The Concert Hall That Forgot How to Listen

In 2019, cellist Yo-Yo Ma performed an unannounced set in a Montreal metro station, playing Bach suites on his $2.5 million Stradivarius. Hundreds of commuters walked past without breaking stride. Earbuds in. Eyes on phones. A few paused, leaned against the tiled walls, and let the music wash over them. But most hurried through as if the greatest living cellist were just background noise in their Tuesday morning.

The music didn't change. The skill didn't diminish. The beauty was objectively there — rich, aching, transcendent. The difference was entirely in the listeners.

Psalm 95 opens with an urgent invitation: "Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation." The Psalmist is practically grabbing us by the sleeve, saying, "Do you realize who is here? The One who holds the ocean depths in His hand, who shaped every mountain peak — the Most High is present, and He is worth your attention."

But then the tone shifts to warning. "Do not harden your hearts as you did at Meribah." Israel had witnessed the Red Sea split open, had eaten bread from heaven, had followed fire by night — and still walked past the glory like commuters in a subway station.

God's invitation echoes today. The music is still playing. The Almighty still speaks. The only question is whether we will stop, kneel, and actually listen.