The symphony

“It is finished,” said the composer.

After years of work, his symphony was complete, and it was his magnum opus, the work that would define him. As he assembled the sheets of music, it was as if they contained a piece of him, which, of course, they did. To listen to the symphony was to listen to his very heart, soul, and voice.

Because music is to be played (and listened to) he looked for a worthy conductor who, in turn, found musicians to make a complete orchestra. Watching as the musicians entered the music hall for the first rehearsal, the composer sat off to the side. His heart leapt as his piece began to come to life. In places, the tempo was quicker than he had imagined, in other places slower. Unexpected instruments were used, and there was even a crescendo he never intended.

In the end, it was his piece he heard, but in another it wasn't. The shape was more pronounced, the tone more subtle, and emotion more powerful. Now, the piece belonged not only to him, but also to the conductor, musicians, and, eventually, all who heard it.

“It works,” he thought to himself at the end of its inaugural performance. “My music has become our music, which, I suppose, was always the point.”

Amen.