"He painted a picture and she wept. He sang so softly and she slept. He wrote words upon a tissue and placed it where she lay. As the sun was shining on the sea, he stood- grieving her loss today."
When I heard this song when I was younger, I didn't even need to hear much of the words, I already knew it would be a sad song. And the words did paint a sad but true picture. I remember hoping I would never hear that song again, as I pictured in my head, a lonely, old, sad man, whose son turned out like him. Sadly, I have seen this happen in real life to people I care about.
There is power in music to tell a story we otherwise wouldn't want to hear, because it is pointing out harsh truth. Somehow, art and music can ease its way into our hearts and souls, and we allow it and can somehow get the message. We can hear it ringing true to something we know inside. And it is a deep moving moment. If it was preached or pushed upon us in another way, we would not allow it. We would resist. Grateful for art. Grateful for a sermon preached through music and art-even a lesson we hope to never know ourselves.