The Song We Were Made to Sing

To the tune of the prayer of St. Francis of Asissi; we sing it silently as we live among one another.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
One that diminishes hatred and crescendos love.
One that fills the backbeat of every injury with pardon.
One that harmonizes every doubt with a root note of faith.
One that puts despair to rest and counts off the beat of hope.
One that makes opens all the dark notes.
One that ends every minor key with a Picardy third.

O Unconducted Conductor,
May my solos console, moreso than to communicate my inconsolable sorrow.
May my improvisations ring true, rather than indulge my arcane artistry.
May my songs be love songs, rather than mere odes to myself.

For it is in playing our parts that we find the fulfillment of our composition.
It is in resolving the dissonance of our bandmates that we find our own inner resolution.
It is in embracing our own finality that we hear the trumpet sound
and see the dead raised.
Amen
da capo