Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Unsung Hero (12/07/06)
TITLE: Silence in a minor key
By Helen Paynter
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Eliyahu was knitted together with music. It was his special gift, endowed by the hand of the Creator, in the time before there was Time.
And from those unheard harmonies welled up symphonies and cantatas; sonatas and choral preludes; by turns joyful and solemn; profound and delightful.
No song was worthy of the King of heaven, but Eliyahu revelled in the attempt. And the choirs of heaven gave his compositions voice.
In the beginning of all things, which was no beginning at all, he paused, breathless, with the rest of heaven to witness the birth of Man. So puny, so fragile, so utterly in his Maker’s image. Eliyahu’s composition was Cantabile Allegro: resonant, clear, fluid and jubilant.
When the earth was torn by Man’s ambition, Eliyahu discovered the key of D-flat minor. Haunting and hungry, it reflected Man’s perpetual yearning to return to the garden of creation. Yet as his skill unfolded, Eliyahu discovered beauty even in this imperfect art.
Eliyahu watched, one ordinary night, as an ordinary man led an ordinary woman into a stable and eased her burdened body tenderly onto the floor. That night he composed a subtle counterpoint. The lines of music wove in and out of each other, proclaiming: God. Is Man. Is here. Yet is God. The mystery was beyond comprehension, but not beyond celebration. Many were the wonders he had witnessed, but the dawn of Immanuel eclipsed them all.
But one day the music stopped. With jagged blows, a hammer fell on steel and bone. With sordid greed, the eyes of men scavenged the agonies of the Crucified God. Eliyahu watched, appalled and immobile, willing and waiting for the deliverance that did not come.
When it was over; when the earth had shuddered and the skies had screamed, Eliyahu discovered that all music was lost. Heaven was silent. A mute alien had entered; had visited every corner. Her name was Pain.
Angels shielded their faces from the grief of the One on the Throne. Naked was the abyss where the Son had stood. Silent tears fell for the Hero whose struggle had ended in the inconceivable. Worship ceased and songs fell unsung. There could be no requiem to mark the moment when the Son had fought, and lost.
But on the third day, as the first shards of sunlight punctured the shadows of the rock-hewn garden; Eliyahu sensed, rising within his soul, a single pure motif. In E major, for trumpet.
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