If your life consisted of one song to sing, what would it be? If it were but one word in a great play, how would you say it? If it were a single note in a great melody, how would you play it?
If your life consisted of naught else but this, how would you sing?
Imagine your whole life was spent confined to just one room; you, alone, but for a lone piano to furnish the space, as well as a few sparse instructional manuals. You have no purpose, then, but to play, to learn, to master. One single commitment as you can see nothing beyond the confines of this small existence.
Then, after the passing of the years, you are released. You know nothing but black and white keys, octave by octave of your only friend, know no voice but the hammer against strings to produce something of a symphony. Upon release, you are given one commissioning.
To play. To play before the peoples, your song, your life’s song.
And you play. Would you play only a half-hearted mustering, some lacklustre attempt at your life’s only pursuit? Or would you play some melodious sonnet, something beautiful, something to be remembered throughout eternal ages?
Friends, brothers and sisters, you have been given one song. One word in a play in its writing. One note in a celestial orchestra. One word can shake mountains; one song can move nations; one note can break the darkness.
In your mouth, there is some jewel of song that no other man can bring to this symphonic offering. Are you going to let your song be muffled? Sing out of key for earthly idols that are fading? Forget your one word in this great play?
Turn your ears outward. Hear the world in disarrayed cacophony. Hear that crying. These sons and daughters who sing a song of wailing so mournful because they are confined to the worst orchestra devised in history. This is the orchestra called Desperation, conducted by Poverty and Injustice and Lies. Will you stand to let your song be quenched by her? Or will we rise in a dawn of song that breaks the Night upon her back?
Brother, sister, let us gather as one. We each have a song in our mouth, and the ability to sing it well or waste it. One chance, one short stint, one life. One song, one word, one note. When wailing disparity clouds the atmosphere, our song is defeated. But I hear joy coming, I hear the atmosphere changing.
I hear the sons and daughters of man rising with one song in their mouth, one song rising from the ashes and signalling the dawn. A song he and she will spend there lives singing, for there one small part in the act. I can start to hear the notes, even amidst the present distress. Notes called Mercy, Justice, Love.
Friend, will you join us in our song, a song to drown out Desperation? Will you sing out, and let the skies erupt with a new kingdom of melody? Will you spend yourself making our intent loud, that Injustice shall not reign?
We have one song, one word, one note. And but one life to sing it. So, will you stand on the edge of eternity, open your ears, and hear an atmosphere more tinted by love and joy than when you started?
Will you sing your song, and sing it loud?