When Praise Refuses to Come: Worshiping in the Silence (Psalm 77)
Wednesday I reminded our Network Superintendent I would be out Thursday, helping our kids move into their new house. After more than fifteen years of working together, he knows my history with back issues, so he asked if I still had a brace. I smiled and said I really have not had trouble since my neck surgery. And in an instant, my mind was taken back to that year. What a year it was.
January 2020 we were celebrating the grand opening of our new church space inside the mall. Momentum was building, energy was high, people were leaning in. Then March came, and with it, COVID. Suddenly the momentum screeched to a halt. In April, I was on the table for neck surgery. June brought shoulder surgery. By July, yet another procedure. September, Rachel and I battled strep throat. December rolled around and Rachel had surgery for a deviated septum. By Christmas, COVID caught up with us. We could not see family, and Rachel ended the year battling double pneumonia. Maybe the hardest moment of that entire year was sitting alone at home while our family gathered in another location for Christmas, while we wondered if she would even pull through. The nights seemed to hit her the hardest, and I remember lying awake, praying and wondering what the morning would bring.
Through that entire year we kept moving, kept going, kept believing, but there were many times it felt like just motions. I was doing what I knew to do, even when I did not feel it. On top of all that, our church was inside a mall that was bleeding store closures, one after another. It felt like the walls were literally closing in. Looking back, I realize that year stripped me down to raw faith. I did not always feel it, but I kept showing up. And even though I felt empty more often than full, God’s faithfulness never wavered. That is why Psalm 77 speaks so deeply to me. It gives words to the tension of trusting when you do not feel anything at all.
That year felt like a wilderness. I remember sitting in services or in prayer, the words swirling around me, but my own soul felt silent. The music was playing, but my heart was not singing. When 2020 finally came to an end, Rachel and I felt more weary than relieved. But somewhere in that long silence, God was still at work, and in His time, my song returned.
A Psalm for the Silent Soul
It is in moments like that I think of Psalm 77. The psalmist begins, “I cried out to God with my voice, to God, and He gave ear to me. In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord; my hand was stretched out in the night without ceasing; my soul refused to be comforted.” (Psalm 77:1–2, NKJV).
What a raw and honest line: my soul refused to be comforted. Have you ever been there? You know God is good. You know His promises are true. You know He has not changed. But your heart will not catch up with what your head knows. That is where the psalmist was, wrestling with silence, wrestling with the gap between belief and feeling.
The beauty of Psalm 77 is that it does not stop there. In verse 11 he makes a shift: “I will remember the works of the Lord; surely I will remember Your wonders of old.” The psalmist does not suddenly feel better, but he chooses to look back, to rehearse God’s faithfulness, to anchor his weary heart in God’s history of goodness.
When Worship Feels Like Just Motions
Sometimes the hardest part of a silent season is showing up. You walk into church, you stand when everyone stands, the music swells, but inside you feel numb. Your lips may move, but your heart is quiet. It can feel like you are going through the motions, and you wonder if that even counts.
Friend, it does. Faith is not always about feeling inspired. Sometimes faith is doing what you know to do, even when you do not feel it. Sometimes the holiest thing you can do is whisper a prayer you do not feel, and trust that God still hears.
If you are there right now, take comfort. You are not failing God by feeling empty. In fact, you may be closer to Him than you realize. The psalmist shows us that refusing comfort is not the end of faith, it’s part of the journey through it.
What to Do When Worship Feels Silent
Remember deliberately. When your heart feels empty, remember God’s past faithfulness. Write it down, say it out loud, tell someone else. Let memory become fuel for trust.
Stay in the rhythm. Keep showing up in worship, prayer, Scripture, even when it feels dry. Faith is often built most deeply in the desert.
Do not fake it. The psalms give us permission to lament, to be honest, even to weep in God’s presence. Silence itself can be worship when it is offered honestly.
Lean into community. When your song will not rise, let others sing over you. This is one reason the body of Christ matters so much.
The Song Will Return
That hard year reminded me that silence does not mean absence. God was there in the surgeries, in the isolation, in the slow healing. He was there when the mall around us felt like it was shutting down. And He is there with you, even when your worship feels silent. Silence can be holy ground, if you offer it to Him.
The psalmist who began with, “my soul refused to be comforted,” ended by remembering the wonders of God. That shift is a reminder for us too. The song may not come right away, but it will come. And when it does, it will be deeper, richer, born out of trust rather than feelings.
So if you are in a season of silence right now, do not give up. God still hears the prayers you cannot put into words. He still receives the worship you cannot voice. And He will meet you in the quiet. Your song will return too.
Prayer:
Lord, You see the seasons when my words run out and my soul feels heavy. Teach me to trust You in the silence. Help me to remember Your faithfulness and cling to Your promises. Let my quiet surrender be worship, and in Your time, let my song rise again. Amen.
On a side note: the move went great yesterday. While I did not injure my back, it is definitely a little sore this morning… and I’m just a bit tired too. Real life keeps us humble, doesn’t it?
