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Advent isn’t about counting candles or days so much as cultivating expectancy. Pastor Mark Medley opened our Expecting series by taking us into Luke 1:57–80, where a silent priest regains his voice and a routine family ceremony becomes a watershed of worship. Zechariah’s story reminds us that God remembers the prayers we forget. Long past the age when he and Elizabeth expected children, Zechariah encounters the God who keeps covenant, the God whose mercy outlasts our disappointments. When he writes on a tablet, “His name is John,” his tongue is loosed—not to vent frustration, but to bless the Lord. From there his praise turns prophetic, and a father sings over his newborn: “And you, child…” In that pivot, Mark said, we see what often happens when God draws near in worship: celebration becomes intimacy, and intimacy opens space for God’s timely word.

Mark framed worship with a simple, weighty definition: revelation, response, and relationship. God, in mercy, opens our eyes to see who He is. That revelation invites a whole-person response in our minds, bodies, and voices. The ongoing fruit of that response is relationship—a reshaped life that walks with Him. The depth of our worship, he noted, rarely exceeds the size of our view of God. Small thoughts of God produce small praise; a truer, larger vision awakens a truer, larger response. This is why filling our minds with Scripture and meditating on God’s attributes matters so much. Is He holy? Merciful? Wise? Sovereign? Our songs become more than melodies when our hearts have been steeped in His character all week. Mark encouraged us to choose one attribute each week of Advent and saturate ourselves in the Word around it. Watch what happens when a lyric about God’s holiness lands on a heart that’s been living in Isaiah and Revelation. Truth inside us begins to resonate with truth we sing, and worship becomes alive, personal, and transformative.

Zechariah’s song shows where that transformation leads. He blesses “the Lord God of Israel” who has visited and redeemed His people, kept promises to David, remembered His covenant to Abraham, and delivered Israel from enemies. The song is Godward, recounting God’s faithfulness to generations. Then it pivots: “And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High.” Praise becomes prophecy, and a father speaks a Spirit-given calling over his son. Mark lingered here because it was Family Sunday, and the moment is a gift to parents. God often speaks to us about our children as we worship. As we set our minds on Him, He gives wisdom for the particular child in front of us—their needs, their temperament, the next faithful step. Zechariah’s prophetic blessing wasn’t vague sentiment; it was a Spirit-breathed clarity that later marked John’s life.

None of this means we’re chasing novelty or elevating impressions over Scripture. Mark anchored the flow of worship in the pattern Paul sketches in Ephesians 5:18–19 and Colossians 3:16. When we are filled with the Spirit and let the word of Christ dwell in us richly, we sing “psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs.” There’s room for discussion about the precise distinctions, but Mark offered a helpful framework. Psalms incline toward songs about God—corporate celebration of His greatness: we rehearse what He has done and who He is. Hymns tilt us toward songs to God—more intimate adoration addressed to Him rather than about Him. Spiritual songs carry a prophetic edge—a Spirit-led, in-the-moment word sung over us or through us that applies the unchanging Word to the needs of the moment. Paul could have said, “Sing songs,” but he didn’t. The Spirit and the Word form us into people who both celebrate and adore—and who also receive God’s timely encouragement, conviction, and direction in ways that never contradict the Scriptures.

To show this isn’t a novel idea, Mark took us back to the first recorded song in the Bible, Exodus 15. After the Red Sea, Israel erupts in praise. They celebrate who God is and what He has done: “The Lord is my strength and my song… Who is like you, O Lord?” Then the praise turns prophetic: “You will lead the people you have redeemed… the nations will hear and tremble… you will bring them in and plant them.” The very next chapters confirm that this Spirit-given foresight was true. Worship, in other words, is not a static recital; it is a conversation. As we behold Him, we are changed (2 Corinthians 3:18). Mark put it plainly: in the gathered church, in the living room with your family, or alone with an open Bible, expect worship to move from celebration to intimacy to revelation. Expect God to smile as His people bless Him. Expect Him to speak—not with new doctrine, but with a living application of His eternal Word to the present moment.

This is where our preferences often get in the way. Mark told a story on us all with a wry smile: when we say, “I just didn’t get much out of worship today,” we betray a misunderstanding of what we’re doing. Worship is not primarily about our tastes, styles, or feelings. It’s not the warm-up for the sermon or the place to evaluate setlists. We aren’t attending our own birthday party. We are responding to the Holy One who is worthy. Yet in the paradox of grace, when we come to bless Him, He blesses us. When we give Him our attention, He gives us what we truly need. Setting aside preferences makes room for presence.

Mark also told some of his own story to help us see how this has been forged over decades in the life of our church. He came to Trinity in 1985, began serving on the worship team, then joined the staff in 1989 as a pastor focused on worship. That journey took him deep into Scripture and into the disciplines of musical and spiritual excellence. Along the way, he kept working to distill a definition of worship that could both honor God’s grandeur and translate into everyday practice. Revelation, response, relationship is where he’s landed—not as an abstract formula but as a living description of what God keeps doing among us. That’s also why he cares about theology in the life of the average worshiper. A. W. Tozer warned that many live amidst Bibles and churches yet rarely think seriously about the being of God. Mark pressed us to expand our view. God reveals Himself as sovereign Lord—transcendent, immense, omnipotent—and as Father—near, tender, knowable, full of mercy. Some of His attributes are communicable; we have a frame of reference for love, truth, beauty, wisdom because He stamped His image on us. Others are His alone: omniscience, infinitude, sovereignty. And they’re not siloed. He is infinitely wise in the way He expresses His goodness, and infinitely loving in the way He exercises sovereignty. The larger He becomes in our vision, the larger our praise becomes in our mouths.

Even God’s heart for singing starts with who He is. Zephaniah tells us He rejoices over His people with loud singing. We sing because we’re made in the image of a singing God. That reality changes the room on Sunday and the atmosphere in a minivan on Monday. He sings over us even as we sing to Him. In that exchange, He often whispers direction for our daily life. Mark defined prophecy simply: God’s particular word to a particular person or people at a particular time. Such words never rewrite Scripture; they apply Scripture’s truth with Spirit-given precision, and they can come in many forms—a passage quickened to your heart, an encouraging word shared in the gathering, wisdom for a child, faith for a next step, a reminder of forgiveness, a call to repentance. Advent sharpens our ears to receive them because Advent trains us to expect.

Perhaps the most comforting thread in Zechariah’s story is how God meets us at our lowest. Zechariah doubted. He went silent. He may have wondered whether he’d failed God, whether his ministry had been nullified, whether he’d misheard the angel entirely. Yet when his voice returned, it carried praise, Scripture, and Spirit-given clarity about God’s mercy. Silence gave way to a song that would shape his son’s calling. Mark lingered here to say: if you feel late, tired, or chastened, you are not lost to the God who speaks. Emmanuel means God with us—really with us. He answers with mercy, grants hope where there’s been disappointment, and folds our small story into His great one. He gives light to those who sit in darkness and guides our feet into the way of peace.

So how do we lean into Expecting this Advent? Open the Scriptures and let the word of Christ dwell in you richly. Ask the Spirit to fill you. Choose an attribute of God each week and let it furnish your mind. Come ready to bless the Lord, and expect Him to lead the room—from celebration to intimacy to revelation. For parents, bring your children into that space and listen for the Father’s voice over them. For all of us, watch for the tender mercies that mark Zechariah’s song—the sunrise from on high that visits us again and again. The God who kept His oath to Abraham, who raised up salvation in David’s line, who remembered the prayers a couple no longer dared to pray, is the same God who meets us when we sing. In worship, His faithfulness becomes personal.