Ten weeks ago I made music in the most famous, and ancient, musical space in the Christian world: King’s College, Cambridge. Sitting on the organ screen, I felt humbled to realize that it was constructed in celebration of the marriage of King Henry VIII to Ann Boleyn. Their initials are carved into the screen just above the entrance into the main part of the chapel. The massive oak beams that support the organ console were likely from virgin growth oaks that were felled five hundred years ago. Standing on the screen and gazing in any direction, I’m at eye-level with some of the most famous and magnificent stained glass in all of Europe, and certainly in England. The choir, making music below, has plugged into a tradition that dates back to the founding of this building, five hundred years ago. And I’m left to ponder just how bereft the world would be if the choral tradition from King’s College hadn’t been disseminated worldwide, and inspiration for countless composers – and countless listeners.
It’s a privilege to make music at King’s, to become part of the molecular structure of that building which has transformed so many lives. The concert I played there included my dear friend and colleague, soprano Christine Brandes. We shared a program called “Paris: Between the Wars.” The thrill of making music there, of finding my colleagues there so warm and friendly, was indescribable. I think it was a thrill on multiple levels: emotional, psychological, spiritual, physical, historical. Vocabulary doesn’t do justice to that complexity of experience.
Yesterday I gave a concert at Yale – returning to my old stomping ground 32 years after I graduated here. As I walked among the gothic-style buildings, it brought to mind my first time on this campus, and how bowled over I felt to be part of this institution. This time, I asked the question: Just what, exactly, generates that feeling of excitement for me? Then it suddenly dawned on me that the answer is simple: I feel plugged into something greater than myself when I’m around Gothic architecture. It’s the same feeling at King’s College and Westminster Abbey. It’s the same feeling at Yale. It’s the same feeling at Washington Cathedral (my first major architectural inspiration as a boy). And, although it’s not manmade architecture, it’s the same feeling at Yosemite National Park (and dozens of other national parks).
This yearning to be part of something that is larger than myself is what I would call the inspiration instinct. It’s also the Divinity instinct. For me, it’s what makes me tick. I feel more alive when I have the chance to immerse myself into these places, to bathe myself in the light that is unique in each of these spots.
Every day becomes a blessing.