The Music That Came From the Ruins

In the summer of 1741, George Frideric Handel was a broken man. The once-celebrated composer had suffered a stroke that paralyzed his right hand. His operas were failing. Creditors circled. London society had moved on. At fifty-six, he spoke openly of ending his career, perhaps even his life.

Then a libretto arrived from Charles Jennens — scripture passages arranged to tell the story of the Messiah. Handel sat down at his desk on Brooke Street and began to write. For twenty-four days he barely ate, barely slept. The music poured out of him like water breaking through a dam. When his servant brought meals, he found them untouched, and Handel weeping at his desk. After completing the Hallelujah Chorus, Handel reportedly said, "I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself."

From a man who had lost nearly everything came one of the most transcendent pieces of music the world has ever heard. The Messiah has been performed continuously for nearly three centuries, pointing millions toward the hope of a Savior who redeems what is broken.

This is how the Almighty works. He does not wait for us to be whole before He uses us. He meets us in the wreckage and says, "Now — now I will make something eternal." The apostle Paul understood this: "We have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us."

Your worst season may be the birthplace of your greatest offering.