No, Bubba Shouldn't Drive Your Worship Choices
A Better Criteria for Evaluating What Makes It into the Worship Set
The modern worship culture is… interesting. CCM has been rocked by massive issues and scandals. Worship music is more focused on sounding relevant than reverent. And beware even trying and suggest working a hymn into your setlist rotation unless you want to be laughed at. It seems that everyone wants to have an opinion about what not to do on a Sunday morning during an order of service, but very few want to suggest a better way.
The resurgence of critique can (arguably) be traced to Brandon Lake’s recent comments on Bryce Crawford’s podcast, where he uses "Bubba" as a shorthand for someone who is not deeply embedded in Christian culture and might not understand the typical language or traditions of church services. It all stems back to the question regarding for whom the worship service exists: is it for the believer or the non-believer? Admittedly, I can find agreement in the response, but not in the way that the responders may want someone theologically trained and highly educated to identify.
Every conservative evangelical commenter who has a YouTube or Instagram following has dropped a post admonishing Lake, saying in some way, shape, or form that his view of the Sunday morning worship service is wrong and that he needs to reevaluate his position. Now, as someone who has spent exhaustive time digging into the church’s position in the greater community, as well as someone who has spent the majority of the “modern worship movement” as a leader in churches ranging from 300 to 30,000, I can confidently and authoritatively say that these individuals are asking the wrong question concerning the issue at hand. We are not evaluating Lake’s comments appropriately because we approach them with a bias against his association rather than an inspection of the biblical account.
Let me be forthcoming in this moment: I do not agree with the conclusion to which Brandon Lake comes. Furthermore, I do not agree with the conclusion to which his most vocal critics come either. I do believe there is a biblically based mediatorial position that exists where the worship service both invites the newcomer into affirming spiritual truths and the member into expressing the words found within that may be too much for normal words. Often, a “middle spot” is not the best decision on which to land in the theological community; yet, it stands to reason, experience, tradition, and biblical example that such a middle ground is necessary and expedient.
If, as the apostle Paul writes, that he became all things to all people so that by all means he might save some (1 Cor. 9:22 ESV[1]), does it not stand to reason that we must adapt our approaches to fit the cultural context in which we exist so that we meet the felt need within our modern communities? Is it not a biblical example from the same pillar of faith, found in Acts 17, that we appropriately interact with the dominant voices of the day for the express purpose of pointing to the better option in the Person and work of Christ our Lord? I am hard-pressed to find refutation of these assertions, and if there are such, I would greatly disagree.
What I am asserting here is that the direction in which our modern worship music is trending is not one that reflects the biblical model of response to God. It is also not as far-fetched as what some would claim. I believe that if we look to the model of the Scriptures, we will see what the appropriate aim of our worship should be. I think we would find that the verbiage, language, and heart behind passages found throughout the canon point us to one singular, moving, and transformational idea: if we pray it, we should be able to sing it.
Think about this for a moment. If you grew up in the church, you may know the oft-quoted formula suggested by many pastors for our prayers: acknowledge who God is, confess your sins, thank Him for His gifts, and give supplication for your needs. Is this not also the standard formula in most of the Psalms we read? Can we not see in David’s songs, like Psalms 22, 32, and 51 to name a very select few, that he follows such a pattern of acknowledging God’s greatness, his own personal weakness, and asking for God’s intervention? The Psalms in and of themselves are a unique piece of literature, owing their structure to mankind offering thoughts, reflections, and outbursts at times to God. They are not always an account of God speaking directly to His people, which make them all the more pertinent to our discussion on worship songs within the communal gathering.
In what follows, I hope to offer a theology of worshipping that informs, encourages, and admonishes you as you return praise to God for what He has done. Such a theology consists of a three-pronged approach to how we evaluate the songs we use and choose in both corporate gatherings and personal devotional moments: God is in control, He wants the real you, and He is not afraid of hard things. Thus, if these three components ring true, as I believe they do throughout the library of Scripture, then we must come to a singular conclusion that our songs sung in response to God should resemble our prayers and express what we hold dear enough about which we pray.
God Is in Control: Worship as Response to the Sovereign King
Worship, rightly understood, begins with God — not with us. It is not driven by what we feel, prefer, or hope to experience, but by who He is and what He has revealed. The vision of Isaiah 6 confronts us with this truth in radiant clarity: God is “high and lifted up,” seated on His throne, while angelic beings cover their faces and cry out, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts” (Isa. 6:1–3). Isaiah’s response is immediate and sobering: he is undone, not entertained. In the presence of God’s holiness, his first instinct is not celebration but confession — “Woe is me!” (v. 5). This scene is not just descriptive; it is formative. Worship begins with reverence because God alone is worthy of it.
The heavenly throne room in Revelation 4 and 5 offers a parallel image: twenty-four elders cast down their crowns, and living creatures cry out day and night before the enthroned Lord. They do not sing about themselves. They do not focus on their emotions. They declare God’s glory and power, giving all honor to Him as Creator and Redeemer (Rev. 4:11; 5:12). This is not a tame or market-driven vision of worship — it is transcendent, God-centered, and entirely concerned with God’s worth. When we gather for worship, we are joining this eternal chorus, not curating a spiritual experience. We are not the main characters in the sanctuary; God is.
Unfortunately, many modern worship expressions reflect a subtle but significant shift from this biblical model. Songs are often chosen for their emotional energy, stylistic appeal, or crowd engagement potential — not necessarily for their theological weight or scriptural grounding. None of these are inherently wrong, but when they become the dominant criteria, our worship becomes anthropocentric rather than theocentric. In such a climate, God risks becoming a backdrop to our spiritual expression rather than the blazing center of our adoration. This is a dangerous reversal. Worship that begins with self — even sincere self — cannot ascend to God rightly.
The Psalms offer a corrective model, grounding worship in God’s revealed character and covenantal faithfulness. “The Lord reigns; let the nations tremble” (Ps. 99:1) is not a call to subjective experience but to objective truth. Worship that confesses God’s sovereignty forms a people who trust Him more deeply, even when their circumstances feel uncertain. Songs that declare God’s unchanging power remind us that our anchor is not in the fleeting rhythms of life but in the eternal rule of our King. When we sing about God’s reign, we are reorienting our hearts to reality.
If prayer begins with “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name” (Matt. 6:9), then so should our worship. We do not begin with us — we begin with Him. A theology of worship that acknowledges God’s control cultivates holy confidence in His care, His wisdom, and His will. That is the worship God desires — and that is the worship His people desperately need.
He Wants the Real You: Worship as Honest Expression
If God is sovereign, then He is also sufficient — not only for our joys but for our sorrows, our fears, and our failures. Worship that reflects this sufficiency must include more than praise and celebration; it must also make space for confession, lament, and longing. The Psalms teach us that God desires honesty, not pretense. David asks, “Why, O Lord, do You stand far off?” (Ps. 10:1) and “How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?” (Ps. 13:1). These are not polite prayers. They are the raw cries of a soul bringing its full weight before the throne. And they are recorded in God’s Word, not as theological embarrassments, but as inspired worship.
When Jesus told the woman at the well that the Father seeks those who worship “in spirit and truth” (John 4:23), He was not laying out a vague philosophical ideal. He was pointing to the kind of worship that refuses to hide. Spirit-led worship comes from the heart; truth-shaped worship comes without a mask. In our modern worship culture, there is often subtle pressure to present only the best parts of ourselves — to be “on,” to be joyful, to be victorious. But God is not interested in our projections. He is interested in our presence. He wants us — not our performance.
A worship service that never acknowledges pain risks forming a congregation that doesn’t know how to suffer well. This is not a minor issue; it is a discipleship problem. If our only worship vocabulary is that of triumph, we are ill-equipped for the valleys. Lament is not a lesser form of worship — it is one of the most faithful acts of trust a believer can offer. To sing “Lord, I need You” or “Even when I don’t see it, You’re working” is to testify that God is near even when life feels like He isn’t. That kind of worship is courageous, not weak.
Scripture gives us precedent after precedent for bringing our whole selves into God’s presence. Job worships through silence and ashes. Paul sings through prison walls. The psalmist declares, “Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord” (Ps. 130:1). Worship that includes these themes does not dilute faith — it strengthens it. It teaches believers to be real before God and real with one another, forming communities that carry one another’s burdens and point each other to hope.
God wants the real you. Not the polished version. Not the curated image. The one who’s tired, confused, joyful, afraid, or numb. If you can bring that you to God in prayer, then you can bring that you to Him in song. And when you do, you’ll find that He is already there — ready to receive you.
He Is Not Afraid of Hard Things: Worship as Faithful Witness in the Tension
Worship is not meant to avoid the hard parts of life; it is meant to bring them honestly before God. In many modern worship settings, there is an unspoken rule that sorrow is unwelcome — that only joy, energy, and enthusiasm are appropriate in the presence of God. But such an approach misrepresents the full biblical picture of worship. From the lamentations of Jeremiah to the anguish of David to the cries of Job, the Scriptures show us that God’s people have always brought their grief and confusion before Him in song. This is not spiritual weakness; it is spiritual maturity. Worship, when shaped by Scripture, includes both hallelujah and how long, O Lord. A theology of worship that cannot bear the weight of human suffering is not derived from the Bible — it is crafted from cultural expectations.
Jesus Himself validates this fuller range of worship. On the night of His betrayal, He sang a hymn with His disciples before going out to Gethsemane (Matt. 26:30). As He faced the weight of the cross, He cried out in pain and forsakenness, quoting Psalm 22 — a song of lament that begins with abandonment and ends in trust. Christ’s own act of worship included agony, not avoidance. The implication is clear: worship does not require emotional neatness. It requires truthfulness in the presence of the God who hears. When the church teaches her people to avoid discomfort in worship, she malnourishes their faith. But when she gives space for lament, she invites God’s people into deeper communion.
Romans 8 describes a world groaning in anticipation for redemption — not yet healed, but hoping. Worship in this “already-not-yet” tension must reflect that groaning as much as it reflects rejoicing. The psalmists did not wait until the resolution of their problems to lift their voices; they sang from within the pain, trusting that God’s character remained unchanged. Likewise, Paul and Silas did not sing after their chains were loosed, but while they were still imprisoned (Acts 16:25). These moments testify to a God who is not deterred by hard things but meets us in them. Worship that acknowledges hardship trains the heart to hope.
We must recover a worship culture that sings through struggle, not just about victory. The pilgrim songs of Israel (Psalms 120–134) were not reserved for ideal conditions — they were sung on the long, uphill journey toward Jerusalem. Our congregations need the same. Songs that name fear, doubt, and sorrow are not signs of theological compromise; they are the language of pilgrims trusting a faithful God through a fallen world. If we can bring these realities to God in prayer, we must also bring them in song. For the God who reigns above the storm is also present in it — and He is not afraid of what weighs us down.
Conclusion: If We Can Pray It, We Should Be Able to Sing It
Worship is not just music — it is theology with melody. It is the way we express our deepest convictions about God and ourselves, and it forms us more than we often realize. When we consider what worship should be, we must look beyond trends and preferences and ask what Scripture models and commands. From Genesis to Revelation, from David to Christ, from lament to praise, the Bible shows us a worship that is rooted in God’s character, shaped by the real experiences of His people, and anchored in truth.
We have explored three foundational truths for evaluating our worship: God is in control, He wants the real you, and He is not afraid of hard things. Together, these truths provide a biblical framework for the songs we sing in our churches and in our quiet places. They remind us that worship must begin with awe, continue with honesty, and endure through adversity. They remind us that worship is not simply about what feels good, but about what forms us to look more like Christ.
If our worship never declares God’s sovereignty, we will struggle to trust Him. If it never welcomes our true selves, we will learn to perform instead of commune. If it never embraces hard things, we will become fragile Christians in a broken world. But if we let worship follow the pattern of prayer — bold in adoration, real in confession, deep in longing — then we will raise up disciples who can praise in every season. Worship should teach us how to live.
So here is the challenge: as we write, choose, lead, or sing songs in the church, let us ask — does this reflect the prayers of the saints? Does it honor the fullness of God’s Word? And does it form us into people who behold His glory, trust His goodness, and walk with Him through both joy and sorrow? If we can pray it, we should be able to sing it. And if we can sing it, then maybe we’ll learn to live it. So sing songs Bubba may not exactly catch onto within the first few stanzas, but also make sure to teach Bubba why songs like that matter.
[1] Unless otherwise noted, all scriptural references will be based in the ESV translation.