“As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?”
— Psalm 42:1–2 (ESV)

We don’t often talk about it in church, but most Christians eventually experience seasons when God feels far away. You open your Bible, but the words seem flat. You try to pray, but your thoughts wander or your words feel empty. You sit in worship, surrounded by songs of joy, yet your heart feels numb.

Maybe you’ve even asked quietly: “What’s wrong with me? Did I do something to push God away? Am I broken somehow?”

Spiritual dryness can come for many reasons. Sometimes it follows a season of deep loss or exhaustion, when grief leaves us too weary to feel. Other times it creeps in slowly through routine—when faith becomes mechanical, more about going through motions than experiencing living relationship. Still other times, it comes right after a spiritual high. The prophet Elijah, for example, saw God send fire from heaven on Mount Carmel—yet only days later he collapsed in despair, begging for death.

The truth is, spiritual dryness is not a modern problem—it is a deeply human one. Scripture gives us honest portraits of people who wrestled with it: a psalmist who thirsted for God like a deer in the desert, a prophet who hid under a broom tree, and even disciples who had to wait for living water to flow. Their stories remind us that dryness is not the end of faith, but often the pathway to deeper renewal.

Today we’ll explore three powerful moments in Scripture—Psalm 42, Elijah in 1 Kings 19, and Jesus’ promise in John 7. Together, they form a roadmap: not quick fixes or shallow platitudes, but a way of meeting God in the dry places of life. And as we’ll see, the same God who met His people then still meets us today—bringing refreshment, rest, and living water.

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Longing in the Desert: Psalm 42

Psalm 42 opens with one of the most vivid images of spiritual longing in all of Scripture:

“As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?”

— Psalm 42:1–2 (ESV)

This isn’t the casual thirst we experience on a hot day. The Hebrew word for “pants” here is ‘arag, which carries the sense of desperate longing. In the ancient Near East, water was not abundant—it was the very definition of survival. A deer in the wilderness without flowing streams would wither, grow weak, and eventually die.

The psalmist—likely one of the sons of Korah, temple leaders exiled far from Jerusalem—uses this image to describe a soul cut off from the temple presence of God. To ancient Israelites, the temple was not just a building, but the meeting place of heaven and earth. Being far from it felt like being far from God Himself.

Notice how honest the psalm is. The writer doesn’t sugarcoat his despair. He weeps day and night (v. 3). He remembers past seasons of joy (v. 4). He talks to himself—“Why are you cast down, O my soul?” (v. 5). In other words, spiritual dryness is not a modern inconvenience. It’s an age-old cry of the human heart when God feels distant.

And yet, Psalm 42 also teaches us that longing is not wasted. The very thirst we feel is evidence of life. A spiritually dead heart doesn’t thirst for God. Only a living one does. That means dryness, though painful, can actually be a sign that your soul is alive and longing for renewal.

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Elijah Under the Broom Tree: 1 Kings 19

If Psalm 42 shows us the longing, Elijah’s story shows us the weariness.

In 1 Kings 18, Elijah had just experienced one of the greatest victories in prophetic history. Fire fell from heaven on Mount Carmel, proving Yahweh’s supremacy over Baal. But immediately afterward, Elijah received word that Queen Jezebel wanted him dead. Instead of standing tall, he ran. Fear drove him into the wilderness. There, under a solitary broom tree, he collapsed in exhaustion and prayed: “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers” (1 Kings 19:4).

For readers in the ancient world, this would have been shocking. Prophets were supposed to be the strong ones, the bold voices of truth. Yet here was Elijah—burned out, afraid, and ready to give up.

But notice how God responds. He doesn’t rebuke Elijah for weakness. He sends an angel with bread and water. Twice. Only after Elijah has rested and eaten does God call him to Mount Horeb—the very mountain where Moses once met God. There, Elijah experiences a dramatic sequence: wind, earthquake, fire. Yet God is not in any of those. Instead, He comes in “a low whisper” (v. 12).

This was countercultural. In Elijah’s world, power was expected to be loud, dramatic, overwhelming. Baal was thought to reveal himself in storms and lightning. But the God of Israel meets His weary prophet not with more spectacle, but with gentle presence. Renewal comes not in fireworks, but in stillness.

This is good news for us: when we are dry, God doesn’t demand more striving. He invites us to rest, to receive His care, and to listen for His quiet voice.

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Jesus, the Living Water: John 7:37–38

Finally, we come to the words of Jesus in John 7.

The context here is crucial. Jesus is speaking during the Feast of Booths (or Tabernacles), one of Israel’s major festivals. For seven days, priests would draw water from the Pool of Siloam and pour it out at the temple altar, remembering how God provided water from the rock in the wilderness (Exodus 17; Numbers 20). It was both a thanksgiving for past provision and a prayer for future rain.

On the last and greatest day of the feast, when the water ceremony reached its climactic moment, Jesus stood up and cried out:

“If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’”

— John 7:37–38 (ESV)

To first-century Jews, this was radical. Jesus wasn’t just claiming to provide water—He was claiming to be the source of it. He was positioning Himself as the fulfillment of Isaiah 55:1 (“Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters”) and Ezekiel 47, where a river of life flows from the temple. In this moment, Jesus identifies Himself as the true locus of God’s presence (cf. John 2:19–21).

The historical ceremony helps us feel the weight of this moment. As gallons of water splashed across the temple steps, symbolizing God’s provision, Jesus points to Himself as the greater reality. The rivers of living water He promises are the Spirit (John 7:39), poured into the hearts of believers.

This means that spiritual dryness is not the end of the story. Through Christ, the Spirit of God dwells in us. Renewal is not found in chasing emotions or religious rituals, but in turning again to the One who is living water.

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Pathway to Renewal

Seasons of spiritual dryness often leave us asking, “What now? How do I move forward when my soul feels empty?” The beauty of Scripture is that it doesn’t just describe the problem — it points us toward God’s solution. From the psalmist’s thirst, to Elijah’s exhaustion, to Jesus’ invitation, we discover a pathway that leads from dryness to renewal. It’s not a quick fix or a formula. It’s a rhythm of grace that invites us to return to God’s presence again and again.

Here are three truths — drawn directly from these passages — that show us how renewal begins.

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1. Be Honest with God

Psalm 42 doesn’t begin with answers—it begins with a cry. “My tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all the day long, ‘Where is your God?’” (v. 3). The psalmist names his pain without dressing it up. He admits his soul is “cast down” and “in turmoil” (vv. 5–6). This is striking when we remember that these psalms were sung in the assembly of God’s people. In other words, Israel didn’t hide their lament from worship—they made it part of worship.

In the Hebrew worldview, to lament was not to doubt God’s character, but to take God’s promises so seriously that you bring Him your disappointment when reality doesn’t align. It’s faith refusing to go silent. The psalmist doesn’t walk away from God in his dryness; he presses in with honesty, trusting that the God who once met him in joy can meet him in sorrow.

This pattern runs throughout Scripture. Job pours out his confusion and grief in raw words, yet the end of the book says he “spoke what was right” about God (Job 42:7). Jeremiah, known as the “weeping prophet,” cries, “Why is my pain unceasing, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed?” (Jeremiah 15:18). Even Jesus on the cross prays a psalm of lament: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46).

The lesson is clear: the pathway to renewal begins not with pretending, but with truth-telling. God does not demand polished prayers or forced positivity. He invites His people to bring their tears, their doubts, their unfiltered ache into His presence.

And here is where the application lives: when you feel spiritually dry, don’t hide it behind religious performance. If the psalmist could sing of thirst and tears in the gathered assembly, then you, too, can bring your dryness to God without fear of rejection. Honesty is not weakness—it is worship. Naming your thirst is itself an act of faith, because only a living soul longs for living water.

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2. Rest and Receive

Elijah’s story in 1 Kings 19 gives us another window into spiritual dryness. After the triumph on Mount Carmel—fire from heaven, the people declaring “The LORD, He is God!”—we expect Elijah to stand tall. Instead, we find him running for his life, collapsing under a broom tree, and praying, “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life” (v. 4).

From a human perspective, Elijah looks like a failure. From God’s perspective, Elijah looks like someone who is exhausted. And God meets him in that exhaustion, not with a lecture, but with provision: bread baked on hot stones, a jar of water, and the simple command, “Arise and eat” (vv. 5–6). Twice God provides. Twice Elijah rests. Only then is he able to walk forty days to Mount Horeb, where he encounters the presence of God.

To the ancient audience, this detail would resonate deeply. Mount Horeb was no ordinary place; it was Sinai, where Moses received the law and saw God’s glory. By retracing Israel’s journey to the mountain, Elijah reenacts the pattern of renewal: weakness sustained by God’s provision, leading to an encounter with His presence.

And notice how God finally reveals Himself: not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire, but in “a low whisper” (v. 12). Renewal often comes not in dramatic moments, but in quiet ones.

Here lies the truth for us: when we feel spiritually dry, we often double down on striving—trying harder, pushing deeper, adding more. Yet God’s invitation is often the opposite: rest, receive, let Him care for you. As Jesus later says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Renewal is not manufactured; it is given. Sometimes the most spiritual act you can take is to slow down, rest, and open your hands to receive what God provides.

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3. Return to Jesus, the Source

If Psalm 42 shows us thirst and Elijah shows us exhaustion, John 7 shows us the ultimate answer.

The setting is the Feast of Booths, one of Israel’s great festivals, when the people remembered God’s provision in the wilderness. Each day, priests would draw water from the Pool of Siloam and pour it at the altar, a powerful symbol of God’s past faithfulness and their prayer for future rain. On the final and climactic day, when the water ceremony reached its height, Jesus stood and cried out:

“If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’” (John 7:37–38)

For first-century Jews, this was staggering. Jesus wasn’t simply offering a blessing; He was claiming to be the fulfillment of Isaiah 55:1 (“Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters”) and the vision of Ezekiel 47, where a river flows from the temple to bring life to the world. He was saying, in effect, “The thirst you remember in the wilderness, the water you celebrate in this feast—it all points to Me. I am the living water.”

And John clarifies: this living water is the Spirit (v. 39), poured into the hearts of believers. In other words, the renewal we long for doesn’t come from chasing emotions or rituals, but from drawing near to Christ, who gives His Spirit to refresh us from within.

This is where spiritual dryness ultimately finds its answer: not in the absence of struggle, not in the return of certain feelings, but in abiding in Christ. As He said earlier in John, “Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Dryness reminds us that we cannot survive apart from Him. It calls us back to the Source.

So when you feel parched, don’t stop at lament. Don’t stop at rest. Come again to Jesus. Open His Word not for mere information, but for encounter. Pray not only for relief, but for His Spirit to fill you afresh. The rivers of living water He promised are not a distant hope—they are available now, flowing from Him into the dry places of your life.

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From Dryness to Overflow

Spiritual dryness is not a sign that God has abandoned you. It is often the very place where He does His deepest work. The psalmist’s thirst reminded him of the God who satisfies. Elijah’s exhaustion became the doorway to God’s gentle whisper. And Jesus’ promise of living water still stands for every weary, thirsty soul.

The pathway is clear: be honest with God, rest in His care, and return to Christ as your source. But here is the greater truth: renewal is never just for you. When Jesus spoke of living water, He didn’t say it would simply fill you—He said it would flow out of you. The Spirit refreshes you so that you might refresh others.

So here is the challenge: don’t waste your dryness. Let it drive you deeper into God’s presence until your thirst is quenched, your strength is renewed, and your life becomes a stream of grace for those around you. Maybe that means reaching out to a friend who feels alone in their faith. Maybe it means slowing down to truly listen to your children or spouse. Maybe it means serving someone who is in their own wilderness.

Whatever it looks like, choose this week to let God meet you in your thirst—and then let His living water spill over into someone else’s life. Because in God’s economy, the dry places are not dead ends. They are the soil where rivers begin.