(To the bewildered generation of our age... what message will it choose)
I remembered her story... the story she told me long ago... She told me long ago... She said, that day, that she had lost faith in belief and in man, and in everything in the universe.
The waves of this surging life had tossed her about, and she no longer knew on which of them to hang her hopes—she became that human creature... and how often the human being of this age is lost at sea...
And I remembered her generous tears, and the strange gleam that flashed in her eyes when she started up, saying: I believe... yes, I believe!..
She told me of the wandering melody that struck her ears and shook her whole being, and the tremor brought her back to her faith... to life!... I remembered her story yesterday, when I heard that ancient melody... and I remembered the tales of our bewildered generation...
The melody began softly, like the whisper of a sweet dream; and in an instant it burst forth—and behold, the universe thundered, and the sky roared and threatened... Strange is this man, magnificent in his faith...
I said I heard the melody yesterday from the playing of an instrument, and from the cords of a throat...
nay, most of all I heard it from the strings of a heart... from the sighs of a soul.
I shall not name the chorus that restored the melody of faith to scores of hearts, nor its conductor—a son of my country and of yours—before I carry you, my reader, along the path of the melodies, that you may hear the strain which gave my friend back her faith... The subject of the piece was "the story of Paul the Apostle," and I am no missionary, to speak of Paul and his mission in this word of mine, nor is that
my aim... Nor do I mean to praise Alexis Boutros, the conductor of the ensemble—he is above the praise of my pen. Rather I shall carry the reader with me to the UNESCO hall, where the conductor of the chorus chose to set the melody free... And behold, the procession marches across hundreds of years, shaded by the light of faith, its feet steadied by confidence... And behold, he is with the Apostle, across deserts and wildernesses, in heat and in cold—beaten and insulted, the whips bloodying his body; and the more the cruel ones laid on the blows, the more the blue flame of his spirit persisted in crystallizing and in giving... until the sea grows brimming, and the bountiful rain of heaven falls... And behold, the Apostle rises from among the thorns and the blood... and the dust of the ages; he waves his hand and smiles, and the storm grows still, and the swell of the waves begins; and on its knees the procession bows down in reverence... and faith returns...
Call it the faith of music, or man's faith in the power of man, or in the great Creator... Call it what you will, my reader; as for me, I call it faith!..
Or would you have me so ungrateful as to deny the chorus its due?.. A handful of people it is, like you and me—among them the doctor, the engineer, the girl student, and the mistress of the house—all of them united by a single aim and a single faith... Yes, the chorus is a company of amateurs, and its conductor is a believing amateur; a believer in his country and his nation, who yesterday brought to the ears of hundreds the story of Paul the Apostle... rendering it, he and his chorus, with fidelity and with faith...
I remembered my friend and her tears yesterday, as I listened to the story of the Apostle, and I felt a hot drop fall upon my hand—to this moment I do not know... was it my tear, or my friend's tears, today!..