Lord, we come to You today not as polished saints, but as weary worshipers. Bruised in spirit, unsure in step, and quietly asking: “Where are You in all of this?” We show up with hands that feel empty, hearts that feel heavy, and a soul that’s been slogging through fog for far too long.
We confess that we don’t even know how to pray right now. But Your Word reminds us that “the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). When our prayers feel like mumbled fragments, You are still praying for us. And not only the Spirit. “Christ Jesus… is at the right hand of God… interceding for us” (Romans 8:34). How can we be lost when You never stop speaking our name?
We admit it: the joy isn’t flowing. The worship feels stuck. Our default mode has been frustration, withdrawal, defensiveness. We’ve forgotten how to be still. And worse, we’ve believed the lie that we have to feel something to be faithful. But You see past our silence and meet us in our honesty. “Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether” (Psalm 139:4).
You remind us that we are not failures. We are framed in grace. You say to our hearts, “You don’t like who you’re being right now, but I still love who you are. I made you.” Because “we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works” (Ephesians 2:10). You are still shaping us through silence, sorrow, and all.
And then, You give us signs. A rock. A whisper. A scripture. A stranger’s kindness. A song we almost skipped. As if to say, “I see you. I hear you. Keep coming to Me.”
Even when we are quiet, You remind us that worship doesn’t stop. “If these were silent, the very stones would cry out” (Luke 19:40). Creation sings even when we can’t. The ocean waves, the sparrows’ morning songs, the stars above all declare Your glory. “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the skies proclaim the work of His hands” (Psalm 19:1).
And maybe that’s the grace today. You’re not waiting for a perfect offering. You’re waiting for us. The real us. The tired, foggy, stumbling us.
You remind us of Elijah, who thought he was alone, done, and ready to quit. But You came not in the wind, the fire, or the earthquake, but in the gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:11–12). You whisper now, too.
You remind us of Peter, who denied You, who ran away, but who You restored and gave purpose to, saying “Feed my sheep” (John 21:17).
You remind us of Job, who sat in ashes, questioning, yet later declared, “My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you” (Job 42:5).
You remind us of Hannah, who wept bitterly in the temple, unable to even speak, but You heard her cry (1 Samuel 1:10–13).
You remind us of David, who wrote, “I am forgotten as though I were dead; I have become like broken pottery” (Psalm 31:12), but also declared, “I trust in You, Lord; I say, ‘You are my God’” (Psalm 31:14).
So we come like they did. Messy, empty handed, but reaching. Not because we feel strong, but because You are our strength. “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalm 73:26).
Lord, we thank You that worship is not confined to songs or services. Sometimes, worship is showing up. Sometimes it’s a whisper. Sometimes it’s the tears. Sometimes it’s just staying when we feel like drifting.
And in this sacred space between what we feel and what we believe, we hold fast to this:
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22–23).
We are not perfect. But we are being perfected. We are not loud. But we are still heard. We are not always full. But we are never forsaken.
Jesus, You are still the Rock beneath us. You are still the Shepherd who leaves the ninety nine. You are still the God who remembers dust and redeems ashes.
And even in the funk, even in the silence, You want us. That truth alone is worship worthy.
So we lift up what we have today. A heart that needs holding. A spirit that needs reviving. A soul that needs reminding.
We are Yours.
Amen.