On August 21, 2025, gospel singer Adeyinka Alaseyori gathered veterans at an event tagged ‘Celebrating the Legends’ in Ikeja, Lagos. From the images and videos circulating social media, the atmosphere was electric. The audience sang, danced, and wept as elders of Nigerian gospel music were honoured. But as I watched, something crossed my mind: how many of these legends have actually received royalties for the songs that have carried Nigerian churches for decades?
It is not a secret that the Nigerian church system runs on music—service after service, vigil after vigil, conventions after conventions—yet the songwriters who gave us these timeless melodies often see little or nothing in return.
In summary, this article highlights the copyright crisis in Nigeria’s churches and calls for reform to pay gospel songwriters their due.
The Crisis
Every Sunday (not forgetting, midweek services and “night” vigils), across tens of thousands of congregations, music takes center stage in Nigeria. Choirs render Naija gospel classics, praise bands remix popular hits, and livestreams beam worship sessions to millions online. Songs are performed, recorded, rebroadcasted, and adapted without so much as a phone call to the songwriter.
The excuse? “It’s for God.” Or as someone put it: I thought those songs came down from heaven. As though this sort of use somehow places the church above the law.
The Law
But Nigeria’s Copyright Act 2022 makes it crystal clear:
Section 9 grants songwriters the exclusive right to control performances, broadcasts, and communications to the public.
Section 36 says anyone who performs or causes a work to be performed in public without permission infringes copyright.
Section 44 makes infringement a criminal offence, with fines and even imprisonment.
Section 46 extends this liability to bodies corporate — meaning churches themselves can be prosecuted.
There is no religious exemption in Nigerian law. The 2022 Act lists many exceptions (education, libraries, disability access, archives) — but not religion. That omission must be interpreted as intentional.
If there were, it would look something like what India has. In India, Section 52 (1)(z)(a) of the Copyright Act 1957 creates a religious exception: no infringement occurs when songs are played in the course of bona fide religious ceremonies, including weddings.
Thus, as this is not provided in the law, we must assume that Nigeria’s lawmakers deliberately did not create such an exemption. And as a recent legal commentary notes, “Church music, like other types of music, is considered copyright-protected material under copyright law. Singing music or projecting lyrics during a religious service constitutes a public performance or communication to the public. Copying or remaking a song in any form or compilation is considered reproduction. Both of these uses carry the risk of potential liability for copyright infringement.”
Indeed, the Nigerian Copyright Commission (NCC) recently reminded DJs that performing music publicly without a licence is a crime under the 2022 Act, punishable by fines of at least ₦1 million or five years in prison. If DJs at hotels and event centres are being warned and licensed through their association, why should churches — whose scale of public performance may be far greater — be allowed to act outside the law?
The NCC mentioned that DJs have a structured licensing arrangement with MCSN through their association (DJAN). Churches have equivalent bodies (CAN, PFN, Catholic Bishops’ Conference etc.). So why can they not do the same here? This is a clear case of regulatory inconsistency.
The Scale of the Loss
According to Pew Research Center, Nigeria has one of the largest Christian populations in the world. Each congregation uses music constantly: Sunday services, vigils, crusades, conventions, livestreams. Today’s churches are not just worship halls, they are broadcast studios, content creators, and media houses in disguise.
Each activity is a separate copyright event: performance, communication to the public, reproduction, broadcast. Each should generate royalties.
If even a modest licensing fee was paid per church, gospel songwriters would see hundreds of millions of naira annually. Instead, they get applause, “God bless you,” and an occasional “brown envelope” while their works are the backbone of a billion-naira church economy.
Global Lessons
Contrast Nigeria with the United States, the UK, or South Africa. Churches there subscribe to Christian Copyright Licensing International (CCLI), which collects fees and distributes royalties to songwriters. That is why Hillsong’s writers in Australia or Elevation Worship’s team in the U.S. get paid every time their songs are projected on a church screen.
Ironically, a few big Nigerian churches may already pay CCLI fees, which means foreign songwriters are being paid from Nigeria while the Nigerian gospel writers are ignored in their own churches and country.
This confusion is not unique to Nigeria. In Kenya, many gospel artists have abandoned the church scene because royalties never flow from the heavy use of their songs in worship. A leading gospel musician lamented that although her music was played in countless churches, she was told worship venues were exempt from licensing. This misconception has pushed artists into secular music where the returns are clearer. Yet the law is plain: gospel music is protected like any other genre. Unless Nigeria addresses this gap, it risks losing its own gospel talent in the same way.
Justice, Law, and Faith
This is not only a legal matter. It is a spiritual one. Or maybe I am exaggerating.
But doesn’t the Bible say: “The labourer is worthy of his wages” (1 Tim. 5:18). If we believe in honoring God with our songs, should we dishonor His servants by robbing them of their rights?
The Copyright Act 2022 already provides the framework:
Section 15 gives performers and owners of sound recordings the right to equitable remuneration when their works are broadcast.
Section 88 empowers Collective Management Organisations (CMOs) to license, collect, and distribute royalties even for non-members (unless they opt out).
In other words, the law is clear, the gap is in practice, and the church is the biggest offender.
That reminds me, indeed, the courts are already enforcing religious content piracy. In 2021, a bookseller in Uyo was jailed for a year for pirating 578 copies of the Holy Bible, and in another case, the sentence was two years without option of fine. If the NCC prosecutes Bible pirates, there is no legal justification for allowing churches flout the law with impunity. I mean, why jail Bible pirates (who some might argue are even ‘spreading the word’) while letting denominations act with impunity?
The irony is even sharper when you look at the gospel industry itself. Songwriters can be dragged to court and held liable under copyright law (whether gospel or not), as we saw in late 2024, when Sinach was sued for ₦5bn over her global hit Way Maker. Yet, when those same laws should guarantee royalties for the endless performances of gospel songs in Nigerian churches, they are conveniently ignored. If gospel artists can face liability, why can’t they also share in the benefits?
This brings me to the role of Nigeria’s leading gospel artists. Many of them — from Sinach to Nathaniel Bassey — have songs that are sung and licensed abroad, meaning they already benefit from systems like CCLI. If they receive royalties when their songs are sung in the U.S. or the U.K., why not fight for the same system at home? Their voices could help establish structures that would benefit not just them, but also the countless lesser-known writers whose songs power local worship across Nigeria.
A Way Forward
We’ve all seen it before: celebrated athletes, actors and musicians who once filled stadiums or dominated the airwaves later falling sick or struggling, with their families forced to beg the public for support. The same fate awaits many gospel songwriters if the system continues to fail them. A working copyright regime is not just about abstract rights; it is about ensuring that creators have dignity, security, and independence long after the spotlight fades.
To fix this broken system, several steps are urgent:
First, churches must recognize copyright as stewardship. Licensing music should be as routine as paying for sound equipment or auditorium rent.
Second, Collective Management Organisations (CMOs) must step up. MCSN, and others, already have the mandate to license churches. They need the will to create a Nigerian CCLI-style system.
Also, denominational bodies must lead. CAN, PFN, and the Catholic Bishops’ Conference should set copyright standards and enforce them across their member churches.
Of course, there is another conversation worth having. Some gospel artists may choose to release their works freely (dedicating them to the public domain or licensing them openly as a ministry gift). That is a noble choice, but it is the songwriter’s decision to make, not the church’s to assume. Everything costs money and talent. Churches know this. It costs money to run huge ministries, choirs, and worship movements take thousands of hours and generous donations to sustain. Songwriters must be part of that equation too. It is unjust where churches take without asking, leaving songwriters unpaid.
Gospel artists must demand their rights. Songwriters should register with CMOs, publish their works properly, and insist on being paid.
Conclusion
The Nigerian church cannot continue to build billion-naira ministries on the backs of unpaid songwriters. The law is clear, the Bible is clear, and global practice is clear: music has value, and its creators deserve their share. What is missing is the will to act.
If churches can pay for projectors, livestream equipment, and marble cathedrals, they can also pay for the songs that fill them. If Nigerian gospel stars can be paid when their songs are sung abroad, they can fight for a system that pays every songwriter here at home. And if denominations can mobilize millions for crusades, they can mobilize a fair licensing system for music.
It comes down to integrity. Worship should not be built on silent theft. True revival requires not just lifted hands but clean hands, including in how we treat the creators whose music carries our prayers.
Authored by: Mr. Seun Lari Williams
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