Are You Filling in Blanks or Leading People to God?

Here is a question for every worship leader who has ever built a set list: Are you telling a story, or are you just filling slots?

Because there is a difference. A real one. And most of us have been on both sides of it.

We have all seen the template. Maybe we learned it at a conference, or copied it from a church we admire, or just sort of inherited it from whoever led worship before us. Fast song. Fast song. Slow song. Really slow song. Soft moment. Amen. It is tidy. It is predictable. And if we are being completely honest with ourselves, it can start to feel a little bit like karaoke.

Not because structure is bad. It is not. But because there is a difference between scaffolding and a cage.

The Comfort of the Template (And Why We Love It)

Let’s give credit where it is due. Templates exist because they work, at least on the surface. They give newer leaders a framework that feels safe. They create a recognizable flow that congregations can settle into. They take some of the guesswork out of a Sunday morning that is already full of guesswork.

And God is, in fact, a God of order. Paul told the church in Corinth that everything should be done decently and in order (1 Corinthians 14:40). The historic church understood this too. Creeds, liturgy, the rhythm of confession and assurance—these things are not relics. They are a meeting place between heaven and earth, connecting us to something much older and bigger than our current Sunday morning. Structure has genuine, deep theological roots. We should not be too quick to throw it out.

But, when the template stops being a tool and starts being the point, something quietly goes wrong.

When the Formula Becomes a Problem

Here is what happens when a worship set is built around a formula rather than a purpose. The congregation figures it out. They know what is coming next. And once they know what is coming next, the sense of holy expectation starts to fade. Predictability offers comfort, but it can also quietly train people to coast.

We can also lean too hard on the templates from big-name churches and popular worship recordings, which inadvertently trades our congregation’s unique spiritual identity for something borrowed. Your church is not Elevation. It is not Bethel. It is not Hillsong. It is the specific, irreplaceable, Spirit-breathed community God placed you in to shepherd. That matters. And a template that was built for a 10,000-seat arena may not carry the same weight in your 200-seat sanctuary with your particular people in their particular season.

And then there is the lyrics problem. Some of the most popular worship songs in the template rotation are written with intentionally vague language – open enough that anyone can project their own meaning onto the words. Which sounds inclusive and inviting. But it can also mean that nobody is actually being anchored in anything specific. Worship is not a blank canvas for self-expression. It is a response to a God who has revealed Himself clearly in Scripture. Vague lyrics might feel worshipful. But they do not necessarily build a congregation up in truth.

The Case for Spontaneity (But Not the Lazy Kind)

Now, before we swing too hard the other way, spontaneity is not the answer if spontaneity just means “we didn’t prepare very well.” True Spirit-led flexibility is not the absence of preparation. It is the fruit of deep preparation. The worship leader who can pause mid-set, read the room, and follow where the Spirit is moving is not someone who winged it. That person practiced hard, knows their team, and has spent enough time in intimate prayer that they can recognize the real thing when it shows up.

Worship is a response to a living God who does not operate on our set list. He may show up in a way nobody planned for. And when He does, the team that is only trained to “hit their cues” will miss it entirely while the team that was prepared to pivot will catch it and run.

That is the middle ground worth building toward. Not a rigid template, and not glorified improvisation. Structure as scaffolding. Prepared enough to be free.

What “Filling Slots” Actually Costs

When songs are chosen primarily for their energy level or their position in the formula rather than their theological weight, the congregation pays the price. Over time, a diet of slot-filling worship produces spiritual malnourishment. People may feel something on Sunday morning, but feeling something and encountering the living God are not automatically the same thing.

This is the manipulation of emotion problem, and it is worth sitting with for a minute. There is real craft in creating an atmosphere that opens people up. Lighting, dynamics, musical tension and release—these are legitimate tools. But tools can be used badly. When the atmosphere is engineered primarily to produce a feeling that mimics a divine encounter rather than genuinely invite one, we have crossed a line. We have become performers. And the congregation, whether they can name it or not, has become an audience.

The shepherd-to-performer slide is subtle and it is dangerous. A leader who is focused on executing the template stops scanning the room. They stop noticing the woman in the third row who is barely holding it together. They stop being present to the moment because they are too busy managing the moment. And the congregation stops being led and starts being watched.

Building Toward Something Better

So what does it look like to move from filling slots to telling a story?

It starts with thematic intentionality. Before you choose a single song, ask yourself what the arc is. Where does this congregation need to go today? Maybe the journey looks like Revelation leading into Humiliation, then Grace, then sending people out on Mission. Maybe it is something else entirely. But there is a somewhere you are headed, and every element of the service (the songs, of course, but also the announcements and the videos and the moments of silence) either contributes to getting there or it does not.

It also requires that your team actually knows each other. Not just their parts, but each other. A worship team that has done life together, prayed together, and been honest with each other about where they are spiritually is a team that can read each other on stage. They can feel when something is shifting without anyone saying a word. That kind of relational depth cannot be faked and it cannot be downloaded. It is built slowly, over time, through real investment.

And it requires constant, honest evaluation of every element by one question: does this build up the church? Not “does this fill the time” or “does this fit the slot” or “does this sound like the recording.” Does it actually build people up in the knowledge and love of Jesus?

The Only Metric That Actually Matters

John 3:30 has always struck me as the most countercultural job description ever written. “He must increase, but I must decrease.” John the Baptist said that about Jesus, but it might as well be the worship leader’s calling card.

Because the goal was never a perfectly executed set list. It was never a flawless vocal performance or a congregation that walks out humming the chorus. The goal is that people encounter the living God and walk out more like Christ than they walked in. That is it. That is the whole thing.

And when that happens—when a room full of imperfect people is genuinely drawn into the presence of God and genuinely changed by it—it has nothing to do with the template. It has everything to do with a worship leader who chose faithfulness over formula, who chose shepherding over performance, and who trusted that a God who is worthy of our very best preparation is also more than capable of showing up in ways we never planned for.

Now that is a good, good gift.

1 Corinthians 14:40

But be sure that everything is done properly and in order.

John 3:30

He must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less.