When I Don't Feel Like Worshiping

Devotional

Some mornings you've got nothing.

You're not mad at God. You're not walking away. You're just flat. You open the Bible and it's letters on a page. You stand in church and the room is singing around you and your mouth is moving and nothing's happening behind it. And what makes it worse is you remember when it wasn't like this, so now you're worried something in you broke.

I've stood on a stage feeling that. I've stood in a pulpit feeling that. It's not rare. It just doesn't get said out loud much.

Psalm 103 is written by a man in that spot, and look at how he opens. Not with a feeling. With an order. "Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name!"

That's a command, and the person he's commanding is himself. Everything in me: get up. Do this.

That's not fake. That's a man who understands worship doesn't always start with wanting to. Sometimes it starts with deciding to.

Then verse 2 names the real problem. "Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits." Forget. That's the enemy here. It isn't doubt. When your heart goes flat, your memory goes with it. You can't recall the last time you sensed him. The goodness of God is as steady as the sunrise, and you've just quit noticing it.

So David makes himself remember, out loud, in a list. Who forgives all your iniquity. Who heals all your diseases. Who redeems your life from the pit. Who crowns you with steadfast love. Who satisfies you with good. Five of them, stacked, each one starting with "who," and every one of them addressed to "your." Not God in general. God in his life.

And here's where a lot of us get it backwards. When we don't feel like worshiping, we go looking inside for a spark. We poke around in our own heart for fuel, come up empty, and conclude worship is off today.

David doesn't look in. He looks up. The fuel for worship is never the condition of your heart. It's the character of your God.

And then verse 14. "He knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust." He isn't surprised that you're empty this morning. He made the frame. He knows exactly what you're built out of, and his response to your weakness isn't impatience. It's compassion.

Here's the part that ought to take the pressure off entirely.

Jesus knew what it was to be dust. He got tired. He wept. He needed sleep. And he offered the Father a life of perfect worship in your place. So on the morning you can't bless the Lord, understand: he already did, for you, completely. The worship you can't produce today has already been rendered on your behalf. That's not permission to quit. That's the ground you get to start over on.

And notice why David tells his soul to do this. Not because it'll improve his mood. "The LORD has established his throne in the heavens, and his kingdom rules over all." He worships because God actually reigns. The throne is not vacant just because you're flat. And the right response to a King on a throne isn't to wait until you're in the mood. It's to bow with stiff knees.

Then watch the psalm get bigger than him. Angels. All his works. Every corner of his dominion. And then at the very end, quietly, the same small voice from verse 1: "Bless the LORD, O my soul."

He talked himself into the choir.

"The steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting." It was there before you woke up empty. It'll be there when this season lifts.

So don't wait for the fire. Talk to your soul. Tell it what's true whether it feels it or not.

Sometimes the song follows the decision. Not always right away. But it follows.