Let’s talk about those Sundays, or perhaps those quiet moments alone with God, when everything feels… flat. There’s no fire, no goosebumps, no sense of breakthrough, and the prayers bounce off the ceiling. It’s easy to wonder if something’s broken in us, or worse, if God has stepped back. The songs don’t hit the same, the prayers bounce off the ceiling, and the whole thing feels like going through the motions with a silent organ. Here’s the truth: worship can feel dead while God is very much alive.
Feelings come and go, like waves, but God’s power and presence don’t depend on our emotional temperature. God is constant, even when we’re feeling numb. Think about the psalmist in Psalm 42, panting for God like a deer pants for water, but feeling distant and cast down. He talks to his soul, reaffirming his faith.
Think about Elijah after Mount Carmel, hiding in a cave, feeling alone and defeated, only to hear God in a gentle whisper. The dramatic fire and wind weren’t important, God was still there.
A dry worship season isn’t a sign of abandonment, it’s an invitation to dig deeper. When the excitement wears off, we have to rely on truth rather than sensation. We worship God because He deserves it, not because we feel inspired. It’s faith in action. The love of God in Christ Jesus can’t be separated from us, not even our own emotional droughts, as Romans 8 reminds us. He’s alive, working in ways we can’t see right now, perhaps refining us, teaching us to trust beyond what we see.
A season of intensity can lead to dryness. You’ve poured everything into big gatherings or personal devotion, but now your well feels empty. It’s normal, too. Even Jesus secluded himself to pray, but He kept in touch with the Father. Rhythms aren’t a constant sprint, they’re a long walk. God made rhythms, like rest and waiting, to keep us focused on Him instead of constant highs.
Another thing: comparison kills the vibe. We scroll through feeds of people sharing their “powerful encounters,” and suddenly our quiet, seemingly lifeless worship looks inferior. God doesn’t grade worship by volume or visible results. He looks at the heart. It’s more satisfying to say, “I trust You anyway,” than to raise your hands purely for atmosphere in a stadium.
It’s important not to overlook the enemy’s role. He loves to whisper that the silence means God left, that your faith isn’t working. Remind yourself that God is near, Psalm 145:18, the Lord is near to everyone. Push back with truth. James 4:7 says submit to God, resist the devil, and he’ll flee.
If the organ goes silent, what do we do? Keep showing up. Sing the truths even if your voice cracks. Read the Word even when it feels like words on a page. Pray honestly about the dryness, tell God you feel far away. God already knows, and He meets us there. Sometimes the breakthrough isn’t a rush of emotion, but a quiet obedience that builds resilience. It’s not about doing it for a feeling, it’s about declaring God’s reality regardless of how you feel.
A God of ordinary faithfulness lives. He’s alive in the valley of dry bones in Ezekiel 37, where He breathes life into what looks hopelessly dead. He’s alive in the music, when it’s loud and when it’s barely a whisper. The same resurrecting power is at work in our worship lives. The organ might feel silent, but God breathes new life into each moment we sing.
Stay strong. Keep lifting your voice, even if it feels like it’s empty. God hears, He sees, and He’s closer than you think. Worship Him because He’s worthy, and watch how He revives what feels dead. It’s not because we forced it, but because the One who promised to be with us keeps showing up. One day the silence breaks.
