Should Cameras be Allowed in Church?

How Church Feels in the Age of Voyeurism

This morning I scrolled past an ad posted by a local evangelistic organization promoting an upcoming revival that said, “Photographers and videographers we are looking for you!” At the bottom of the ad it promised these media volunteers shots of “candid worship, baptisms, prayer, community, and behind the scenes footage.” The caption framed their free service as a “ministry opportunity.”

Photo by Kyle Loftus on Unsplash

The use of new technology in the worship life of the church always ruffles a few feathers. As a twenty-something year old pastor, I ruffled the feathers of a few parishioners when I put a screen and projector up in the church to use for song lyrics and lesson notes. A few years later I was criticized for using an iPad for my sermon notes rather than a notebook and Bible. We even had a church meeting about wireless microphones that got pushback. Then came the era of social media: what can the church post and what shouldn’t the church post?

As a younger man, when it came to ministry and spreading the gospel, I believed the methods didn’t matter, the message did. We should reach the masses by any means necessary! I was perplexed by curmudgeonly saints who did not share in my zeal for using technology to share the good news.

So call me a curmudgeon when it comes to cameras in church. Trust me, I have never felt older in my life! When I stepped away from church-work and attending church in 2020, cameras and streaming equipment were already being used in churches of all sizes. The last church I pastored recorded and streamed services each Sunday, a practice to which I was indifferent. I was still a “by any means” necessary gospel preacher. It never felt weird or intrusive. The cameras were there to capture what happened from those leading worship: primarily the singers, musicians, and preacher. I requested that the cameras stop rolling before communion was served, as it was each week, and in cases where we might have special prayer for the church or individuals. Those requests were largely followed with few exceptions.

Then COVID prevented weekly in-person worship services and churches had no choice but to get the cameras rolling and get the videos out on the internet. That is when I started to get concerned. What before seemed like a benign practice to help spread the word about Jesus and His church became a central part of the worship experience. I knew the floodgates of media were about to open. From my armchair, I started to warn pastors of the effects of this transition to media as necessary element of Sunday worship because I understood the risk.

Christianity at its core is an embodied faith. The center of our faith is Jesus, who left heaven as a member of the Trinity to become a human, with a body, giving his flesh and blood to us as a continual memorial, and referring to his own body as a temple. The first Christians were taught that they were the “body of Christ.” The practice of our faith is fleshly, bloody, relational, and incarnational. The move to more disembodied practices, such as worshiping from a screen instead of in community, is an existential threat to the faith that was handed down to us by Christ and His apostles.

I returned to church a couple of years later and found that churches had really went all in to make sure they were collecting media to share as content online. Cameras were everywhere. Mics hung from boom-stands across the stage. Lighting was added to accentuate what was seen on screen. One church I attended spent tens of thousands of dollars on a massive LED screen for the stage to replace the old projector screen because it was better for cameras and online streaming. New volunteer opportunities were offered for those wanting to join the media team. One could serve the mission of Jesus by running a camera on Sunday.

This is the pragmatism that drives most evangelical churches: get the message out by any means necessary. But do the methods matter? The older I get, the more I think they do. There are real benefits to streaming: for the homebound, the sick, the curious who aren’t ready to walk through the doors yet. I don’t dismiss that. But then I went to church one morning and the cameras weren’t just facing the worship leaders anymore. They were facing me! Not to help me worship, or provide an online experience for a shut-in at home who can’t make it out of the house, but to capture my moments of worship to add emotional and personal connection the virtual content. To record me and others worshiping for marketing materials produced by the church.

I responded the group running the ad by sharing my dislike of the practice of recruiting photographers and videographers to capture “candid worship.” Their response was kind and thoughtful, but defaulted to, and I quote, “...we want to be able to share what God is doing, testify to what He’s done, and invite others into what He is building.” In another words, we want the recordings of your worship to market our “revival.” It might make worshipers uncomfortable, but anything for the cause, amirite? <insert smirk here>

I admit part of my reaction to cameras in worship settings stems from my broader resistance to the growing, unauthorized intrusion into our private lives. We cannot go anywhere without cameras on us at all times. Phones and eyeglasses are equipped with cameras. We are always being watched. And despite the reality that anytime we are in public we have no assurance of privacy from our peers, even governments are collecting footage of us at an alarming rate. Yet, we do nothing. We are all on the slippery slope but no one seems to know how to get off of it. Even if all this intrusion into our privacy by the public and the government is allowed, aren’t there some things that are still sacred? Shouldn’t be their spaces so sacred that cameras aren’t allowed to record you? Like spaces where we worship?

I opened my eyes to find a camera man with a camera zoomed right in on my face. I had never felt so violated in church. It felt more than intrusive, it felt voyeuristic.

Last year I attended a men’s ministry camping event with a local church. It was my first time in years stepping out of my comfort zone and participating in a church sponsored retreat. All in all it was a net positive experience. I was genuinely encouraged and edified. But on the last night, there was a service in which I was deeply affected. During a time of prayer and reflection, I became emotional, experiencing a moment with God that I badly needed. With eyes closed, and tears streaming, I spoke quietly to God with my heart and subtle whispers. Then, I opened my eyes to find a camera man with a camera zoomed right in on my face. I had never felt so violated! It felt more than intrusive, it felt voyeuristic. The videographer was in the worship setting, but not worshiping. He was there collecting footage while we, the congregation, had come to worship God.

I left that service thinking a lot about what happened. Why did I feel so icky? Was it wrong that I assumed I could have a private moment in worship in a corporate setting? Am I the only one who feels this way? Over time, I came to realize that what happened to me was a violation. In the same way intimate moments with my wife aren’t meant for the masses, intimate moments between Jesus and His bride (the church) aren’t for the masses. They are for the individuals, the ones baring their souls, the ones ugly crying in repentance, the ones with hands raised finding hope in the midst of their crisis. Such things are too sacred for social media I think. And I know I am not alone.

I reflected on my work as a Youth Pastor at youth camps in the early 2000s. We took young people’s phones away so that they could be focused on the moment, the formation, and God. Young people experienced transformative moments at camp because it was safe. They could be themselves with no one watching or judging, something that young people need at that stage in their lives. Then I thought about how awkward it would be for some of these teenagers to be filmed at their most vulnerable spiritual moments. How would they feel? How would a non-believer feel about attending a church service where they have come with a genuine longing to learn more about Jesus only to be met with cameramen walking around the congregation shooting the best shots they can find of people having a moment?

Maybe I am an outlier. An old curmudgeon. Perhaps the next generation is more into being constantly recorded than I am. But I don’t think that is true. In fact, studies show that more and more younger people are getting out of the social media matrix. One of my own daughters, a young adult, doesn’t embrace social media and told me she wants to be present, to not always be burdened with the need to be seen, to be documented. I have mad respect for that. I suspect she is not alone. Churches need to take a long hard look at what we are willing to sacrifice in the name of pragmatism. Worship is too sacred to be exploited, no matter what the marketing numbers say.