We did not create music; we encountered it. Its patterns are already woven into the fabric of the world — in birdsong and breath, in heartbeat and harmony, in vibration and silence. Rhythm, melody, and lyric are not random features of existence; they point beyond themselves, bearing the imprint of the One who made all things.

Jesus speaks of music as something deeply human and spiritually revealing. “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance” (Matthew 11:17). His words assume that joy and response are natural to the life as God intended it to be. If we are unmoved by the ‘music’ around us, we reveal hearts resistant to grace - His free gift of eternal life.

Remarkably, even on the night before his death — with betrayal and awful suffering close at hand — Jesus does not retreat into silence or give a full explanation. Instead, after His last supper, he follows the normal custom, and sings a Passover hymn (see Matthew 26:30). Those ancient words include: “I shall not die, but I shall live” (Psalm 118:17). Sung the night before the cross, they sound almost impossible — yet they are prophetic.

The resurrection is God’s answer to that song. Death does not have the final word. Christ is raised bodily, not to escape the world, but to renew it. His resurrection marks the beginning of a new creation, in which heaven and earth are being drawn back into harmony.

Music and beauty are not decorative extras to life. They are signs of the Kingdom of God — foretastes of the day when all that is broken will be healed and all conflicts resolved.

To attend to beauty, whether heard or seen, is not sentimental indulgence. It is an expression of Christian hope — a quiet confidence that the final song has not yet been sung.