From Ruin to Hallelujah

In 1741, George Frideric Handel was a ruined man. A stroke had left his right side partially paralyzed. Creditors circled. London audiences had abandoned his operas. At fifty-six, the once-celebrated composer seemed finished — a spent force with nothing left to give.

Then a libretto arrived from Charles Jennens, a collection of scripture passages telling the story of Christ from prophecy through resurrection. Something stirred in Handel. He began to compose.

For twenty-four days, he barely ate or slept. Music poured out of him — not the fashionable opera the world had once demanded, but something deeper, drawn from the well of his own brokenness. When he finished the "Hallelujah Chorus," his servant found him in tears. "I did think I did see all Heaven before me," Handel reportedly said, "and the great God Himself."

The work was Messiah — and it has moved congregations for nearly three centuries since.

Here is what strikes me: God did not use Handel at the height of his fame. He used him at the bottom. The paralysis, the debt, the public failure — these were not obstacles to God's purpose. They were preparation for it.

The Almighty specializes in this kind of work. He takes what is broken and empty and fills it with something the world cannot ignore. Your ruin is not your conclusion. It may be exactly where your Messiah begins.