Salt spray on the prison island of Patmos around a.d. 95 gives way to an entirely different roar. A massive choir gathers on a high, wind-swept mountain peak. The noise rolls through the valley like a flash flood crashing against canyon walls, vibrating the ground beneath bare feet. Interwoven into this deafening rush of water and thunder is the sharp, metallic plucking of thousands of lyres. These musicians play a melody utterly foreign to earthly ears.

Standing at the center of this auditory storm is the Lamb. He remains perfectly still while the chaotic beauty of the new song swirls around Him. This quiet authority anchors the entire multitude. Soon after, another figure emerges, seated upon a blindingly white cloud. The Son of Man holds a curved iron blade, honed to a razor edge. A voice calls out from a nearby temple, urging Him to swing the instrument across the earth. The sharp metal slices through dried grain stems with a distinct sweeping sound. Gathering the ripe harvest, He operates with precise, unhurried movements.

The scent of crushed fruit soon fills the air as a secondary gathering begins. Heavy clusters of grapes are tossed into an immense stone vat. Bare feet stepping into the juice echo the ancient, laborious method of pressing out wine. Finding ourselves late in the season of life often brings a sharp awareness of this deep bruising. We tend to our small plots of earth, listening closely for the rhythmic sweep of an approaching iron blade. The heavy stone walls of a winepress contain the immense pressure needed to extract sweet juice from thick skin.

Those sturdy stone walls hold firm while the crushing weight descends. Dark purple liquid flows out from the basin, reaching the height of a horse's bridle and staining the earth for exactly 184 miles. Such vast containment reflects a careful boundary set around an overwhelming overflow. The scent of bruised fruit lingers in the valley long after the final cluster has been clipped from the vine.

The deepest color always flows forth from a bruised vine, leaving us to wonder what melody rises when the heavy stone finally falls.