Melbourne is an international city.  Walking along Swanston Street, the street that cuts through the very heart of the city, past Federation Square, the main rail road station (Flinders Street Station), past the Center for the Arts, and retail districts spread off in all directions.On this street are Hungry Jack’s (Translations: Burger Kings), McDonalds, Starbucks, Krispie Kreme, Kenny Roger’s Chicken, tucked in between fish and chip shops, Chinese noodle stands, and Malay dining establishments.  On the street are people selling roasted chestnuts, bagels, and coffee.

Street performers were out in force.  The young bush boy playing his guitar to some bush song.  A Spanish guitarist played a flemenco song.  An aboriginal played a digeridoo.  A family sang from the back of their car the song “Sleigh Ride” which I found particular ironic as they probably had never seen a sleigh, and certianly not at Christmastime in Australia.

While all of the streets were busy, the crowds seemed to get larger the farther west I went.  The hawkers grew thicker.  The noise and the bustle and little busier.

As I got closer to Melbourne City Hall, I could see why the crowd was so large - the loud speakers blared uncipherable campaign slogans, people chanted words that I couldn’t make out over the din - in front of the large Victorian city hall a protest in favor of same sex marriage was taking place - with a small counter protest right next too it.  Combined with the throng of holiday shoppers, it made the street almost unpassable and very, very uncomfortable.

The throng of people seemed to be pulsating, and seemed to be a living and breathing mass, enmessed in the throws of some strange combination of politics and shopping.

Suddenly, above the din of the crowd came, as strange as it sounds, the sound of a lone trumpet, playing somewhere within the crowd.  It was so sharpe, so clear, so beautiful, it stopped me in my tracks.

Worse, I knew the tune, but couldn’t quite place it.  With the throngs pushing and jostling around me, the song, and the words, came to me -

“People, look east. The time is near 
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look east and sing today:
Love, the guest, is on the way.”

As I made my way toward the end of the block, and closer to that heavenly sound, the music continued.  The thoughts of home, of faith, of family, and of friends raced through my mind.  Amidst the business and confusion of this life - material wealth, political wrangling, jobs, and social calenders - here on the street of Melbourne, the voice was still calling out - prepare ye the way of the Lord.

As I reached the end of the block - there was the Salvation Army band - high school volunteers really, playing and collecting money from an oblivious crowd.  Dropping some bills into the kettle, I got a hearty thank you from the handful of students there with their instruments as the lone trumpter continued to play.

No, thank you, I felt like saying, thank you from the depth of my world weary soul.