I used to be the minstrel. I would sing and He joyfully listened, but within my notes He heard a song I longed to sing and couldn't. His own song. He heard the high note of praise in my heart, a chord I couldn't strike and so He brought the instrument to silence.

The Lord now is orchestrating the melody. That which made me sing; my need, my passion, my gratitude or my frustrated pipings to manipulate Him no longer resonates. His is the song.

The Lord Jesus said, "I am playing you like an instrument and the chords are your death that brings forth a song for Me."

I am not in the flute season, He has me in the season of a dirge. His fingers, through death blows which decrease me, strum me like an instrument. His cold breath from the north plays a song: the melody is not sweet to my ears. I'm hearing my own moaning, dying, crushing and bruising. It pains me greatly to hear this noise but He is orchestrating something eternal for Himself.

He is making the music of resurrection. He is composing a symphony of many instruments all going through this death chorale, a whole symposium bringing these pieces together with the end result of a masterpiece. He cannot have any instrument that is not tuned to His Son's life. Right now it is the hideous tunings of individual instruments alone by themselves having no harmony with other ones.

He is bringing this crucified life forth so that He can tune it to the crucified life of the Savior. And He will play this final symphony, all in the perfect key of resurrection life.

God is creating an eternal glory for the fulfillment of the Son. For now it's just a forceful blast in the temporal. The pain of discord won't last forever.

Copyright ©  John Enslow