The Parable of the “Greatest Orchestra”

Gratitude for the music

Once, in the not too distant past, in a land not so very far away, there lived the greatest orchestra ever assembled. Made up of the most talented musicians in the world and led by the most renowned conductor, the orchestra played the most exquisite masterpieces ever composed.

The musicians in this orchestra had spent a lifetime toiling, rehearsing, and refining their skills to the highest level of precision and excellence. Though some people assumed the musicians’ goal was to seek glory for themselves, ultimately the players’ primary motivation was simply to share beautiful music and provide enjoyment to the audiences who would receive and appreciate them. Truly, those in this elite group existed more for the audience’s benefit than for their own. Yet the performers’ abilities endured apart and distinct from whatever appreciation anyone might impart. Whether or not they received glory, they were glorious.  Whether or not they received praise, there was none more praiseworthy. They were perfection personified. 

Ironically, it was this perfection that separated the performers from their audience, for experiencing the most beautiful music in the world created by the greatest orchestra in the world required the most wildly expensive tickets in the world. In fact, admission to a concert was so expensive that not a single would-be audience member could afford the price.

So how could the people hear the music? How could the orchestra achieve its purpose? Pondering this question, some concluded that the conductor and the orchestra should simply devalue their glory and make the tickets less expensive. But that was impossible. Perfection is always priceless.  

But there was another way.  

In fact, it was the only way. To allow people to enjoy the music, the conductor and orchestra members decided to purchase the otherwise unaffordable tickets for anyone who wanted to attend. Unless the musicians made that sacrifice, their prospective audiences would never know how wonderful music could be. So the orchestra members proclaimed to everyone far and wide that they would pay the people’s way to hear their legendary symphony.  

Millions lined up to take advantage of the astounding offer, and as the orchestra played, the audiences savored the magnificent performance. Motivated by the sublime strains and the incredible gift the orchestra had bestowed on them, the audiences’ ovations were thunderous. They couldn’t help but give the orchestra their most enthusiastic praise because of how the music moved them.

But not everyone wanted to hear the music. That saddened the musicians, because they had purchased seats for everyone. Days went by while countless tickets sat at the will-call desk, waiting to be retrieved.

Why so many no-shows? Apparently some people didn’t understand how beautiful and life-changing the music was. Others insisted on trying to buy their own tickets, thinking that if they worked hard enough, they could perhaps earn their way in. They couldn’t bring themselves to accept such a measureless gift.  

All they had to do was take a ticket and walk in the door. Yet many refused for other reasons. Some were mistrustful. “Anything that seems this good must be a scam,” they reasoned. Others rebelled at the notion that they should need a ticket at all. “That’s such a narrow-minded view,” they said. “Maybe the music is satisfying, but a ticket shouldn’t be required.” And in so doing they blindly trivialized the music and the price paid for their entry. Some simply said, “That’s not my kind of music,” never realizing that the concert was made up of pieces designed specifically for them. Others made excuses, saying, “Until I fully understand the intricacies of the harmonies and musical modes and time signatures, I’m going to stay away.” A few other people thought attending a concert would be a good idea, but something “urgent” always took precedence. And then there were those who were actually hostile to the music and to the audiences who loved it. “No one’s going to force me to give mindless praise to any orchestra,” they said. “Who needs them? I’ll just make my own music.” And so they plunked away on their out-of-tune ukuleles or blew on their plastic kazoos, accepting an infinitely inferior substitute, never knowing or considering the marvelous masterpieces they were missing.  

The concert of the ages went on. And those who accepted the gift and appreciated the sacrifice enjoyed the splendid music. They relished being part of a grateful audience, and thrilled in giving the orchestra their unrestrained applause. Over time they enjoyed developing an intimate relationship with the conductor and the orchestra members, delighting in what had been purchased for them, and growing in their affection for those who had provided such a costly gift. As the audience members allowed the exquisite melodies and captivating rhythms to wash over them, they discovered the music possessed a potent power to heal, encourage and strengthen. The songs became part of them; transforming them, and when allowed to, helping them reflect their beauty to others.

And so, surrounded by, and comforted and changed and motivated by its unending refrains, the audience members continued to bask in the majesty of the orchestra and its timeless music. And they did so not just for an evening, or a day, or even a lifetime.

But for all eternity.

© Nick Walker 2023