The Composer Who Wept Over His Own Manuscript

In the autumn of 1741, George Frideric Handel locked himself in his London rooms and began composing one of the most celebrated works in Western music. In roughly twenty-four days, he wrote the entirety of Messiah — 259 pages of orchestral score. His servant would bring meals and find them untouched, the composer weeping over his manuscript.

When Handel finished the "Hallelujah Chorus," he reportedly told his servant, "I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself." Here was one of the most famous composers in Europe, a man who had written operas for kings, and yet the experience of setting scripture to music brought him to his knees.

After the London premiere, when Lord Kinnoul congratulated him on the noble "entertainment," Handel replied, "My lord, I should be sorry if I only entertained them; I wished to make them better."

Handel understood something that eludes many of us: the difference between being gifted and being the source of the gift. He did not write Messiah to showcase his genius. He wrote it as an act of worship, and the experience left him undone.

Paul asked the Corinthians, "What do you have that you did not receive?" True humility is not denying our abilities — it is recognizing where they come from. Every good gift, every flash of insight, every moment of creative power flows from the hand of the Almighty. When we stand before God with whatever He has given us, the only honest response is the one Handel had: tears of gratitude that the Most High would use ordinary hands to carry extraordinary grace.