The recent Feast of St. Cecilia, the patroness of music and musicians, stirred something deep within my heart. St. Cecilia is often depicted singing to God even in the midst of suffering, her life a hymn of unwavering faith. Her story made me pause and ask: What song am I singing with my life? And in that quiet reflection, I realized that my life is a song composed by God.
Even before I was born, God had already written the first notes of my existence. Every joy and sorrow, every victory and wound, every moment of weakness and every moment of healing, these are all parts of a melody that only my soul can sing. I am not the composer. I am the instrument. God is the Divine Musician.
Like every song, my life has verses, seasons that unfold one after another. There was the verse of childhood, innocent and unassuming. Then came the stirring verse of vocation, followed by the profound verse of priesthood, filled with mission, mystery, and meaning. There have been verses of struggles and illnesses, of friendships and service, of silence and surrender. Each verse tells a story, and in each story, grace quietly reveals itself. These are the verses of my journey.
My life also has refrains, lines that repeat because they are too important to forget. Time and again, I return to my faith in Christ. I return to the steadfast love of my family. I return to my service to the Church. And most especially, I return to my deep trust in God, even when darkness lingers. These refrains define who I am. They shape me. They anchor my heart when life changes its tempo.
No song becomes beautiful by staying on one note. My melody has both high and low tones. The high notes are moments of triumph: my ordination, my ministries, my healing encounters with God’s mercy. The low notes are nights of tears, loneliness, sickness, sacrifice, and those silent questions about how and when my earthly song will end. Yet both are necessary. Without contrast, there is no harmony. Without sorrow, joy cannot shine. God uses every note, bright or dark, to make the music full and true.
My song is meant to be heard, not for applause or admiration, but for inspiration and witness. If someone who listens finds kindness, honesty, courage, or hope in my melody, then perhaps they will gain strength for their own journey. Like St. Cecilia, whose song echoed faith even unto death, our lives become meaningful when we let God’s music resound through our actions. My song is meant to be shared.
My song is unfinished. Every day, God adds new chords. Every trial deepens the harmony. Every blessing enriches the tone. The Divine Composer is still at work. One day, when the final measure of my earthly song is played, I pray that it will blend beautifully into the eternal hymn of heaven, where saints and angels, including St. Cecilia, sing forever to the glory of God.
Let us sing our lives not for popularity, applause, or worldly praise. Let us not chase the loudest stage or the biggest audience. Instead, let us strive to make our song pleasing to the ears of God. Let us remain faithful to what is true. Let us hold on to our Christian principles. Let every act of love, mercy, and forgiveness be a note guided by Jesus, the ultimate Composer, the God of Love who is Love Himself. This is the song that we must choose.
May our lives become a beautiful and moving love song, not because we were perfect, but because we lived like Christ, who is Love Himself. And when people hear our song, may they hear not our voice alone, but the echo of God’s heart. And when the final hour comes for my own song to end, I humbly ask: please say a prayer for me whenever you remember my song, which is my life.
Sing your song. Live your melody. And let God make it holy.