The Master Craftsman
Father Tobias closed his eyes against the intense heat and acrid smoke of the burning church. He coughed and squeezed back the tears that threatened to fall. He told himself the blaze was God's will. After all, the Almighty worked in mysterious ways; he had little doubt of that.
The villagers valiantly attempted to extinguish the flames with buckets of water, but most of them doubted their efforts would do much good. Still, they labored and prayed for a miracle. When the ceiling beams finally collapsed, the water bucket brigade came to a halt. Exhausted men, women and children gathered around the priest and watched their church disappear into a cloud of smoke and flames.
"You can conduct services in my barn until the church is rebuilt, Father," one of the villagers volunteered.
The priest thanked the man and tried to bolster the sagging spirits of his congregation by suggesting they join hands and sing God's praises. Father Tobias knew this was a mighty cross for them to bear, for the church was more than a house of worship to the villagers. It was the foundation on which their very lives were built, the center of their social as well as spiritual world.
Word of the conflagration spread quickly, and offers of assistance came in as rapidly. Once the charred debris from the fire was cleared away, carpenters from the village and neighboring towns began framing a new building. In less than a year, a new church, like the mighty Phoenix, rose up from the ashes of the old.
During the first service held in the newly constructed house of worship, Father Tobias thanked the dedicated men and women for their hard work and generosity. Uplifting as the priest's words were, however, the absence of music was keenly felt by all.
* * *
In a small cottage in a wooded area nearly a full day's journey from Father Tobias's village, dwelt an old man named Ludwig, whose talent as a woodworker was known throughout the land. One day in late autumn, the determined priest set out to visit the old man, leaving his village at sunrise to travel the distance by foot.
"I am Father Tobias," the kindly pastor announced when Ludwig opened his cottage door. "I've come from ...."
"I know where you're from, Father," Ludwig said. "Why don't you come inside?"
The priest entered the humble dwelling and was taken aback by the exquisite carvings on display.
"Is this all your work?" he asked the old man.
"Yes. Please sit down and warm yourself by the fire, Father. Can I get you a cup of tea or a glass of wine?"
"Tea will be fine."
When Ludwig returned from the kitchen with two cups of hot tea, he joined the priest in front of the fireplace.
"So tell me, Father, what brings you this far on such a chilly day?"
"I assume you've heard about my church?"
Ludwig nodded.
"What a shame such a beautiful old building was destroyed by fire."
"The new church we built may not be as ornate as the old, but thankfully God is not so particular about the architecture."
"I suppose you've come to me to ask for my help."
"Yes, I have."
"I may be getting old, but I can still turn a piece of wood into a work of art. Oh, sorry, Father. That wasn't very humble of me, was it?"
The priest chuckled and glanced at the old man's handiwork.
"I'm sure in this case false humility is not necessary. Your reputation as a master craftsman is widespread. In fact, it is what brought me here."
"What is it you would like me to build? An altar? A lectern? A stand for the baptismal font?"
"What the church really needs is a new organ."
The color drained from the old man's face, leaving him with a white, sickly-looking complexion.
"I'm not expecting you to make something as detailed as your carvings. A plain, simple instrument will do fine."
"I'm afraid that's out of the question."
"I realize there's a greal deal of work involved in such an undertaking, and I wouldn't dream of asking you to do it for nothing. My congregation has raised money to pay for your services as well as all the materials needed."
"It's not a question of compensation. I'm a simple woodworker. I make tables, chairs, cabinets and such, not musical instruments."
The priest was amused by the old man's sudden reassessment of his talents. Only a few moments earlier Ludwig believed himself to be an artist, yet now he claimed to be nothing more than a simple woodworker.
"Perhaps I could get a few men from my village to help you," Father Tobias offered.
"I said it was out of the question," the old man stubbornly refused.
The priest put down his teacup and rose to leave.
"I'm sorry to have bothered you, sir."
Ludwig's demeanor immediately softened.
"I apologize for my abruptness. I didn't mean to be rude."
The good-natured priest waved the apology aside.
"I assure you, Father," the craftsman continued, "if it were within my power to help you, I would."
"Help with what?" a soft voice asked from the direction of the hallway.
"My dear, are you sure you should be up and around?" Ludwig asked solicitously when his wife entered the room.
"I feel fine. You always worry too much."
The woodworker's wife was frail and her face exceedingly pale, yet despite her sickly countenance, she was the most beautiful woman the priest had ever seen. Not even the passage of time had been able to dull the brightness of her blue eyes or chill the warmth of her smile.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to our visitor, Ludwig?"
"Forgive me, my dear. This is Father Tobias. Father, this is my wife, Gretel."
After the usual pleasantries were exchanged, the old woman asked the priest, "What help did you ask of my husband?"
The old man tried to change the subject, but his wife repeated her question.
"Last year my church burned to the ground," the priest explained. "The villagers managed to rebuild the structure, but we have no organ. I came here to ask your husband to make us a new one."
Gretel's already pale complexion turned even whiter. Her husband reached out his arm in a gesture of protection.
"I'm all right, darling," she assured him with a smile.
The old man returned her smile, his eyes burning with love. It warmed the priest's heart to see such devotion between two people, especially at their age.
"Why is it so important for your church to have an organ?" Gretel asked.
"It's hard to explain," the priest replied. "The best I can tell you is that where the Bible is the written word of God, music is His voice."
The old man added in a mournful tone, "Music is like a choir of angels. No mortal voice can ever hope to equal it."
Tears welled in Gretel's eyes, and a sob escaped her lips. Ludwig, who did not realize he had spoken out loud, was immediately contrite.
"I'm so sorry, my dear," he cried.
"Don't apologize. I understand your predicament."
Father Tobias was confused by the exchange between the two, but he would not ask either of them for an explanation. He firmly believed there were some matters between husband and wife that should be kept private.
"I think I'll be going now," he announced.
"But it is nearly dark already," Gretel protested. "And you have such a long walk back to your village. You are more than welcome to spend the night here with us."
"I don't want to cause you any inconvenience."
"It's no trouble," the old woman insisted. "We have a spare room upstairs and plenty of food in the pantry."
"In that case, thank you." Father Tobias said, gratefully accepting the elderly couple's hospitality.
There was no further talk of the church organ during the delicious supper, but while the priest sipped his after-dinner wine, he returned to the subject of his visit.
"I don't suppose you know of another craftsman who might be able to help me."
"No, I'm afraid I don't," Ludwig replied.
Suddenly it was as though a pall of stillness settled on the room. The priest finally broke the silence.
"It's getting late. I think I'll turn in now."
The spare bedroom was clean and comfortable, and Father Tobias fell asleep not long after his head hit the pillow. He had not been sleeping long, however, when he was awakened by the sound of Gretel's gentle sobbing from the room beneath him.
"Hush, my dear," her husband comforted her.
"It was too much to ask of you," Gretel cried softly.
"No, it wasn't."
"You gave up everything you cherished for me."
"And I'd do it again without any hesitation. You're my wife, my reason for living."
"I have a favor to ask of you, Ludwig."
"Anything, my love. Just name it."
"I want you to build an organ for Father Tobias."
"You know I can't."
"But I want you to."
"No!"
"I don't make this request lightly. I believe it's time. I grow wearier every day."
"I'll take care of you. Haven't I always done so?"
"Yes, but I don't want to be taken care of anymore. I'm tired of living like an invalid."
Father Tobias heard nothing further that night but the wife's muffled sobs and the husband's low, soothing words.
The following morning the priest woke to the smell of baking bread and freshly brewed tea. After a hearty breakfast, he would be on his way. Although gone only a single day, he was anxious to return to his village and tend to the needs of his congregation. There were visits to the sick that needed to be made and religious instruction for the children, not to mention his need to write a sermon for Sunday's service. He dressed quickly and went downstairs. Only the old man was there.
"Will your wife be joining us soon?" the priest asked.
"No. She's still sleeping," Ludwig replied.
"Please extend my thanks and best wishes to her when she wakes. I appreciate the hospitality you two have shown me."
"I've decided to make the organ for your church."
It was a matter-of-fact statement given with little emotion, yet the strain on the old man's face attested to the difficulty of his decision.
"You needn't feel obligated."
"It's my wife's wish that I make the organ and that I bring music to your church again."
The look of anguish on the old man's face saddened the priest.
"Is your wife's illness serious?" he asked with heartfelt concern.
"She's going to die soon."
The old man commenced eating his breakfast, not caring to elaborate further. When the morning meal was done, Father Tobias prepared for the journey back to his village. Before the priest left, Ludwig assured him that he would send word when the organ was completed.
* * *
Autumn ushered in the winter, and then winter bowed down to spring. With the warmth of the new season came word from the old man. The organ was finished. Father Tobias rejoiced and immediately sat out to visit the woodworker.
"My work is done," Ludwig announced when he greeted the priest at his door.
"And your wife? How is she?" Father Tobias inquired.
"My wife is gone," Ludwig declared, fighting back his tears.
"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
"No. Let me show you the organ."
Ludwig's creation surpassed all of Father Tobias's expectations. It went beyond great craftsmanship; it was a true work of art.
"It's magnificent!" the priest exclaimed.
"Never judge an instrument on its appearance. You must hear its music to appreciate it."
"I'm afraid I don't know how to play," the priest confessed.
With a heavy sigh, the old man sat down on the bench in front of the organ, placed his hands on the keys and began to play. The song was not one Father Tobias was familiar with, but the sound was glorious. It was as though all of heaven's angels had come down to earth, a jubilee chorus praising God with an aural masterpiece. Father Tobias listened, speechless, with rapt attention. When Ludwig finished playing, the priest wiped the tears from his eyes.
"I ... you ... For the first time in my life words fail me. Your playing was ... It was superb!"
Ludwig acknowledged the praise with a humble nod of his head. Then he stood and lovingly ran his hand over the top of the instrument.
"How I've missed the ability to touch people's hearts and souls with my melodies."
"With your God-given talent, you should play more often."
"Sometimes we must sacrifice our talents to obtain God's favor."
"I cannot believe our lord would want to silence your music for any reason. It would be a loss to all who might otherwise hear it."
"That is how my dear wife felt," the old man muttered. "Yet as much as I loved music, I loved her more."
"Surely God would not ask you to choose between the two."
Ludwig sat back down on the bench and began to play a slow, melancholy tune.
"Once, long, long ago, I was the greatest musician that ever lived. The fair Calliope, my muse, my mother, endowed me with the ability to tame the wild beasts, soothe even the most agitated souls and touch the hardest hearts. In my youth, I was content to simply play my lyre and compose my songs, but then in the prime of my manhood, my eyes fell upon the fair Eurydice, and I lost my heart to her."
Father Tobias feared that his host was suffering from dementia brought about by either his advanced age or the loss of his wife.
"I was the happiest of men," Ludwig continued, "but on our wedding day, my young bride was bitten by a snake and died. I was bereft. I journeyed to the gates of the Underworld where no mortals were allowed to enter. My music so moved Charon, the ferryman, that he ferried me down the River Styx. I was taken before Hades and Persephone where I played with all the love and hope I felt in my heart, and so moved were they that they returned my beloved Eurydice to me. Yet there was a condition to her return."
The old man stopped playing and turned toward the priest, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. Father Tobias patted him on the shoulder in a heartfelt gesture of compassion.
"Growing up, I read quite a lot about Greek mythology. It's always been one of my favorite subjects. So, I'm familiar with the tragic tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus was told as he exited the Underworld not to look back until he returned to the land of the living, yet before he crossed into this world, he turned to gaze upon the beauty of his wife. As a result, she faded before his eyes."
"That is how people have told the story for centuries. They say, unable to barter for my wife's life a second time, I went to Thrace where I lived out my years playing my lyre for the creatures of the forests there. But that isn't so."
"No?" the priest asked politely, although he did not for a second believe the old man was Orpheus, son of Apollo and Calliope.
"The condition of Eurydice's return to life was that I leave my lyre and my music in the Underworld. Since my return to the land of the living, I haven't touched any musical instrument. Nay! I haven't so much as hummed a melody—until I made this organ. When the first note sounded, my dear Eurydice was taken from me again."
Slowly, the old man, having finished his incredible tale, got up from the organ bench and shuffled toward his well-worn, comfortable chair. Moments after sitting down he nodded his head and dozed. Having lived for so many centuries, the musically gifted, love-struck Orpheus quietly passed away in his sleep.
* * *
Father Tobias smiled as he looked at the crowd of people who filled the church. Not only had all the villagers come to see the new organ and hear its music but so had people from neighboring towns.
"What a heavenly instrument!" declared the village schoolmaster, who also served as the church organist. "Look at the detail in the artwork. You're familiar with mythology, Father. Who is that supposed to be, Pan?"
Father Tobias leaned forward to scrutinize the details of the elaborate carving above the keyboard. Upon close examination, he could clearly see a man with a lyre and, in the background, a woman emerging from a crypt.
"No, not Pan. It's Orpheus."
People in the pews moved restlessly, impatient for the start of the service. As the priest walked toward the lectern, the schoolmaster sat at the organ and began to play. Though his musical abilities were nowhere near those of the master craftsman, the music he played lightened the hearts of all those who had gathered in the church.
Father Tobias gazed at his congregation. Familiar faces looked back at him. Two in particular stood out from the crowd: though the man and woman were ripe with the fresh bloom of youth, there was no doubt in the priest's mind that they were Ludwig the master craftsman and his wife, Gretel.
As if he had read the priest's thoughts, the handsome young man revealed what he held beneath his arm: a golden lyre. Father Tobias blinked with disbelief, and during that wink of his eye, Orpheus and Eurydice vanished.
Were they really here in my church? the priest wondered, now no longer so skeptical of the old man's story.
Hoping to forever dispel the priest's lingering doubts, an unseen force caused the schoolmaster's simple melody to suddenly sound like all of heaven's angels had come to earth, a jubilee chorus praising God with an aural masterpiece.
Speaking of music, I wonder whose CD player this is.
