Before Take Me to Church, the awards, international tours and billions of streams, Hozier was an unknown Irish singer-songwriter preparing to introduce himself to the world.
He could have chosen something safe. Instead, his debut single confronted religious hypocrisy, sexual shame and violence against LGBTQ+ people. Released in September 2013, Take Me to Church was not a cautious beginning. It was a declaration and a considerable commercial risk.
Advocacy before success made it safe
Established artists possess a degree of protection when they take a political position. They have loyal audiences, industry influence and successful catalogues behind them. Hozier had none of that security.
When Take Me to Church arrived, listeners had not yet decided who he was. Nevertheless, he used that introduction to challenge institutions that weaponise religion against human sexuality.
The accompanying music video made that commitment impossible to misunderstand. It follows two men whose relationship makes them targets of a violently homophobic group. Inspired by the persecution of gay people in Russia, the video transformed the song’s criticism of institutional control into a direct confrontation with anti-LGBTQ+ brutality.
Hozier did not wait for advocacy to become convenient. He made it foundational.
Take Me to Church: when morality becomes a weapon
The song itself is not exclusively about one sexual orientation. Hozier described it as a love song concerned with humanity and how people express that humanity through sexuality. Its anger is directed towards institutions that replace intimacy with shame and personal freedom with obedience.
It is not an attack on every person of faith, nor does it suggest that spirituality is inherently cruel. It challenges the hypocrisy of institutions that preach love while teaching certain people to fear themselves.
Hozier understood that intolerance rarely introduces itself as hatred. More often, it arrives dressed as morality, asks for confession and then proceeds to “sharpen your knife.” In that single image, the institution promising salvation becomes the source of danger: it demands honesty from LGBTQ+ people, only to turn their truth into evidence against them.
The metaphor remains painfully relevant. Religious language continues to justify restrictions on LGBTQ+ identities, relationships and families. The vocabulary may be righteousness, tradition or protection. The consequence is the same: real people carry wounds created by somebody else’s doctrine.
Love is ordinary; hatred is the disruption
The video does not introduce its central couple as a political issue. It begins with tenderness, intimacy and ordinary happiness before hatred enters their lives. That order is essential.
The relationship requires no explanation. It is the violence surrounding it that demands scrutiny. Love is presented as natural; intolerance is the destructive force that disturbs it.
In an early interview, Hozier described the video as a gesture towards LGBTQ+ people facing persecution in Russia. He said the song was neither gay nor straight, but rooted in what is natural and human. Years later, he explained that advocacy came from his responsibilities as a citizen rather than from a political persona adopted for his career.
Hozier was not telling a personal coming-out story or claiming the experiences of LGBTQ+ artists as his own. His contribution was that of an ally who recognised that injustice did not need to affect him personally before it deserved his opposition.
He could have remained silent or waited until success made speaking safer. Instead, he directed his first major spotlight towards people being punished because of whom they loved.
The risk that became a global anthem
The commercial caution Hozier rejected ultimately proved unnecessary. Take Me to Church became one of the defining songs of its era.
It reached No. 2 in both the United States and the United Kingdom, topped charts across approximately 12 countries and earned a Grammy nomination for Song of the Year. The Recording Industry Association of America has certified it 15-times Platinum in the United States alone.
More than a decade after its release, the song has accumulated over 3.5 billion Spotify streams. Its success did not soften its message; its message travelled with it.
An unknown musician released a debut single condemning institutional shame, paired it with an unflinching depiction of homophobic violence and trusted that audiences would recognise the humanity at its centre. They did—billions of times over.
Hozier took a risk on LGBTQ+ people before the world had taken a risk on him. Its extraordinary success suggests that defending human dignity is not merely compatible with great art. Sometimes, it is precisely what gives that art its lasting power.
For another perspective on queer storytelling in music, read Chronicle 19’s review of Ryan Beatty’s Sweet Fortune.
