Life.Church Worship Night
Cain's Ballroom
August 20, 2026
I have a bit of a bias against megachurches. It’s the rural church attendee in me. I am used to small buildings and real wooden pews and folk hymns with the lightest of instrumental accompaniment, if any. The hymns I grew up with were old-school Southern Protestant-style songs (often in the Mvskoke language) sung by an entire congregation, everyone with a book in their hand. My point being, I grew up being able to see my pastor in front of me, no screen or microphone needed, and it possibly gave me a bit of a complex.
Despite this, the idea of attending Life.Church’s Worship Night at Cain’s Ballroom was too interesting to pass up. Cain’s is a place that my friends and I have always referred to as a sort of church. We all fondly remember our first concert there, or which one made us feel the bouncing floor, or which one was the one where we puked in the bathroom. A spiritual experience is not unheard of in that building.
This time, I was pulled into the promise of something unique underneath that iconic disco ball: a religious experience. I have never attended a Life.Church service (nor any megachurch service, to be honest) but I truly love hymns and respect religious musical traditions, so I thought, “How different could it be?” The answer was, as you might guess, quite a bit.
Walking through the threshold between Mac’s BBQ and Cain’s, I was handed a plastic-wrapped single serving of communion wine with a gluten-free wafer, courtesy of the brand Miracle Meals. (Looking it up after the show, I wondered why Life.Church, the largest church in the United States, couldn’t spring for the “premium chalice” option offered by Miracle Meals.) It was a pretty packed crowd, with people of all ages clamoring around each other, antsy for the night to start.
The last time I was at Cain’s was two weeks ago to watch Bosco, God's favorite transsexual drag queen, rip Christian Nationalist values to shreds while performing burlesque acts. My life is a multitude of ironies stacked on top of each other. Unlike that event, this show shut the bar down, with no alcohol being served. The crowd would have to get drunk on God alone.
Pastor Devon Goins of Life.Church South Tulsa’s worship extension introduced the event, leading the crowd in prayer and making some lofty promises for the night. “Marriages will be restored, addictions will be broken,” he said, prompting a sea of amens across the crowd. Relevant scripture passages and lyrics to the songs were put on a screen behind the band, simple white text on a black screen. Five pastor-singers moved around each other, swapping seamlessly between solos and backup. Beyond the vocalists, a huge drumkit, two guitars, a bass, and a keyboard provided the rest of the musical offerings. I counted 11 people on stage, a number that promised me some complex jams.
Listen, I tried my best to do my journalistic duty and research the members of this band. However, Life.Church Worship is not a band but a “collective of worship pastors,” who are largely left unnamed in any official capacity. Only serious-looking group photos and references to Life.Church and God grace their Spotify page. I think this is the point. With a pleasant anonymity, this could be any Life.Church worship group (but I have a feeling other branches’ musicians don't take turns recording and putting their songs on Spotify).
Like the musicians, all the songs also blended together after a while, starting off strong with elements of a pop punk tempo that worked to deliver an intense sort of shine and interest while still being palatable and non-offensive. It felt like, at some point, these songs were considered rock and then were worked over with layered instrumentals and objectively catchy melodies and references to scripture. Each one was an arena ballad with glossy guitars and a heavy drum and lyrics that ran the gamut of Christian rock cliches about kingdoms, the power of Christ, and the struggle of maintaining faith.
Comparing these songs to, say, Flyleaf’s “All Around Me” or even a P.O.D. joint left me wanting more of an edge. But this is a church worship group first and a band second, and “edge” is not the goal. Palatability is integral to allow these songs to reach the most Christians they possibly can.
Despite the blandness of the music, there was an energy in the room that I couldn’t ignore. With the lyrics on the screen, everyone could sing along to these non-traditional hymns. Praise hands were encouraged by the pastors on stage, who prayed or sermonized in between songs. Everyone was participating in some way and the sheer amount of belief was tangible, only multiplied by the promise of Heaven, glory, and safety espoused by the musicians on stage.
Each curated moment of the night was designed to pull emotion from the audience and I was not immune. There’s something about being in a room full of people sharing a religious experience that speaks to the parts of my brain that crave community and meaning. I found myself thinking, “Should I be putting my hands up in praise too?”
And then I remembered the recent allegations from former Life.Church staff of employee mistreatment and alleged physical assault by founder Senior Pastor Craig Groeschel, and I felt a little gross about all the staff I saw working this event. The merch table loomed next to me, inviting me to buy Life.Church T-shirts. Coming out of the group communion that I did not participate in, multiple prayers that I (respectfully) bowed my head for, and songs that I did not sing along to, I felt icky. I felt the familiar peer pressure of church events weighing on me like I was 13 and wrestling with religion again.
In the end, I did not find that Sweet Bye and Bye at Life.Church Worship Night, nor the familiar spiritual experiences I’ve gotten from other shows at Cain’s. No folk songs were played, no traditional music was upheld, and I still felt like I was at Falls Creek summer camp all over again pretending to be something I’m just not. Maybe that Old Time Religion really is good enough for me.
