Out of the opera pit — taking a break from Tan Dun’s emperor, Bellini’s Puritans, Verdi’s courtesan, and others — the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra played in Carnegie Hall on Sunday afternoon. The Met’s music director, James Levine, conducted, and the concert was a milestone: It was the 50th given by the orchestra in Carnegie Hall. The first concert took place on May 3, 1991. The program that evening consisted of Berlioz, Wagner, and Berg, and Mr. Levine had a soloist: the soprano Jessye Norman.

Perhaps you remember that concert. I do, in a way: The orchestra took that program to my hometown, Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Sunday afternoon’s program began with Brahms, continued with a new piece, and ended with Beethoven. The Brahms was the Symphony No. 3, sometimes treated as a stepchild among the four. It should not be. It is a marvelous work, and Mr. Levine did it justice — certainly in the first movement.

This movement had sweeping majesty, robustness, and Brahmsian breadth. Mr. Levine was disciplined, in the manner of Toscanini and Szell (and himself ). But he was not rigid or inflexible. For my money, his handling of the first movement could not be argued with.

Subsequent movements, you could argue with. The Andante suffered from a stasis, standing still, missing its flow. And the next movement, Poco allegretto, was too slow and stiff. To put it more kindly, it was unusually stately — but too stately for its own good. The music needed more insinuation, grace, and charm. Moreover, the orchestra was not at its technical best — far from it. Pizzicatos, for example, were a mess.

The final movement had some of the character of the first: It was propulsive and robust. And yet it could have been more musical, and, frankly, more interesting. Mr. Levine is a wonderful Brahms man, and his orchestras know how to follow him. But he did not show all he can do on this occasion.

That new work was by Charles Wuorinen, the American composer born in 1938. Called “Theologoumenon,” it was commissioned for Mr. Levine, and is dedicated to him. And what does that long word mean? According to David Hamilton’s program notes, it “indicates a private non-dogmatic theological opinion.”

The piece is very busy, full of percussion, full of rhythmic toying. Its mood is predominantly bleak and anxious, although there are moments of repose. It includes many outbursts and many fast crescendos. I have been describing hallmarks of modern composition.

In “Theologoumenon,” a drama seems to be taking place, an internal struggle, rather than an external one. And it takes its time playing itself out. The piece has a notably lovely ending: quiet, almost sigh-making.

As near as I could tell, Mr. Levine and the Met Orchestra performed “Theologoumenon” intelligently and accurately. And the whole world proclaims Mr. Wuorinen a genius. A few of us have to take this on faith, not quite seeing it.

Sunday’s program ended with the Beethoven Violin Concerto, in which the soloist was Christian Tetzlaff, the young German violinist. And it was good for the orchestra to have a chance to play Beethoven. All they have in the opera house is “Fidelio.” Then again, they have no Brahms whatsoever in the opera house.

Mr. Tetzlaff played the concerto bracingly, and somewhat aggressively — but not harshly. He was an admirable combination of incisiveness and lyricism. His intonation was not always perfect, and there were a few stumbles. But on the whole he was in control.

He was not, however, always together with the orchestra, or rather, the orchestra was not always together with him. Mr. Tetzlaff sometimes wanted to go faster than the orchestra, and the orchestra — Mr. Levine — would not play ball.

Furthermore, I would have appreciated a little more playfulness in the Rondo, which was on the sober side. But it was good enough. And the ending — from all involved — was genuinely exciting.

Incidentally, Mr. Tetzlaff played his own arrangements of Beethoven’s cadenzas — cadenzas the composer wrote for the piano version of this concerto.

Carnegie Hall’s audience went wild for the young violinist, and he favored them with an encore: the Allegro assai from Bach’s C-major sonata, a kind of perpetual-motion piece. Mr. Tetzlaff took it like the wind, and gave it a wonderfully sly ending.

By that time, it was about 5:30, and the concert had started at 3. A man in the aisles said, “Levine always plays long concerts, and he really gives you your money’s worth.” I agree.