He isn't a priest. He isn't a licensed minister. Yet, for years, if you typed pastor Justin Bieber into a search bar, you’d find thousands of people convinced the "Peaches" singer had traded his microphone for a pulpit.
It’s a weird rumor. It’s also one that just won’t die, mostly because Bieber’s life has been so inextricably linked to high-profile celebrity megachurches that the line between "devout follower" and "spiritual leader" got totally blurred in the public imagination. People saw him backstage with Carl Lentz. They saw him leading guided prayers on Instagram. It looked like a career pivot.
But it wasn't.
The reality of the pastor Justin Bieber era is actually a story about fame, burnout, and the messy intersection of Hollywood and modern evangelicalism. Bieber has been very clear about one thing: he’s a singer, not a preacher. Still, the way he uses his platform makes it easy to see why the confusion exists.
The Church of Hillsong and the Carl Lentz Era
You can’t talk about the Bieber-as-pastor rumors without talking about Hillsong. Specifically, the now-ousted pastor Carl Lentz. Back in 2014, Bieber was in a dark place. He was dealing with legal troubles, a public image in freefall, and what he’s since described as a massive spiritual void.
Lentz didn't just give him advice. He reportedly moved Bieber into his home for several weeks. They were everywhere together—coffee shops in NYC, late-night basketball games, and of course, the stage at Hillsong NYC. Lentz was the "cool pastor" in leather jackets and skinny jeans. Because they were so inseparable, the media started treating them like partners in a new kind of celebrity ministry.
Then things got complicated.
When Lentz was fired from Hillsong in 2020 following "moral failures" and an admitted affair, the world looked to Bieber. This was the moment the pastor Justin Bieber narrative hit a fever pitch. Reports circulated that Justin was "studying to be a minister" to fill the void Lentz left behind or to help "save" the church.
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It was a total fabrication.
Justin actually took to Instagram to set the record straight, which he almost never does with such bluntness. He posted a screenshot of a news article claiming he was training for leadership at Hillsong and wrote "I'm not studying to be a minister or anything even close to that. Have no desire for that. This is fake news." He also clarified that he had moved on to Churchome, led by Judah Smith.
Why the "Pastor" Label Stuck Anyway
If he said he wasn't a pastor, why does everyone still think he is?
Basically, it's because he acts like one.
Think about his 2021 Freedom EP. It wasn't just a pop record with some "thank you God" mentions in the liner notes. It was a gospel-inspired project released on Easter Sunday. One track, "All She Wrote," sounds like a straight-up sermon. Then there are the "praise and worship" sessions he’s hosted on Instagram Live. To a casual observer, watching Justin Bieber close his eyes and lead 100,000 live viewers in a prayer for healing looks exactly like pastoring.
He’s using his influence to do "ministry" work without the formal title. It’s a smart move, honestly. By avoiding the official "pastor" label, he avoids the institutional baggage that comes with megachurch scandals. He gets to be the "worship leader" without being the "administrator."
- He focuses on "radical grace" over traditional dogma.
- He speaks openly about his struggles with mental health and "the lifestyle" of fame.
- His "sermons" happen in the middle of his Justice World Tour sets.
The Judah Smith Influence and Churchome
After the Hillsong fallout, Justin’s spiritual life shifted toward Churchome and its lead pastor, Judah Smith. This relationship is different. While Lentz was like a "hype man" brother, Smith has been a steadying, almost fatherly figure for Bieber for over a decade.
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Smith is known for "The Global Church," an app-based approach to religion that fits a touring superstar perfectly. This is where the pastor Justin Bieber idea gets some actual nuance. Bieber isn't the guy running the church, but he is a major stakeholder in how that church communicates. When you see him on the Churchome app or appearing in their promotional content, he’s acting as a bridge.
He’s the most famous layman in the world.
He once told Vogue that he gets "depressed" by the way people use religion to be "elitist" or "better than others." He’s very cautious about the "pastor" title because he knows his own flaws. He’s been very open about his past—the drugs, the way he treated women, the arrogance of his teenage years. To him, becoming a "pastor" would feel like he’s claiming to have arrived at some perfect state. He’d rather be the guy in the front row crying than the guy on the stage talking down to people.
The Impact on His Music and Career
You can hear the shift. Listen to "Lonely" or "Holy." These aren't just songs; they’re testimonies.
In the past, a pop star talking about Jesus was a career-killer. It was "uncool." But Bieber managed to make his faith part of his "healing" brand. It’s a lifestyle choice, like his clothing line Drew House or his openness about Lyme disease. By integrating his spirituality so deeply into his persona, he created a vacuum where fans and critics alike felt the need to give him a religious title.
But here is the catch: Being a celebrity pastor is dangerous.
The history of "rockstar preachers" is littered with burnout and scandal. By explicitly rejecting the role of pastor Justin Bieber, he’s protecting his sanity. He can be a Christian without being a spokesperson for a specific denomination’s policies. He can pray for his fans without being responsible for their tithes.
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What Most People Get Wrong About His Faith
The biggest misconception is that his "religious phase" is just that—a phase. Usually, when a child star goes through a "spiritual awakening," it’s a PR move to clean up their image after a scandal.
With Bieber, it’s been over ten years of consistent involvement.
He’s had his ups and downs. He’s disappeared from the church scene for months at a time. But he keeps coming back to the same themes of forgiveness and grace. It’s less about being a "pastor" and more about his survival. He’s credited his faith with literally keeping him alive during the darkest years of his fame.
- He doesn't want your money for a building fund.
- He doesn't have a divinity degree.
- He’s still a pop star who swears sometimes and makes mistakes.
The Actionable Truth for Fans and Observers
If you’re looking to Bieber for spiritual guidance, you have to realize you’re looking at a student, not a master. His "ministry" is one of vulnerability, not authority.
For those interested in the "celebrity church" world he inhabits, it’s worth looking at the organizations he actually supports. He’s heavily involved in the Los Angeles Dream Center and Churchome. These aren't just places he goes to hide; they are where he does his "pastoral" work behind the scenes, often through massive anonymous donations and quiet volunteer hours.
How to follow the story moving forward:
- Check the source: If a headline says "Justin Bieber starts his own church," look for the quote. He’s been burned by this before and usually denies it within 24 hours.
- Watch the collaborations: His most "pastoral" moments happen in his music. Songs like "Where Do I Fit In" are essentially his version of a Sunday service.
- Understand the distinction: You can be a "witness" in the Christian sense without being a "pastor" in the legal or ecclesiastical sense. Bieber is firmly in the first camp.
The fascination with the idea of a pastor Justin Bieber says more about us than it does about him. We love a redemption story. We love the idea of the "bad boy" turning into the "holy man." But Justin seems content just being a guy who found some peace and happens to sing about it to millions of people. He isn't leading a congregation; he's just invited us all to watch him figure it out in real-time.
He’s found a way to be spiritual on his own terms, which, in the high-pressure world of global superstlye, is probably the most "pastoral" thing he could actually do.