Morning Thanks--Handel's "Messiah"

On Saturday night, I couldn't help but realize that I know almost the entirety of George Frederick Handel's oratorio The Messiah by heart. Don't tell anyone, but for most of the night I hummed along--not loud enough to be heard, but loud enough to for my heart to adore its familiarity.

It would be impossible to guess at how many times I've listened in, although I'm confident that the number of live performances reach nowhere near the times I've tapped into recordings. In fact, I dare to bet that with a little time I could scare up a recording or two on a long ago forsaken disk hidden away somewhere. 

I've sung along with our congregation's ritual recital of Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus" at Christmas, although I'm not a regular, less sure as I am of my abilities than I am of a hundred others.

What's more, I've heard dozens of choirs move through big chunks of the oratorio, including, forty years ago, a grade school bunch I've never forgotten, perhaps because of their insistent conductor who, I'm sure, wanted each of those kids to have a real experience with real music. It was an oddity, a painful experience and a thrill I've never quite been able to forget.

Mostly George Frederick Handel rings through my memories of houses we've lived in for the last fifty years. It wouldn't be a Christmas or Easter season if, on a Sunday morning, Handel wasn't coming up through living room speakers. We Protestants have winnowed down the number of legitimate sacraments to two--baptism and the Lord's Supper. But Handel's Messiah has a long and sacred reach. Voluntarily and of a sudden, we simply stand--all of us do--for "The Hallelujah Chorus."

Saturday night was a wonder. A mass choir of locals, with orchestra, did it all, even the arias I don't know, stem to stern. It was wonderful, as it always is, even when there's no in the chorus older than 12. It's always wonderful, and it will be again next December when I tease Alexa into finding a performance for me somewhere on line. 

A few years ago, I would have put singing through Handel's Messiah with a really good choir as a top choice on my bucket list. But Saturday night, listening in once more, I told myself that the likelihood of music coming from this aging vessel is no more likely than this ex-catcher getting behind the plate and throwing out some speedster trying to steal second. It ain't gonna happen. I'm having trouble enough just getting to my feet when the first chords of "Hallelujah" fill the place.

Every minute last Saturday night was precious, every note a blessing. 

This morning's thanks are for a big, wonderful choir, the Sioux County Oratorio, and, once again, George Frederick Handel's perfectly wondrous baroque masterpiece, The Messiah.