The Masterpiece That Came from Ruin

In the summer of 1741, George Frideric Handel was a broken man. The composer who had once dazzled the courts of Europe was now fifty-six, deep in debt, partially paralyzed from a stroke four years earlier, and watching his career collapse as London audiences turned away from his operas. His creditors were closing in. By every measure that mattered, Handel was finished.

Then a libretto arrived from Charles Jennens — a collection of scripture passages woven together to tell the story of the Messiah. Handel began to write. And what poured out of that broken man over the next twenty-four days was nothing short of miraculous. He barely ate. He barely slept. Page after page of some of the most transcendent sacred music ever composed flowed from his pen. When he finished the "Hallelujah" chorus, his servant found him weeping. "I did think I did see all Heaven before me," Handel said, "and the great God Himself."

Messiah did not come from a man at the height of his powers. It came from a man at the end of them. And that is exactly how grace works. The Almighty does not wait for us to get ourselves together. He meets us in our ruin and brings forth something we never could have produced on our own.

The next time you hear those soaring notes of the "Hallelujah" chorus, remember — they were written by a man who had nothing left to give, except his willingness to receive.