Everyone is called to Praise

In some circles, there exists a faulty belief that praising God is primarily the job of those who are “closer” to Him - pastors, worship leaders, church elders, missionaries, or those seen as ‘spiritual.’ These are the people often thought to have a direct line to God, whose praise somehow carries more weight or effectiveness. Meanwhile, others feel content to spectate, listen, and perhaps quietly agree from the sidelines. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Praise is not a performance reserved for the chosen few. It is a calling for all believers, a personal invitation to participate in honoring God not just with our lips, but with our lives.

A compelling example of this comes from outside the church context in former U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt. On April 23, 1910, during his speech delivered at the Sorbonne in Paris, Roosevelt spoke words that have echoed across generations. In what has become known as the “Man in the Arena” passage, he championed the idea of personal responsibility and the courage to engage in the struggle, regardless of failure or opposition:

“It is not the critic who counts... The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly...”

Roosevelt’s words were not mere political rhetoric. They were forged from the fires of personal suffering and resilience. By age 25, he had lost his father, mother, and wife in rapid succession, all while dealing with debilitating asthma since childhood and parenting his young daughter. Still, he chose to stay in life’s arena - dusty, weary, bleeding - and kept moving forward with devotion.

Perhaps you can relate in some way. At times life is very hard. Loss, disappointment, sickness, and uncertainty press in and tempt us to sit on the sidelines. In those moments, praise can feel like a distant thing reserved for those who are more “qualified” or “less broken.” Psalm 42 and 43 remind us otherwise. The psalmist, clearly in emotional turmoil, repeats a familiar refrain three times: “Why am I so sad? Why am I so troubled? I will put my hope in God, and once again I will praise him, my Savior and my God.” (Psalm 42:5, 11; 43:5).

This is not a praise that comes from perfect circumstances. It’s a broken yet precious hallelujah born from pain. The psalmist is in the arena, battling despair, confusion, and deep sadness, but he still chooses to lift his voice in praise. Why? Because praise is not about how we feel. It’s about who God is.

We serve a Savior who is not distant from our suffering. Jesus is intimately familiar with pain, betrayal, and grief. And yet, He now sits enthroned above the nations, interceding on our behalf before the Father. He is both our empathic High Priest and our victorious King.

So, don’t believe the lie that praise is for the “experts.” If Roosevelt could urge people to step into the messy arena of public service and leadership, how much more should we - redeemed, loved, and empowered by the Holy Spirit - step into the communal arena of praise?

We may be bruised, tired, and uncertain, but we are not disqualified. In fact, our brokenness often makes our praise all the more powerful. It declares that even when life is hard, God is still good. Even when we don’t understand, we still trust. Even when we don’t feel like it, we still raise a hallelujah. So let’s enter the arena, not as spectators, but as active participants. Let’s praise with joy, questions or tear-filled eyes, but let us praise. Because He is worthy, and because we were made for this.