WORSHIP LEADERS
YOU CAN’ T BE AARON RODGERS FOREVER | Matt Miller
When most of us first step into worship leadership, our default focus is Sunday mornings. We think our primary job is picking great songs, rehearsing the band, and keeping the train on the tracks for 60 – 75 minutes each week. And don’ t get me wrong— those things matter. But if that’ s where our leadership stops, then our ministry is one crisis away from collapse.
I’ ve lived this. Twice.
WHEN CANCER INTERRUPTED In September of 2023, I ran out of contacts and scheduled what I thought was a routine eye appointment. Nothing dramatic— just time to order a new box so I could see clearly again. During the exam, though, the doctor noticed something unusual in my eye and recommended that I see a specialist.
That appointment led to more tests, and eventually a biopsy. The waiting was agonizing— days that felt like weeks. Then the call came: I had cancer in my eye.
At thirty-four years old, cancer wasn’ t exactly on my radar. I was a husband, a worship leader, and the Dad of a four-year-old little girl who still thought her daddy could do anything. Suddenly, life felt fragile in a way I’ d never experienced.
The next step was sixteen rounds of radiation. It was exhausting, emotional, and humbling. But by God’ s grace, the treatment worked. Today, I can thankfully say I’ m cancer-free. Praise God. That season changed me. Beyond the physical battle, it forced me to ask hard questions: What happens to my team if I can’ t lead worship for a while? What happens to the ministry if I’ m not there on Sunday?
If everything in our ministry depends on us being healthy, available, and fully functioning, then our ministry isn’ t as healthy as we think.
WHEN MY VOICE QUIT Fast forward to just last week. During rehearsal, I was pushing my voice a little too hard.( Okay, a lot too hard.) Right in the middle of a song, my voice just stopped working. Total shutdown. No falsetto, no gravelly growl, not even a whisper that could hold pitch.
And you know what? The team didn’ t panic. Another vocalist slid right into the lead line, the band kept playing, and rehearsal moved forward. No one called 911. No one wondered if we’ d have to cancel Sunday.
That moment— much less scary than a cancer diagnosis but still humbling— reminded me
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