It isn't over while the fat lady sins

Music's in mind again tonight, but at least the images of rock n'roll in surplices seems to have passed off for the moment. Instead, grand opera is lurking somewhere close by in the Savage thought processes, after hearing of BBC Radio Three's bold decision to transmit the whole of Wagner's Ring Cycle in one day, all fifteen hours of it. It would take an Olympian effort to listen to the whole thing at one sitting I think, but no doubt someone will manage this feat.

Talking of things Olympian, who could forget the tour de force of diva Montserrat Caballe and the late Freddie Mercury in their chart-topper arising out of the 1992 Olympics, their homage to the host city, Barcelona? Farokh Bulsara, to give him his real name, actually spent his latter teenage years living with his parents a mile or so from where I am writing these words- and Brian May went to my junior school! Not a lot of people know that.

The roots of the super sound of Queen may lie here in Middlesex, but the "genesis" of my commitment to Christ came 21 years ago this week, following a holiday in Barcelona. Not that Freddie Mercury had anything to do with it, you understand, but I guess the music he was responsible for might well have been playing on the world's radio stations as I enjoyed a holiday there with a couple of my mates from the British DX Club.

Well, perhaps enjoy is not quite the word for it. Endure might be more appropriate, as on this day back in 85 I had the somewhat comic task of trying to report a crime which had occurred in Spain, in schoolboy French to a non-English policeman at Barcelona airport and occasionally lapsing into German. The hire car which my friends had rented was broken into the night before and some aircraft tickets were stolen, along with my one of my friend's favourite radios and my own 21st birthday present containing half my wardrobe. To cap it all, I wasn't insured.

Such adversity could have ruined a holiday, but although my vacation was ending, my new life was about to begin. One of my friends was an avowed Christian, the other a lapsed believer. Noticing the difference in their temperaments at a time of trouble was a very telling lesson for me, and drew me to want to know more about the faith which kept my Christian buddy so seemingly peaceful despite outward circumstances.

Far from ending my eventful holiday as I waited for my plane to fly me back to the familiar territory of Middlesex, I was actually beginning the greatest adventure of my life, the journey of faith. Barcelona may be an elegant city full of wonderful buildings, but the city Christians are headed for is finer than anything Europe can offer. Indeed, the eternal Holy City is more beautiful than anything Earth can show.
One day, giving account for their sin, that unfashionable word which sums up the basic nature of man, all will be sight-seers in the great auditorium before the whole show's director, at the end of the marathon opera of human history. It won't need a Wagner or a Mercury to put music to the story then, but thank the Lord it will have the happy ending that a survey today shows most people want in their books- or at any rate, even for the vilest offender who truly believes. Give me that ending over musical mythology and fat ladies any day.