It was spring, 1992.
The Bosnian war was just getting started, and it had already claimed too many lives. By May, it had engulfed the beautiful and historic city of Sarajevo. The area was under siege.
Then came May 27.
Famished, feeble, and frustrated, the citizens of Sarajevo were forced to wait in bread lines for food. With no regard for life, the Bosnian Serb Army engaged in a series of attacks, indiscriminately launching mortars into the heart of the city. One mortar struck one of the bread lines, killing at least 22 people and wounding over 100 others.
The results were gruesome.
“The television showed severely wounded people, some with severed limbs, waiting for assistance that was delayed when ambulance crews attempting to reach the scene came under sniper fire,” the New York Times reported at the time.
The people were at a loss. “What do we do?”
That’s when a man named Vedran Smailovic decided to step in. He couldn’t not. He was tired of the death all around him. The rot. The darkness. He felt called to do something. Called to sacrifice. Called to action.
But not in the way you might think.
See, Vedran wasn’t a trained mercenary. He wasn’t a warrior. He didn’t have weapons. He had a bow, sure, but not the type that shoots arrows. His bow was the kind that glides across strings and makes music. Beautiful, beautiful music.
Vedran was cellist. He played in the local symphony. And his calling wasn’t to fight, it was to bring beauty to the destruction all around him. The destruction that had overtaken his neighborhood, his life, and his world.
Armed only with his cello, then, Vedran dressed up in his tuxedo, grabbed a stool, and braved continued mortars and sniper fire to walk to the site of what became known as The Bread-Line Massacre. There, he planted his seat, sat down amidst the destruction, and began playing.
And playing.
And playing.
For 22 days straight, one day for each of the those killed, he played his cello—a haunting adagio that began reverberating first around the ruins, then around the country, and eventually around the world.
At great risk to himself, he successfully introduced beauty into the brokenness.
Within 12 days—and in the middle of his 22 day commitment—Vedran’s story made the front page of the New York Times. His story, his obedience, his act of sacrifice couldn’t be ignored.
The Cellist of Sarajevo was born.
“I am nothing special, I am a musician, I am part of the town. Like everyone else, I do what I can,” he told the Times.1
He couldn’t have been more wrong. He was something special. While his act of obedience didn’t end the war, it certainly made the world pay attention in a new way. Shortly after, the United Nations announced sanctions and the world sided against the Serbs.
Because a man played his cello. He made a sacrifice. He walked into the brokenness and introduced beauty.
So why am I telling you all this? This isn’t my normal daily devotional, after all.
Here’s why: This past weekend I was reminded of Vedran’s story while listening to Curt Thompson. And ever since I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.2
Why’s that?
Because just like Vedran, I think you and I are called to introduce beauty into brokenness, even (and maybe especially) at great risk to ourselves.
As image-bearers of God, we are called to emulate his desire for beauty. To return to the Garden. To build and create. And to bring hope to the destruction that our enemy has brought to our lives and the lives around us. That enemy has lobbed his mortars. His snipers have taken their shots. And he's banking on us retreating, hiding, cowering.
And yet I think God is saying, “Pick up your cello. I've given you a song. A beautiful song that needs to be played. And through you, I'm bringing beauty not only to the craters of your life, but the craters of the lives of those around you.”
Friend, I believe he does that through our stories. My story, your story. The stories marked by destruction and yet determination, confusion yet contentment, brokenness and yet beauty.
Your story is your cello. And if we are faithful to play it, it’s just waiting to usher in God's beauty into the dark places.
Will you do it? Will you obey? Will you listen? Will you make that sacrifice?
Go. Grab your cello. Grab your chair. Walk into the destruction he's calling you to help redeem and play your music. Do what he tells you to do.
And then watch what he does with it. With you.3
Thompson, the author of the incredible book The Soul of Shame, used Smailovic to make a point about how God plants beauty into the bomb craters of our lives. And he stays there and “plays” for as long as it takes for us to take notice and heal. That’s an incredible point. My main point is similar, but slightly different.
This NYT article introducing the world to Vedran eventually won a Pulitzer Prize.
From what I can tell, Vedran is not a Christian. Culturally, at least, he’s Muslim. And back when this incident occurred, he was struggling with alcohol and was on his seventh wife. If God can introduce beauty into the world through the obedience of a Muslim drunk, I can only imagine what he could with you.
Awesome story and great message.
Yes!