“Can we not change the world and have fun?” – Bono

On November 9, 2022, I found myself holding a single ticket to a sold-out show at the Ryman Auditorium. The room buzzed with an almost sacred anticipation. To my left sat Charlie Lowell from Jars of Clay. A few rows up, Michael W. Smith found his seat. CCM royalty had descended upon the Mother Church—not for an awards show or a big label event, but to pay their respects to the man who paved the way—a rock star who’s always worn his faith on his sleeve—while, as he says, being born with his “fists up.” Bono, the legendary frontman of U2, was taking the stage for Surrender, a one-man show disguised as a book tour but delivered like a theatrical confession.

No massive set pieces. Just Bono, a few chairs, a table, and a small, stripped-down band. And for the next 90 minutes, what unfolded was something far more powerful than a rock concert. It was raw. It was theatrical. It was spiritual. Phones were banned, and distractions disappeared. We weren’t there to document the moment. We were there to live it.

I walked out stunned, with Bono’s memoir Surrender in hand, the words and presence still washing over me. I had heard Bono talk about his faith before, often shrouded in metaphors or universalist language. But this was different. This was direct. It wasn’t just the faith of a seeker—it was the testimony of a man who had been radically changed by Jesus Christ. You could hear it in how he talked about his marriage to Ali, his band, his calling. And you could feel it in the stories that danced between laughter and grief.

Christianity weaves through all great Irish storytelling, and Bono’s journey is no exception. Raised by a Catholic father “who loved Protestant things,” including his Protestant mother.

It’s in the rhythm of his storytelling, the ache in his voice, and the ever-present biblical metaphors.

Now, thanks to Apple TV+, you can experience a version of this performance in Songs of Surrender, a beautifully shot special filmed at the Beacon Theatre in New York. Apple graciously gave CCM Magazine an early screener for review. I turned it on immediately in hopes the electricity and vulnerability Bono presented live could translate to the screen. And while I will always say that live entertainment is the best, this does get pretty close. Presented in black and white, the special isn’t exactly what I saw at the Ryman, but it captures the spirit. For anyone who is spiritually connected to rock n roll—or who has felt the call to create with purpose—this is a must-watch.

Warning: Course language, but what did you expect, from an Irish rock star?

Bono is no stranger to criticism. Some say he’s too political. Others question his motives. But Bono insists in this special that fame is currency—and he’s cashed in nearly all of it fighting for the least of these. Debt relief for African nations. AIDS prevention. Clean water initiatives. Global poverty reduction. “Motives don’t matter,” he says. “Outcomes matter. Lives matter. Human rights matter. Justice matters.” And while others talk about changing the world, Bono takes action.

That kind of activism—rooted in the gospel but lived out on a global stage—hasn’t always made him popular. But it’s made him effective. The overarching show isn’t focused on partisan politics, it’s on using your voice for the people who need it. “Poverty is not natural. It is manmade and can be overcome by the actions of women and men… who better understand that where you live should not decide whether you live” – these are Christian principles.

Growing up, I was just outside the bubble of U2 fandom. My parents were a little too old to fall into their orbit, and I was a little too young to catch the wave in real time. I knew the hits. I enjoyed the work. But I didn’t know the full story. The same could be said for Michael W. Smith in my house—I knew the songs more through Mark Lowry parodies. But funny how time reshapes what we hold. A lyric like “The wind is moving, but I am standing still” didn’t hit me at age six. At age thirty-nine, it knocks the air out of me. That’s the power of a song—and the power of a story told at the right time.

The same is true for Where the Streets Have No Name, a song Bono says is so spiritually charged that you can feel God walk through the room when it’s played live. That track was born from a trip to Africa where he witnessed the effects of extreme poverty—and it led to a song that feels like prayer and prophecy. That collision of compassion and creativity is where Bono lives. He’s not an artist who sprinkles in charity. He’s a believer who has built a life around justice.

And now, at 65, he still radiates cool—effortlessly. But it’s not just style. It’s clarity. It’s purpose. He knows who he is, and more importantly, he seems to know whose he is. U2’s fingerprints are all over modern Christian music. The inspiration is sonically and spiritually apparent. They showed a generation that it’s possible to question, to fight, to create—and to follow.

That night at the Ryman, surrounded by CCM legends, I realized something. Bono may never be part of a labeled “Christian band.” But without U2, a lot of what we love wouldn’t exist. He expanded the frame. He challenged the narrative. He reminded us that the gospel isn’t always clean—it’s often bloody, loud, inconvenient, and disruptive. And yet, still beautiful.

In Songs of Surrender, Bono asks, “Can we not change the world and have fun?”

Watching this film, hearing these stories, and seeing how he’s spent his platform over decades, the answer rings clear.

Yes.

Songs of Surrender is available now on Apple TV+

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