When training preachers, I remind them that terribly delivered sermons do not do any lasting damage. If a message is confusing, badly structured, poorly illustrated, or tedious, it may not be ideal (and it certainly is a missed opportunity), but it is unlikely to do serious harm to listeners. Most people will simply forget it.
The sermons to watch out for, rather, are the ones that are clear, dynamic, funny, vivid, creative, passionately delivered—and wrong. (The internet is full of examples.) Compelling falsehood poses far greater risks to the church than boring truth.
The same is true for songs. In fact, it is probably even more true of songs, because while sermons are delivered once, songs are sung repeatedly—in the church, in the car, in the kitchen, by children and adults alike. Unsingable songs have very low impact. A poorly written poem set to a cloying melody is soon forgotten. But a musically soaring, lyrically fluent, emotionally resonant composition, brilliantly performed in front of a huge crowd and professionally produced, can convey its theology to millions of people. This reverberation is wonderful when its theology is good, as it so often is—but it’s more of a problem when it is not.
I am not talking mainly about the songs that cause all the evangelical kerfuffles. The kerfuffles can be helpful because they cause people to think carefully about whether to use the songs in question. Clearly, pastors and churches have to decide whether they believe that God did not want heaven without us (which I do), or that the love of God is reckless (which I don’t), or that the wrath of God was satisfied at the cross (which I do), or that the earth will soon dissolve like snow (which I don’t).
They must decide whether to avoid popular hymns because of one dubious line (Will Christ really come with shouts of acclamation “to take me home”?), because they have concerns about the church from which the song comes, or because the songwriter later committed egregious sin or apostasy. We can and should debate these matters. Controversy makes us stop and think, which in turn prevents us from swallowing bad theology without realizing it.
The examples I have in mind, however, undercut Trinitarian theology without the singers or even the songwriter realizing it. On several occasions, I have attended events whose leaders, worship team, and delegates are thoroughly orthodox on the Trinity, but a song was introduced with lyrics closer to Oneness theology.
For example, Bethel Music’s “No One Like the Lord” (2025) begins: “There is one on the throne / Jesus, holy.” It continues:
Worthy is the Lamb
Who was slain and seated on the throne …
And the elders, creatures bow,
Giving praise to him and him alone
The song is powerful, sweeping, and melodic. I am confident the songwriters believe in the Trinity and are trying to reference the glory due to God. The problem is that Revelation 4–5 say something quite different. There is indeed one who is seated on the throne, but he is clearly distinct from the Lamb who was slain (5:7). The elders and living creatures bow down and praise the one on the throne as worthy (4:9–11), and they also bow before the Lamb (5:8–14).
But the two persons are not identical. This is vital to our view of God. We do not praise the Lamb “alone”; we praise Father, Son and Spirit. Revelation chapter 5 concludes with all creation saying, “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power forever and ever!” (v. 13, emphasis added). When songs are doing the liturgical heavy lifting—as they often are in low-church evangelicalism—this is a problem.
Let me give you another example: “Who Else,” a song by Gateway Music from 2023. “Who else is worthy?” runs the chorus and answers, “There is no one, only you, Jesus.” Admittedly, this could mean that Jesus is the only one worthy to open the scroll in the same chapter (5:9). But the song does not mention this, and in context, it implies that Jesus is the only one worthy of being thanked and lifted up, rather than seeing how much of Scripture induces us to bring thanks to the Father. Without perhaps intending to, these songs typify Oneness theology in a nutshell.
To some this will all sound insufferably pedantic, if not mean. To others it will sound indefensibly sloppy, if not heretical. I hope it is neither. I have no doubt that these songwriters believe in the Trinity. Yet their lyrics unintentionally undercut that belief in ways that will confuse those who sing them. And the more popular the song, the more that matters.
We long to worship God as he has revealed himself to be. There is a beauty to praising the Father through the Son by the Spirit, and both the songs of Revelation and the prayers of the New Testament give us plenty of examples of how to do this well. So whether we are praying or singing, and whether our words are scripted or spontaneous, let us address God in all his Trinitarian splendor.
Andrew Wilson is the teaching pastor at King’s Church London and a columnist for Christianity Today. He’s the author of several books, including Remaking the World, Incomparable, and God of All Things.
