Devil's Concert

He stood before them, elegant in tailored tuxedo , waiting for the applause to die. He bowed, turned and seated himself at the console. Bank on bank of ivory keys, patinaed with age, curved around him. Row on row of stops made all but the master organist himself quail in fear. Practiced movements, perfected over millennia, created a graceful dance of arm, hand and finger as he adjusted stops and touched buttons. The image of the Victim himself appeared on a giant screen above the Maestro’s head. Wild cheers and whistles greeted the Maestro’s newest innovation. He paused, ever the consummate showman, waiting for full attention. Fingers poised above keys, he held the pose for a few more heartbeats, then, with lightning stroke, he plunged into the new composition. Hellish sound filled the room and crashed against the walls reverberating back on itself, a wave of sound that deafened and resonated within the hearers. The translucent apparition, suspended in mid air, danced a grotesque marionette dance in time to the cacophony. Arms flailing, legs jerking, head seeming in danger of losing its attachment to his body, It was obvious he was completely out of his own control. The vast audience roared with laughter. Anger, fear, frustration and self-loathing distorted his face. But, always, he danced to the terrible, irresistible beat. In the box seats, left and right of the stage, special guests reveled in the physical sensations of the Victim And gloried in his pain and shame. The master organist forced actions which mocked, degraded, and humiliated the Victim in his own world. Then, for the greater pleasure of his listeners, he played a cacophonic chord that inflicted excruciating pain. Building to a crescendo, pulling stops to their full open position, he played the final bars of his masterwork. In ghostly green light, the Victim performed as commanded. In his real world, those he loved paid a dear price in terror and pain. The last long note hovered in the air, dying slowly into silence. The Victim slowly collapsed in on himself. None of the hearers moved or spoke, overwhelmed by the experience. Then a mighty roar filled the giant auditorium. “Bravo! bravo!” The adulation of his minions stroked his giant ego. He remained seated, back to the audience, bathed in their praise. Finally, turning to face them, he bowed condescendingly and strode into the wings. The sound of their applause followed him for long moments. A weeks later, He announced a new composition and concert. They assembled, expectant, wondering how he would top his last performance. An excited buzz filled the room. Again he set the stops. The audience gasped in admiration at his cleverness and applauded as the Victim appeared in full color. And this time, even those in the cheapest seats, now felt the exquisite sensations of the Victim. Hands poised, the Maestro paused , wringing the fullest measure of tension from the moment. Then,, as before, his fingers crashed to the keys. A sweet simple melody filled the room. Howls of agony washed the room. Straightening himself, he made a minor adjustment to a stop, implying some small error of setting. Sweating, attempting to hide a tremor, with a bravado he didn’t feel, he brought his hands down again. The name of their Enemy on the Victim’s tongue filled the room. Even the maestro screamed with terror. He slammed his hands on the keyboards trying to find the combinations he knew so well. Nothing worked. The simple prayer of the Victim twined with cries of terror and pain. Exits jammed and fights broke out. Some were trampled. At the console, the Maestro wept and cursed. Over time, he tried different combinations, variations on old familiar themes and new compositions. Nothing worked. The voice of the Victim grew stronger and more determined. The Maestro filled his ears with wax that he would not hear him. Rarely, he found a responsive chord and, feverish with anticipation, manipulated it in minor variations seeking that perfect chord which would restore his mastery. These, too, failed before long, leaving the Victim even stronger in his resistance. He craved the ego boost of the adoring audience, but dared not risk another humiliation. He cringed at the memory. From time to time, now, he touches the keys in melancholy reminiscence. No responsive note does the once-great organ sound. He hears only that music he once loved, but which now causes the hair to prickle at the back of his neck. He flees, hiding his shame and anger. *** And you were dead in your trespasses and sins, in which you formerly walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, of the spirit that is now working in the sons of disobedience. Among them we too all formerly lived in the lusts of our flesh, indulging the desires of the flesh and of the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, even as the rest. But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, Ephesians 2:1-6 NASB (Used by permission)