Lincoln Brewster - While I Wait Lyrics

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Lincoln Brewster ~ While I Wait (Lyrics)

Meaning & Inspiration

Lincoln Brewster’s "While I Wait" lands with a heavy, necessary insistence on the nature of endurance. We are prone to treat worship as the reaction to a solved problem, but these lyrics pivot toward the much harder discipline of worshiping in the middle of a mystery.

Take the line, "Seeing every scar, You make me whole." In theological circles, we often talk about the Imago Dei—the image of God—as something pristine, lost in the fall, and restored at salvation. Yet, this lyric forces us to contend with the fact that we remain marked by our history. The Christian life is not a restoration of our original, unblemished state in this life; it is a sanctification that happens through our brokenness. Christ did not hide His scars after the resurrection; He displayed them as the marks of His propitiation. To say He makes us whole while we are still carrying scars is to confess that our completeness is not a lack of past damage, but a current standing in His grace. We are whole because He is sufficient, not because we have been erased of our struggles.

There is a tension here that most modern worship songs actively avoid. We are told "sometimes miracles take time." That is a massive understatement, bordering on a provocation. If we are honest, our impatience is often a symptom of our doubt in God’s sovereignty. We want a God of the instantaneous, but Scripture is replete with the God of the long-suffering. Abraham waited for an heir; Israel waited for a Messiah; the groaning creation waits for the final consummation. When Brewster sings, "I will worship with my pain," he is moving beyond a generic "it’s okay" sentiment. He is placing his pain on the altar as a sacrificial act of trust.

This isn't about ignoring the "why" of our suffering, but about acknowledging that our lack of understanding does not disqualify our duty to praise. The "why" is not the prerequisite for the "who." We are not waiting for an explanation; we are waiting for a Person.

If I have one critique, it is that "waiting" can become a thin concept if it isn't anchored in active obedience. Waiting in the biblical sense—qavah—is not passive. It is an active binding together, a thickening of our hope as we look toward the Lord’s promise. When we sing this, we are essentially staking our claim on the resurrection. If the tomb is empty, the wait is not aimless. It is, perhaps, the very ground where our faith is stripped of its vanity and finally begins to hold weight. It is uncomfortable, yes. It leaves us without the tidy answers we crave. But it is precisely in that uncomfortable gap—between the prayer and the answer—where we find out exactly who we are trusting.