In the opinion of many, myself included, George Frederic Handel’s Messiah is the greatest piece of Christian music ever written. But it would never have happened had not great adversity come to Handel’s life, and had not an obscure name from history believed in him when others thought he was washed up.

George Frederic Handel was born in Germany on February 23, 1685. His father, who was a surgeon, wanted his son to study law. But early on he showed a marked aptitude for music. By the time he was nineteen, he had mastered nearly every orchestral instrument.

After several years of a modest success writing and producing operas in Italy, the most notable of which is Agrippina, Handel went to England in 1711. He became a naturalized English citizen in 1727. His first major success there was the opera Rinaldo. Then came his famous Water Music, which premiered on July 17, 1717. Some fifty musicians performed from a barge on the River Thames to the delight of King George I, an assemblage of royals, and a large contingent of commoners. Hence the title, Water Music. For the next twenty years Handel produced a prodigious amount of music, most of which was highly successful.

Then in 1737 he suffered what may have been a stroke that impaired his brain, blurred his vision, and paralyzed his right arm, making it impossible for him to play any instruments or to conduct. “We may save the man,” commented his doctor, “but the musician is lost forever.”

Handel sought healing at a thermal springs in Aachen, Germany, where he gradually recovered. After testing his ability to play the organ at a nearby cathedral, he jubilantly proclaimed, “I have come back from Hades.”

But though his brain and body were saved, his creativity had waned. When he returned to England, most of his newer works fell flat. “Why did God permit my resurrection, only to allow my fellow men to bury me again?” In 1741 at the age of fifty-six, disappointed and heavily in debt, he looked back on his life. There had been much success, but he wondered if he would ever write something memorable—something that would stand the test of time.

Late one August afternoon of that year, he returned from a long walk to find that a poet and previous collaborator, Charles Jennens, had left him a manuscript that he wanted the “has-been” composer to set to music. Jennens’ libretto consisted entirely of Scripture quotations from the authorized King James Bible, except for some portions from the Psalms. It was organized into three parts: the prophecies about the coming Messiah; the birth, life, ministry, death, and resurrection of Christ; and finally, the end times, with Christ’s ultimate victory over sin and death.

On August 22, 1741, with some apprehension, Handel went to work on Jennens’ libretto. But as he got into the project, his creative juices began to flow. He got into that “zone,” where artists lose track of time and cannot bear interruptions. A familiar melody he had composed earlier flooded into his mind as he read For unto Us a Child Is Born. While writing the Hallelujah Chorus he exclaimed “I did think I saw heaven open, and saw the very face of God!” At the end came the exultant Worthy is the lamb that was slain, followed by the long, heavenly amen.

Exhausted after twenty-four days “in the zone,” he wrote the letters “SDG” for Soli Deo Gloria, “To God alone the glory” on the final page. He put down his pen on September 14, 1741. “God has visited me,” he remarked. Those of us who know his work are compelled to concur. We ought also give due credit for the sources of his inspiration, God’s holy word and Charles Jennens, who believed in the composer when many others had given up on him.

Messiah premiered in Dublin, Ireland on April 13, 1742. In the audience were two notable figures.
John Wesley, the Billy Graham of his day, commented in his journal that “there were some parts that were affecting, but I doubt it has staying power.” John Wesley was right about most things, but the great evangelist seems to have missed on this assessment.

The other notable figure was King George II, son of George I, who had so loved Water Music. George II was so taken by the Hallelujah Chorus that he abruptly stood to his feet, which caused everyone in the audience to do likewise. To this day audiences, following George II’s example, stand to their feet for the chorus.

Following the first London performance of Messiah, a patron congratulated Handel on the excellent entertainment. “My lord,” he responded, “I should be sorry if I only entertained them. I wish to make them better.”

George Frederic Handel departed this world to his heavenly reward on April 14, 1759. In the hours just before his passing he said, “I want to die…in the hope of rejoining the good God, my sweet Lord and Savior on the day of His resurrection.”

Regarding the “zone” Handel entered while writing Messiah, I have a personal anecdote. In the early 1970s I was in the United States Air Force, stationed in Darmstadt, Germany. My job was of the twenty-four-hour variety, which kept me working constantly changing shifts, which threw off my sleeping rhythm.

One night, perhaps around 1am, I could not sleep. I decided to listen to Messiah from my reel to reel tape recorder, using earphones so as not to disturb my roommate. As I listened to the words and music, I began to fall into Handel’s “zone,” silently mouthing the words as they came:

O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?
The sting of death is sin;
And the strength of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God,
Which giveth us the victory
through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Oh, I was into it. Sin destroys, but Jesus restores! Eternal life! Victory! When the music reached that final, glorious “Through our Lord Jesus Christ,” there was suddenly a great light! “I am about to see the face of God,” I exulted as I opened my eyes.

But it was not God whom I beheld. It was the livid face of my roommate, who had turned on the room light. He did indeed mention God, but in a far from reverent way. “I’m trying to sleep” was the only thing he said that I can here record.

To state the obvious, I tumbled rather swiftly from my mountain top, crashing hard at the bottom. Three days later, after I had again apologized, and when he was finally able to speak to me, he told me that I had been wailing. No wonder many who don’t believe, think we’re strange. I guess so. But at least I caught a glimpse of that “zone” that had so gripped George Frederic Handel.