Emphasis Preaching Journal

The novel, Miracle Monday by Elliot S. Maggin, gives us a picture of a despondent Superman. He thinks he is entirely alone; of all the creatures on the earth, the most isolated. In his depression he flies to the North Pole and perches atop a mountain of ice. He does something he has never done before. He turns up his super-hearing all the way. He hears every sound in the world. Trains chugging in Europe, snakes hissing in Pakistan, orchestras tuning up in Boston, Massachusetts, and La Paz, Bolivia, geysers bubbling in Colorado. Humpback whales howling in the Indian Ocean. Windsongs in the Andes Mountains. Dogs wagging their tails on Long Island. The hums of bee hives and Xerox copiers. Cyclones roiling, children bouncing their balls, stomachs growling. Superman hears the sounds of the world as no one else ever heard them, and they all come together in a beautiful symphony.

Was Superman the only one to ever hear the music of the earth? Or could it be that everyone had heard some pieces of it, and each gave voice to his air, melody line, accompaniment, tune or concerto as he was able? Pythagoras, Mozart, and McCartney? Were people, orioles and meadowlarks, all trying to imitate, in large or small ways, excellently or poorly, the Song of the Earth, of Creation, of the Universe?

Superman found in that moment of reverie his place in the Eternal Score and got in step with the beat of the Eternal Drummer. He knew he was part of the unity, and if he gave up and withdrew, at least a small part of that unity would come unravelled. And of course, he saves the world from destruction once more.
-- Mosley