The Music That Remains

The Music That Remains

There are lives that are best understood not as stories,

but as music.

Not hurried.

Not loud.

Not seeking attention.

But faithful to rhythm,

attentive to harmony,

and generous in tone.

Such a life listens first—

to the room,

to the moment,

to what is needed—

and then offers sound

not to impress,

but to serve.

Music teaches us this:

that no single note stands alone.

Each tone depends on what came before

and prepares the way for what will follow.

So it is with a life well lived.

The hands that learned the keyboard

also learned patience.

The feet that worked the pedals

learned grounding.

The long practice hoursbecame a form of devotion—

not only to music,

but to community,

to beauty,

to something larger than the self.

When the music filled the sanctuary,

it held joy and sorrow together.

It carried grief without words.

It lifted praise without demand.

It trusted that sound itself

could speak what language cannot.

And now, the final chord has been played—

not as an ending,

but as a resolution.

For music does not disappear when the sound fades.

It lingers in the body,

in memory,

in the quiet that follows.

It shapes us long after the last note

has left the air.

So, too, does a life of care and faithfulness.

It remains in the lives it touched,

the steadiness it offered,

the beauty it made possible.

We do not say goodbye to such a life

.We listen for it—

in the hush of sacred spaces,

in the courage of kindness,

in the deep, steady music

that continues beneath our days.

The song has been given

.The harmony endures.

And we, who have heard it,

are changed.

By Rev. Steven SousaPortions of this text were developed with the assistance of an AI language model (ChatGPT), and then edited and curated by the author.