worship itself.