Let this Sound be Heard
Let this Sound be Heard.
Recently, I was in prayer and Holy Spirit showed me something I hadn’t seen before. I believe it relates to an aspect of the prophetic sound that he is highlighting and releasing in a fresh way today. Though not new, it’s a reorienting for some, to better understand and flow with their unique design and calling. I also think there’s encouragement and application here for us all. This came to me as lovely fresh revelation and clarity, but those who know me will recognise points of connection with my own life, learning and associated struggles. I often picture the Body of Christ like an orchestra, but in this instance, Holy Spirit particularly highlighted the violin.
The violin is one of the most exquisite instruments created. Its design, sound, and sensitivity reveal something of God’s own artistry — and it offers a powerful picture of what prophetic and creative people can be like in the body of Christ. The violin was not made for dominance, but for resonance. Every curve, every contour of its wooden body is shaped to vibrate with life. It does not generate sound on its own; it responds. Its beauty is found in its ability to be moved — by air, by touch, by tension. In the same way, these prophetic and creative people are formed to resonate with the movements of the Spirit. Their sensitivity to atmosphere and emotion, their ability to pick up the subtle tones of what God is doing, is not weakness. It is intentional design.
The sound of the violin comes through the drawing of the bow across the strings — a movement that involves friction, pressure, and skill. Without that tension there is no song. Too little pressure and the sound is faint and uncertain; too much and it screeches. But under the right hand, with the right touch, the tone that emerges can be breathtaking — a sound that seems to bypass the intellect and speak directly to the soul. In this, we can see a picture of how the Spirit works through prophetic and artistic people, and all the rest of us too. Often it is through the very tensions of life — waiting, longing, friction, and surrender — that the truest sound of God is drawn from them. The music of heaven is released not through striving, but through yielding.
The violin’s voice is profoundly expressive. It can weep, laugh, ache, soar. Its range allows it to move from lament to ecstasy with seamless grace. For centuries, composers have used it to express what human language cannot contain — the sighs and groanings of the heart, the yearning for beauty, the ache of hope and love. This is also the realm of prophets and prophetic artist. They give sound and form to things unseen, to emotions that belong to both earth and heaven. Through them, we glimpse the compassion, longing, and joy of God. They help the Church not only to hear revelation, but to feel it.
But the same sensitivity that makes a violin capable of such depth also makes it vulnerable. It must be kept in the right conditions: not too dry or humid, not too hot or cold. It must be cleaned, tuned, and handled with care. A knock, a change in temperature, or neglect can throw it out of tune. Prophetic and creative souls are much the same. They need spaces of safety and belonging, rhythms of rest and restoration, and others who understand their makeup. They can easily wither in environments of suspicion or control, but they flourish where there is freedom, relationship, and wise covering. When nurtured well, they release beauty that strengthens the whole body of Christ.
In an orchestra, the violin does not play alone. It may lead at times, carrying the melody, but it is never the whole song. This too speaks to the prophetic life. Those with a prophetic or artistic call often hear and feel differently, but their role is not to stand apart; it is to bring what they hear into harmony with the wider sound of God’s people. The goal is not solo performance but symphony. Each instrument, each gift, finds its fullness when tuned to the same reference point — Christ himself, the living Word. This sound is so much more. It can open up realms and transport both players and listeners through time and space, spirit, heart and mind.
To live as a prophetic or creative person, indeed as a Spirit led child of God, is to accept both fragility and glory. It means allowing yourself to be an instrument — shaped, stretched, tuned, and played by the Spirit. It requires humility to let God lead the song, and courage to let him draw sound from the deep places of the soul. It means learning to dwell in harmony with others, to honour the Conductor’s timing and dynamic. And it means embracing the seasons of silence as well as song, knowing that even rest is part of the music.
It means learning to steward their humanity — their body, mind, and emotions — as part of their calling. The Spirit dwells in vessels of flesh and blood, and it pleases God when those vessels are cared for. Creative intensity is not meant to replace balance; revelation is not meant to crowd out rest. The life that produces lasting beauty is one that honours the rhythms God built into creation — work and Sabbath, expression and stillness, outpouring and replenishment.
A heart at peace resonates more truly with the heart of God. That means learning to recognise when your inner strings are tightening too much, when comparison or pressure or fatigue are distorting your tone. It means learning to rest without guilt, to create without striving, and stay grounded in the ordinary tasks and relationships of daily life. These are not distractions from the calling; they are what keep the soul healthy and strong enough to carry it. To honour God’s design also means humility — being teachable, accountable, and open to wise voices who can help keep you aligned - to pace yourself, discern timing, and stay anchored in love.
The violin reminds us that beauty is born of tension, that resonance requires openness, and that sound is sustained only through relationship — between wood and string, bow and hand, player and breath. So it is with those called to carry God’s creative and prophetic heart. Their lives are meant to sing, not in perfection, but in authenticity. When cared for well and yielded to the Master’s touch, their song becomes something that carries heaven’s emotion — the voice of the Spirit translated through human feeling. It is a sound that reaches places words cannot, awakening hearts to the reality and tenderness of God.
The Church needs this song. The world needs this song. The violin voices — those who, through beauty, lament, imagination, and courage, remind us what it means to be alive to God. They are not a luxury but an essential part of the symphony of the Kingdom. When they are tuned, honoured, and well cared for, the whole body resonates with the music of heaven. And that music, deep and luminous, still has the power to heal the human soul.