At my church, Deacon Harry, from Singapore, told us in one of his homilies the story of the silken drum. A mighty warlord, realizing he was nearing the end of this days, urged his only daughter to marry and carry on the dynasty. "The green of the plum tree has come and gone, and it is the time of the blossoms," he told her. "And yet you do not blossom. Will I die without seeing you married, without knowing my grandchildren?"
"No," his daughter said. "I will fashion a drum of silk, stretched over a bamboo frame. The man who hears the music when my fingers strike the drum, that man I will marry."
"Foolishness!" the aging warlord said in frustration. "A silk drum will not make any sound. I shall die without heirs."
But his daughter had her way, and so the silk drum was fashioned as she wished. Many young men came to listen as she played, but none heard any sound. The months and seasons passed. The plum tree blossoms withered and fell to the ground. And then a handsome young man, finely dressed, came and paid his respects to the aged ruler.
"I have traveled from beyond the mountains that you can see, over the seas before the moutains, to take your daughter's hand in marriage," said the stranger, looking directly at the silent daughter who sat nearby with her silken drum.
"She will only marry the one who can hear the music of her silken drum," sighed the old man. "Don't tell me you heard the sound all the way from your distant kingdom!"
"You are correct," said the suitor. "No sound of the drum reached my ears."
"Then be on your way, like all the others before you," the old man said. "Why do you linger here?"
"Because, my lord," the stranger said, "I hear its silence."
And the young woman smiled and put away her silken drum.
From: Humble Pie, St. Benedict's Ladder of Humility
by Carol Bonomo
Morehouse Publishing
Copyright 2003
Page 178
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