There have been Sundays where I’ve looked at the setlist and thought, “That couldn’t have been my first choice.”
Not because the song was bad, and not because anything was wrong with it—it just wasn’t where I naturally lean. If I were choosing purely based on preference, I would’ve gone a different direction.
And yet, I’ve also stood in the room on those same mornings and heard people sing—really sing. I’ve watched faces light up with recognition. I’ve seen engagement that might not have happened if I had simply followed my own instincts.
Moments like that have a way of reminding me: this was never about me.
One of the easiest traps in worship ministry is slowly beginning to believe that what we like is what’s best for everyone. It doesn’t usually happen intentionally. In fact, it often comes from a good place. We care deeply about music. We think about it more than most people. Over time, we develop instincts, preferences, and opinions that feel informed and trustworthy.
But that doesn’t automatically make them right, and it certainly doesn’t make them the standard.
If we’re not careful, our personal taste can quietly become the thing that drives what we sing. Not in an obvious or heavy-handed way, but subtly, decision by decision, week by week. Without realizing it, we can drift from asking, “What will serve our people best?” to asking, “What do I want to sing?” And those are not the same question.
What we prefer is not always what will pastor people best.
I’ve felt that tension more times than I can count. There have been plenty of moments where I’ve had to set aside my own preferences—songs I wouldn’t naturally gravitate toward, styles that don’t immediately resonate with me, arrangements I might have approached differently if it were just up to me. None of those things were inherently bad or wrong. They just weren’t what I would have picked first.
And yet, I’ve watched those same songs connect deeply with people in our church. I’ve heard the room sing with more confidence. I’ve seen faces light up with recognition and joy. I’ve watched people engage with God in ways they weren’t before. In those moments, it becomes very clear that this was never about me in the first place.
Worship ministry is not about curating a setlist that reflects the leader’s taste. It’s about shepherding a people. It means we’re constantly asking what will help our people sing, what will help them see and savor Christ more clearly, and what will remove distractions rather than introduce them. Sometimes the answers to those questions align perfectly with what I love. Other times they don’t, and part of the calling is learning to hold those preferences with an open hand.
If my preferences are shaping the room more than the people are, I’ve missed something.
That doesn’t mean preferences don’t matter at all. They do. They shape how we lead, how we arrange, and how we build a culture over time. But they are meant to be a tool, not the driving force. The moment my preference becomes more important than the participation of the people in the room is the moment I’ve lost sight of what this is all about.
Jesus didn’t call us to express ourselves; He called us to lay ourselves down. That kind of surrender reaches further than we often think, even into something as personal as musical taste. It reshapes how we lead and what we prioritize when we step on a platform.
Leading worship often looks less like expressing yourself and more like laying yourself down.
So sometimes, leading well looks like choosing a song that wouldn’t have been your first pick and leading it with full conviction anyway—not because it’s your favorite, but because it serves the people in front of you.
Because in the end, faithful worship leadership isn’t about getting what we like…
it’s about helping people see and savor Christ.
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