Score of Redemption
They are just lines, circles, and dots upon paper. Artistically, they don’t make sense; they don’t communicate. But it sprawled the page, fragile enough to be destroyed by a tear, crumble, or rip.
They sit lifeless on the page, unable to do anything. Each mark connected to the next, part of an unfolding progression eagerly awaiting a receptor. Each mark awaits for a falling hammer.
The result is not found in the notes themselves. The music was never intended to be constrained to an inanimate, lifeless page; it misses the experiential dimension. The various notes produce empty sound if they merely stay on the page. They indicate something more, with the power to envelop the listener and even elicit tears. It could never be a complete work without a falling hammer.
It began as a soft solo, a divine promise. It unfolded, slowly crescendoing more and more. Growing louder as others joined the chorus in resounding forte. The musical notes in the Score of Redemption found their finale and completion in Christ, on whose hands the hammer fell.
