Praising from the Dust

Opening Prayer

Note to leader: this prayer invites the congregation to settle into worship, acknowledging the journeys that brought them here and the God who meets the lowly.

God of the humble,
you lift the poor from the dust
and seat them with princes—
we come to you from many places this morning.

Some of us arrive grateful,
others weary or distracted.
Some carry burdens we cannot name,
others bring joy that spills over.

Meet us here,
in whatever condition we come.
Quiet the noise that follows us,
the endless demands, the inner critique.

Teach us the song of the lowly,
the praise that rises not from success
but from knowing we are seen,
held, and loved by you.

Open our hearts to receive your word.
Open our lips to join the chorus
of all who have been lifted from the dust
and cannot keep silent.

Through Jesus Christ, who emptied himself to be counted among us.
Amen.

Call to Worship

Based on Psalm 113
selected verses

Who is like the Lord our God,
who is seated on high,
who looks far down
on the heavens and the earth?

Praise the Lord!
From the rising of the sun to its setting,
the name of the Lord is to be praised.

The Lord raises the poor from the dust,
and lifts the needy from the ash heap.

The Lord gives the barren woman a home,
making her the joyful mother of children.

Who stoops down to look
on the heavens and the earth?

The God who remembers the forgotten,
who sees those the world passes by.

The Lord seats them with princes,
with the princes of his people.

From the dust to the dwelling place,
from nothing to abundance—this is our God.

Praise the Lord!
Servants of the Lord, praise the name of the Lord!

Blessed be the name of the Lord
from this time on and forevermore.

Come, let us worship the God who lifts the lowly.

Hymn of Praise

Sing Praise to God, Who Reigns Above, GTG #645

Grace Spoken

Hear the good news:
God lifts the lowly from the dust.
God raises the poor from the ash heap.
In Christ, God has made a place for us—
not because we earned it,
but because God’s mercy endures forever.

The one who formed us in love
redeems us in grace.

We are forgiven.

The one who calls us by name
will never let us go.

We are claimed as God’s own.

The one who sang creation into being
invites us to join the song.

We lift our voices in praise.

Trusting in God’s grace and mercy, let us confess our sins and brokenness together.

Responding to God’s Grace

Unison Prayer of Confession

God who lifts the lowly from the dust,
we confess that we have turned away
from those you raise up.
We have ignored the voices of the poor,
dismissed the songs of the forgotten.

We have built our comfort on the backs of others,
chosen security over solidarity,
and praised only those
whose success mirrors our own.
We have silenced the humble instead of amplifying them.

We have hoarded what you entrust to us,
convinced ourselves we earned what we have,
and forgotten that all we possess
flows from your gracious hand.
We have sung our own praises while the lowly wait.

(A time of silent prayer)

Through Jesus Christ, who emptied himself to lift us,
forgive us and raise us to new life.
Amen.

Sharing the Peace of Christ

An Embodied Sign of God’s Grace in Christ Jesus

Friends, we have been reminded that God’s grace extends to all. We have confessed our sins, knowing that God lifts the lowly from the dust and seats us among the honorable—not by our merit, but by grace alone.

In this spirit, let us share the peace of Christ.

The peace of Christ be with you.

And also with you.

(Share Christ’s peace in ways fitting to your community.)

The Written Word

A Reading from the Hebrew Scriptures

A Reading from the Psalms

Praising from the Dust

Hymn of Reflection

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, GTG #35

Affirmation of Faith

Spoken together.

We believe in God,
who hears the cry of the forgotten,
who lifts the poor from dust and ash,
who sets the lowly among princes.

We believe in Jesus Christ,
who was born in a stable,
who walked with fishermen and outcasts,
who was raised from death to lift us all.

We believe in the Holy Spirit,
who stirs songs in weary mouths,
who turns mourning into dancing,
who moves among the humble and makes them bold.

We believe God works from the margins inward,
not from power downward,
and calls us to join the chorus rising from below.

We trust that no one is too small for God’s notice,
no voice too quiet for God’s ear,
no life too broken for God’s mercy.

Amen.

Prayers of the People

Holy God, you lift the lowly and give voice to the forgotten.
Hear our prayers for the world you love.

For creation groaning under the weight of our carelessness,
for lands parched by drought and communities flooded by excess,
for species disappearing and ecosystems collapsing:
raise up voices that speak for the earth,
and help us listen.
In your mercy,

Lift us from the dust.

(pause)

For places where violence silences song,
where children no longer play in streets,
where fear has replaced hope:
meet those who suffer with your presence,
and stir in us the courage to work for peace.
In your mercy,

Lift us from the dust.

(pause)

For leaders and teachers, for those who shape policy and those who shape minds,
for judges and legislators, pastors and prophets:
grant them wisdom to see the lowly,
courage to speak for the voiceless,
and humility to serve rather than be served.
In your mercy,

Lift us from the dust.

(pause)

For our own lives, where pride keeps us from naming need,
where ambition drowns out gratitude,
where we forget that everything is gift:
humble us, Holy God,
and teach us to praise you from honest places.
In your mercy,

Lift us from the dust.

(pause)

For those who suffer in body, mind, or spirit,
for those waiting for diagnosis, for healing, for relief,
for caregivers exhausted and families stretched thin:
be near in the waiting,
be comfort in the pain,
be hope when hope is hard to find.
In your mercy,

Lift us from the dust.

(pause)

For those the world does not see—
the unhoused sleeping in doorways,
the workers whose labor goes unnoticed,
the elders isolated in their homes,
the children whose hunger no one names:
open our eyes to their presence,
and move us from seeing to serving.
In your mercy,

Lift us from the dust.

(pause)

For this community gathered and scattered,
for the work we do in your name,
for the relationships we build and the witness we bear:
knit us together in love,
and send us out in joy.
In your mercy,

Lift us from the dust.

(pause)

(A time of silent prayer)

God of the lowly and the lifted,
gather these prayers with all the unspoken longings of our hearts.
By your Spirit, transform our words into action
and our compassion into courage.
We pray in the name of Christ, who lifts us all.

Amen.

We pray together, saying:
(The Lord’s Prayer is prayed in the words familiar to the community.)

Hymn of Sending

Sing Praise to God, Who Reigns Above, GTG #645

Sending

Go now into a world
that measures worth by power and possessions.

Sing with those the world overlooks—
the poor mother, the hungry child,
the worker whose labor goes unnoticed.

Stand with the lowly.
Listen for God’s voice
in the places privilege ignores.

Lift up the names
no one else remembers to speak.
Celebrate small acts of faithfulness
that shame calls foolish.

Trust that God raises the forgotten
and seats them with princes—
and you are called to help them rise.

And may the God who lifts the poor from the dust,
the Christ who emptied himself to serve,
and the Spirit who sings in the humble,
go with you now and always.
Amen.

Reflections for Later

Sharing God’s Word Together

For Newcomers

If you’re here today wondering whether this is a place you belong, you’ve just heard some extraordinary news: God has a habit of lifting up people who are brought low. Not someday. Not after you get it all together. Now. The psalm we read today talks about God raising the poor from the dust and seating them with princes — which is another way of saying that God doesn’t wait for us to be impressive before paying attention to us. God notices the overlooked. God hears the forgotten. If you’re here feeling like you’re on the outside looking in, that’s actually a good place to start.

The reading from 1 Samuel was about a moment when God’s people were terrified they’d made a terrible mistake by asking for a king. Samuel tells them something surprising: yes, you turned away — but don’t be afraid. Serve the Lord with all your heart. Don’t turn aside after empty things. The Lord will not abandon you. If you’re here today carrying regret about where you’ve been or uncertainty about where you’re going, that promise is for you too. God doesn’t require perfection. God requires presence. And you’re here.

You don’t have to have it all figured out to keep showing up. You don’t have to believe everything to be welcome at this table. Faith isn’t a destination you arrive at fully formed — it’s more like learning to sing along with a song you’re just beginning to hear. So if today felt like watching from the dust while others sang, that’s okay. God is already bending down to meet you there. And we’re glad you’re here to wonder with us.

For Those Rooted in This Community

You know Psalm 113 by heart. You’ve sung it at Easter vigils, quoted it in committee meetings about outreach, referenced it in conversations about God’s preferential option for the poor. But when was the last time you let it indict you? When did you last sit with the uncomfortable truth that God lifts the barren woman and seats the poor with princes—and you are neither barren nor poor, neither lowly nor forgotten? The psalm we love to celebrate can become, in faithful hands, a comfortable distance from which we applaud God’s work for them without asking what it costs us.

This is the peculiar danger of longevity in faith: we learn the right words, the proper posture, the appropriate concern. We can speak eloquently about God’s bias toward the marginalized while our own lives remain insulated, our tables remain selective, our imaginations remain confined to people who look and sound like us. We mistake our familiarity with the story for participation in it. But Hannah’s song, Mary’s magnificat, this entire thread of Scripture—it doesn’t ask for our admiration. It asks for our dethronement.

The question is not whether you believe God lifts the lowly. You do. The question is whether you are willing to be lifted from—from your certainty, your comfort, your central place in the narrative. God raises the poor from the dust, yes. But first, God scatters the proud in the imagination of their hearts. Sometimes the dust is where the faithful must go to remember what praise sounds like when it costs you something.

Who have you stopped seeing? Whose voice have you learned to tune out because it complicates your understanding of how things should work? What would it mean, at this stage of your faith, to let someone you’ve ignored teach you to sing again?

For Churches Without a Pastor

Psalm 113 sings from the margins, not the center. It begins in the dust and the ash heap, among those whom power ignores and institutions overlook. This is a song lifted by the lowly — and perhaps your congregation knows something of that posture right now. Without a settled pastor, you may feel like you’re singing from the edges, wondering if your worship counts, if your voices matter, if God still listens when there’s no ordained leader at the front. The psalmist answers: God raises the poor from the dust. God seats the barren woman with children. God lifts up those the world forgets — and God does not wait for credentialed voices to begin the work of praise.

You have what you need to worship. You have one another. You have the Spirit moving in your midst, the same Spirit who breathed over creation and rested on the prophets and descended at Pentecost on the whole gathered community. You have Scripture that speaks even when read by uncertain voices. You have the prayers of generations who also sang from precarious places. You are not less than a church because you lack a pastor — you are the church, the body of Christ, doing what the body has always done: gathering, remembering, praying, listening, singing, being sent. This season is hard, yes. It is not what you hoped for. But it is not emptiness. God is here, raising up what the world considers low, making a home among you even now.

The woman in the psalm moves from barrenness to a household full of joy — not because she earned it, not because someone important noticed her, but because God’s mercy bends toward those who wait in hope. Your congregation is waiting too. And while you wait, you are not passive. You are learning to lead one another, to speak and listen and care in ways you might not have discovered otherwise. You are becoming what the Reformers always claimed you were: a priesthood of all believers, a people whose voices matter to God. When a pastor does come, they will join a community that already knows how to sing from the dust, already knows that God hears the lowly, already knows that worship belongs to the whole people of God — not just the one standing at the front.

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Rights and Use

© Church Commons. 2026

Written by Rev. Matthew J. Skolnik unless otherwise noted. All rights reserved.

These materials may be used and adapted for worship and educational purposes within Christian communities. They may not be sold or redistributed for commercial purposes without permission.