When Praise Overtakes the Praiser

In the late summer of 1741, George Frideric Handel barely left his rooms at 25 Brook Street in London. For twenty-four consecutive days, from August 22 to September 14, he composed at a feverish pace, often forgetting to eat the meals his servant brought him. He was writing Messiah — an oratorio that would become one of the most performed choral works in Western music. When he finished the Hallelujah Chorus, his servant reportedly found him with tears streaming down his face. Handel told him, "I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself."

Something had happened that Handel had not planned. He sat down to compose music, but the music composed him. The act of praising God carried him past the boundaries of his own craft and into an encounter with the living God.

This is precisely what the psalmist describes in Psalm 150. The psalm does not ask us to praise God politely or carefully. It calls for trumpets, harps, tambourines, dancing, crashing cymbals — every instrument, every voice, every breath poured out without reservation. "Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!" The psalm envisions worship so total, so consuming, that nothing is held back.

Handel discovered what the psalmist already knew: when we give ourselves fully to praising the Almighty, something breaks open. We are no longer merely performing an act of worship — we are swept into the presence of God. The praise becomes bigger than the one who offers it.