Advent has become a treasured season of the church year for me. It always shows up when things in life are unclear or in process, or when circumstances in my community, the country, or the world are anxious and unresolved. This year is no different.

But rather than escape or avoid discomfort, I have begun to wonder how Advent helps us befriend it and hold it tenderly. Can the practices it invites (looking, listening, waiting, trusting) help grow our patience, not needing to rush to resolution or an easy answer? Perhaps the discoveries we make in this season help us be more fully present and aware through the rest of the year?

This jazz-inspired Advent song was written on the plains of Southern Ohio last spring and holds an invitation to reflection and wonder. Rather than assume we know who or what is coming (because we often struggle even to know ourselves), we are invited to look and listen, to be in the present moment, attentive to where and when Divine will manifest.

And it could be in any number of forms - sound, light, touch, a human body, or through the movement of grass on rolling hills. God is always being made known to us, and Advent calls us to heighten our senses, to practice paying attention both individually and in community.

Given its flexible, ballad style, the first part of the song is best offered by soloist or choir. But the final phrase (‘waiting, waiting, waiting’) invites the participation of a congregation and could be part of an Advent litany, a prayer response, or candle-lighting. I invite you to think about how the piece might speak best in your context and adapt, as needed, including the addition of jazz bassist, drummer, or instrumentalist.

You can hear a scratch recording of the song below and purchase sheet music here.

I don’t know who you are.
I barely know who I am.
All I know is I am here,
looking for a glimpse of you,
listening for the sound of you.
Waiting, waiting, waiting.