I heard a story once about a famous cellist that's always stuck with me. I should confess I'm not great at pulling history off my
fingertips, but this story captivated me so much it deserved
some digging into. The cellist lived in the town of Sarajevo when it came under attack by Yugoslavia in the 90s. (I say that like I remember when it happened. Don't be fooled. All I remember about the 90s are the giant glasses I wore and ruling at recess handball.) What I learned about the siege of Sarajevo is that it lasted almost 4 years, during which the city was surrounded by violent military and was continually assaulted by tanks, bombs, rocket launchers, machine guns - you name it. Needless to say, those who did survive spent those 4 years living in constant fear of death.
And so the story goes, during this terrible warfare, this cellist would bravely go into ruined buildings around his city, dressed in his finest attire, and offer what he could to his countrymen - music. In the midst of these demolished buildings, he would sit and play his cello. There's something beautiful about that, right? From the center of the despair, music was born that would echo through the streets and into the hearts of those who could hear. It's said hungry people, so hungry they were prepared to starve rather than leave their homes in search of food, began to gather just to listen to him play. Perhaps their instinct kicked in and they realized their hunger for what he was offering was worth the risk more than actual food.
Can you imagine what it must have been like to be a Sarajevan during this nightmare? I've tried to picture it and can only assume I would've done the same as my fellow citizens: hid in my home, while hungry and fearful, unsure of the future, surrounded by reminders of tragedy. But what if I also had the chance to hear him play? Certainly his music wouldn't rescue me or my family, yet I have a feeling I would've been desperate to hear it. Desperate to find something beautiful in the midst of the devastation. Something to keep me going. A shred of hope in the darkness.
Upon hearing the story, I searched for what song he played and found out the most notable one was titled Adagio by Albini. The Italian word "adagio" is translated several ways, most notably as a slowly moving grace. Another is the English word, adage or proverb, what we know to be a small piece of truth.
I loved that! It seems this song was filled with truth, slowly winding it's way through the city, in form of a gracious, hope-filled melody.
This is a theme I constantly find myself running into, the idea of searching for beauty in the midst of pain. I'm never one to think everything happens for a reason. In fact, I HATE it when people say that. Sometimes terrible things just happen, and they're painful and awful and there's no way to understand them, especially not justify them. But I will also say, I've seen beautiful things born from terrible things. I've seen people find hope in the most unlikely places. And not the false kind. The true stuff, the real stuff. The kind of Hope that doesn't disappoint.
Maybe that's why this story gets me. It's like he's hinting at the idea that this pain isn't all there is.
So here's to you, Vedran Smailovic. Thank you for playing.
And so the story goes, during this terrible warfare, this cellist would bravely go into ruined buildings around his city, dressed in his finest attire, and offer what he could to his countrymen - music. In the midst of these demolished buildings, he would sit and play his cello. There's something beautiful about that, right? From the center of the despair, music was born that would echo through the streets and into the hearts of those who could hear. It's said hungry people, so hungry they were prepared to starve rather than leave their homes in search of food, began to gather just to listen to him play. Perhaps their instinct kicked in and they realized their hunger for what he was offering was worth the risk more than actual food.
Can you imagine what it must have been like to be a Sarajevan during this nightmare? I've tried to picture it and can only assume I would've done the same as my fellow citizens: hid in my home, while hungry and fearful, unsure of the future, surrounded by reminders of tragedy. But what if I also had the chance to hear him play? Certainly his music wouldn't rescue me or my family, yet I have a feeling I would've been desperate to hear it. Desperate to find something beautiful in the midst of the devastation. Something to keep me going. A shred of hope in the darkness.
Upon hearing the story, I searched for what song he played and found out the most notable one was titled Adagio by Albini. The Italian word "adagio" is translated several ways, most notably as a slowly moving grace. Another is the English word, adage or proverb, what we know to be a small piece of truth.
I loved that! It seems this song was filled with truth, slowly winding it's way through the city, in form of a gracious, hope-filled melody.
This is a theme I constantly find myself running into, the idea of searching for beauty in the midst of pain. I'm never one to think everything happens for a reason. In fact, I HATE it when people say that. Sometimes terrible things just happen, and they're painful and awful and there's no way to understand them, especially not justify them. But I will also say, I've seen beautiful things born from terrible things. I've seen people find hope in the most unlikely places. And not the false kind. The true stuff, the real stuff. The kind of Hope that doesn't disappoint.
Maybe that's why this story gets me. It's like he's hinting at the idea that this pain isn't all there is.
So here's to you, Vedran Smailovic. Thank you for playing.
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