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.