I grew up with music everywhere. I began playing violin at the age of 5, and sang in quite a good church choir as early as I can remember. Handel’s Messiah was ubiquitous in my life twice a year — Christmas and Lent. I remember the year I was the narrator for the Christmas pageant and sang the soprano recitative leading up to the angel chorus “Glory to God.” I remember attending Messiah sing-alongs and playing the orchestral part for countless Christmas gigs.
Most especially, I remember the time my college orchestra performed and recorded Messiah with a world-class conductor. That experience brought the music and the text to life in a way I had never experienced before. We saw glimpses of the heavenly host in that auditorium, we shed tears over the rejected Son of Man, we joined with the scoffers while Jesus was on the cross, and we proclaimed the greatness of the lamb on the throne.
Performances of Messiah abound in the weeks leading up to Christmas (although it was intended for Lent). I usually manage to attend at least one every couple of years. I can never hear the Scripture readings in Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Holy Week without strains of Handel floating through my mind on repeat.
As a biblical scholar, I spend a good deal of my time reflecting on methods of biblical interpretation. I have come to the conclusion that Messiah formed how I understand Scripture on a visceral level. When I was in seminary, I was presented with many different methods of interpreting Scripture. The one that made the most sense to me was the idea that Jesus was the fulfillment of the Old Testament, and that without those Scriptures, we cannot understand who he is. This idea sparked my first conscious interest in studying the Old Testament. But that idea had been planted in my mind long before, in the guise of Handel’s music and the Scripture choices of Charles Jennens, the librettist who put the words together.
When I was a kid listening to/singing/playing Messiah, I always found the first part before Christmas boring. Get to the action already, Handel. But actually, it perfectly encompasses Advent. It sets the stage for the expectation of the Messiah and who God is. “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.” “But who may abide the day of his coming, for he is like a refiner’s fire.” “And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed.”
Very often, we listen to Messiah with the ears of our 12-year-old selves. We put up with the boring parts to reach the good parts. We want the angels’ Glory to God, the Hallelujah chorus, and the bombastic Worthy is the Lamb.
Unless we listen to the whole, however, we miss the message of the high points. Messiah very carefully creates a theology of who Jesus is. It doesn’t dwell sentimentally on the manger scene. It describes the nature of the one who is God with us: king of glory, judgment, and comfort.
The first act focuses on the birth of Jesus and his earthly ministry. It is the Christmas act. It begins with a stately royal march for an overture, and the opening words are not the birth of the Messiah, as one might expect, but where two of the Gospels begin: with John the Baptist. A solo tenor speaks words of Isaiah 40, spoken to the Israelites, who have been told of their future exile: Comfort ye, comfort ye my people. Her iniquity is pardoned. Prepare the way of the Lord; the crooked ways shall be made straight and the rough places plain. After this, a complex choral fugue continues in Isaiah 40, preparing us for what we shall see when the Messiah comes: the glory of the Lord shall be revealed to all.
One might expect the revealed glory of God to be the story of Christmas. Instead, the deep bass of a prophet ushers in Advent. He foretells the shaking of all creation and the revelation of God in his holy temple (Hag. 2:6-7 and Mal. 3:1). These two passages describe the temple rebuilt after Israel’s return from exile, smaller than the first and lacking the glory and the presence of God. Putting the texts of Isaiah 40, Haggai 2, and Malachi 3 together, Messiah compiles the promises of the coming Messiah with the return of the glory of God into his temple.
A gentle alto solo continues through Malachi 3 and suddenly bursts into a frenzy of judgment and purification by fire that will come with the anointed of the Lord. The glory foretold in Isaiah comes with purifying fire: the good and terrifying news of Advent, that the comfort of the coming of Christ comes with purification and judgment.
Suddenly, there is a pause in the cacophony. A moment of stillness strikes all of creation, and a solitary voice sings out above a barely noticeable accompaniment the promise of Isaiah 7:14: Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and they shall call his name Immanuel. God with us.
The chorus takes up the good news, returning to Isaiah 40, and the tone (finally) turns to rejoicing. However, once again, the tone dramatically drops as a baritone solo intones the darkness that blinds the nations, winding about with a tune that itself seems lost but then swells to beautiful hope as he sings of the light that brings light to the world. The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light (Isa. 60:2, 9:2).
Finally, after all the preparation, we reach Christmas. For unto us a child is born! Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isa. 9:6). The chorus is unleashed in praise. We have reached the familiar portion of Messiah. All is joy and excitement — the Messiah has come. Through all that has come before, we know exactly who the child is that we celebrate.
We pause for a moment for a pastoral interlude and listen to a tune meant to evoke simple shepherd music and the baaing of sheep settling down for the night. And then the soprano solo narrates the Christmas story and the coming of the angels to the shepherds amid an increasing crescendo of orchestral background as the glory grows brighter and brighter until the whole chorus of the company of heaven bursts forth in an unrestrained exclamation of “Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth!” (Luke 2:14)
It is easy for us to end with the climax of the angelic chorus and stay on the high note of that Christmas night when heaven was rent and the glory of God foretold at the beginning of Messiah has come to fruition. But Handel’s intent was to describe who Jesus was, and so he does not end the Christmas section with the angels. He continues with a dance of rejoicing and a description of Jesus’ ministry — opening the eyes of the blind and making the lame walk.
Two sections remain of Messiah; the second deals with Christ’s passion and resurrection and the third with who the resurrected Christ is revealed to be, both through the Church and in his final coming in glory. But it is telling that this first section that centers on the Incarnation does not end with the glory of the angels, although for many of us this would be an emotional high point for an ending. It ends with the sweet and gentle call of Jesus to sinners from Matthew 11:28-30: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
This is the one we celebrate at Christmas: the one who brings at once purification and rest. Immanuel comes with glory, judgment, salvation, and healing. During the 12 days of the celebration of Christmas, I invite you to take some time to listen to Messiah and soak in the nature of the one whose birth we celebrate. Hear the revelation of the Word made flesh through the words of the Old Testament prophets, brought to life through Handel’s music. And knowing him more fully, come, let us adore him.
