I’m a new symphony orchestra season subscription holder. Over the years, I’ve seen the Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra in concert several times, and I’ve performed with them even more times. My local choir partners with them annually to perform major works. But I’d never been a subscriber until this year.
Truth be told, I became a subscriber this season because it gave me first dibs on Jacob Collier tickets. Jacob Collier, my favorite artist who I greatly admire, and Chris Thile, who I also enjoy, are performing with the Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra next month. I bought two tickets in the 4th row (hooray!).
The opening concert for their season took place this weekend, and the music was tremendous. Every piece moved me, and several will stay with me for a long time. But today I want to reflect not just on the music, but on the power of a welcome.
Before the concert began, Jon Beebe, Board President of the Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra, greeted the audience. Toward the beginning of his address, he asked us to turn to the people on our left and right and say, “I’m glad you’re here.”
It was such a small gesture, but I think it shaped the whole atmosphere of the evening. Of course, we came for the music — but this invitation made the evening feel like a collective experience. During intermission, I got to know both of my neighbors by name and learned a bit about their interests. After the concert, I noticed people connecting with those behind us too, well beyond those seated directly beside us. The night felt accessible and communal.
We face many daunting problems in our society, and it’s easy to feel powerless to impact them or shift them. But we shouldn’t underestimate the effect of small nods of belonging and bids to connect. They impact us physically and emotionally. And alongside the joy of the arts, they are a public good in themselves — a social benefit, and a public health benefit.
Whether we say it aloud or show it through hospitality and care, “I’m glad you’re here” is the beginning of something we need. Small gestures like that can shift entire rooms and ripple outward into whole communities.
— Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 