There is a moment in George Frideric Handel’s Messiah where the air in the concert hall seems to change. It usually happens during the “Hallelujah” chorus—a sudden, explosive burst of choral and orchestral glory that has, for nearly three centuries, moved audiences to tears, cheers, and awe. The Colorado Symphony gave a beautiful performance of this work in Boettcher Hall on December 19, 2025 under the skilled baton of Taylor Martin.
To view Messiah merely as a collection of famous musical “hits” is to do a disservice to one of the greatest achievements in the history of Western music. Messiah is more than a collection of arias and choruses; it is a sweeping, emotional, and structurally masterful oratorio that bridges the gap between the sacred and the human. In this post, we will dive into the history, the structure, and the enduring legacy of this baroque masterpiece.
One of the most staggering facts about Messiah is how quickly it was brought to life. Unlike the grand operas Handel had spent years perfecting, Messiah was composed in a feverish burst of creativity in the spring of 1741. Legend has it that Handel, perhaps sensing a turning point in his career, sat down and composed much of the work in a matter of weeks. At the time, Handel was undergoing a significant professional shift. The popularity of Italian opera—the high-drama, virtuoso-driven genre that had made him famous—was waning in London. To reach a broader audience, Handel turned toward the “oratorio”—a dramatic musical work based on religious themes, performed without the elaborate costumes and sets of opera. Messiah was the pinnacle of this transition, written in English to ensure the message was directly accessible to his audience. The premiere took place in Dublin in March 1741. While it wasn’t an immediate commercial juggernaut like his later successes, it quickly became a staple of the musical calendar, eventually evolving into the seasonal tradition many recognize today.
Messiah is organized into three distinct parts, creating a narrative arc that moves from prophecy to passion and, finally, to triumph.
The first part is characterized by a sense of anticipation. Using texts primarily from the Old Testament, Handel sets the stage for the arrival of the Savior. The music here is often majestic and expectant. We hear the swelling textures of the orchestra and the delicate, lyrical lines of the soloists expressing the longing of a people waiting for a promised leader. It captures the “humanity” of the divine promise—the quiet hope of a world in waiting.
The tone shifts dramatically in Part II. Moving into the New Testament, the music becomes deeply emotive and, at times, devastating. This section focuses on the life, suffering, and death of Jesus. Handel’s genius shines here through his ability to capture profound human emotion: the sorrow of “He was despised,” the solemnity of the crucifixion, and the crushing weight of grief. The music doesn’t shy away from the darkness; it leans into it, using chromaticism and heavy choral textures to mirror the gravity of the narrative.
The final movement of the oratorio is a celestial explosion of joy. Having traversed the darkness of the Passion, Part III moves toward the Resurrection and the ultimate victory over death. The music becomes lighter, more rhythmic, and relentlessly triumphant. It is a musical representation of light breaking through the darkness, designed to leave the listener in a state of spiritual or emotional exaltation.
What makes Messiah so effective is not just the subject matter, but Handel’s mastery of musical form. He was a master of counterpoint—the art of weaving multiple independent melodic lines together to create a rich, complex texture. When you listen to a Handel chorus, you aren’t just hearing a melody supported by chords. You are hearing a conversation. One group of voices might start a phrase, only to be answered by another, creating a sense of momentum and communal strength. This “call and response” technique makes the choral sections feel alive, as if a crowd of people is participating in the story in real-time. Furthermore, Handel’s use of orchestration is incredibly effective. He doesn’t rely on sheer volume to create impact; he relies on contrast. The sudden shift from a solo soprano aria to a full, booming tutti chorus is a musical “jump scare” that triggers an immediate emotional response.
We cannot discuss Messiah without addressing the “Hallelujah” chorus. It is perhaps the most famous piece of music in the English-speaking world, yet it is often misunderstood. Musically, it is a marvel of repetitive, driving rhythms that build tension until the final, triumphant cadence. It is meant to represent the voices of angels and the celestial host. Its impact on pop culture is undeniable—from being performed at royal weddings to being referenced in countless films and commercials. However, in its original context, it serves as the definitive exclamation point to Part II, marking the transition from the suffering of the Passion to the glory of the Resurrection.
In an era of digital perfection and highly polished pop production, why does a 280-year-old piece of music still resonate? First, there is the universality of emotion. Even for those who do not view the work through a religious lens, the themes of suffering, hope, longing, and triumph are fundamental to the human experience. Handel’s music captures these feelings with a raw, unvarnished honesty that transcends dogma.
Second, there is the performative tradition. Messiah is a living piece of art. Every era reinterprets it. Some conductors choose “period performance,” using the original baroque instruments (natural trumpets, harpsichords, and gut strings) to achieve a crisp, bright, and energetic sound. Others prefer the lush, sweeping sound of a modern symphony orchestra. This constant re-imagining keeps the work fresh and prevents it from becoming a museum piece.
Handel’s Messiah is a mountain of music. It is a work of immense scale, terrifying depth, and breathtaking beauty. Whether you listen to it in a grand concert hall or through a pair of headphones on a quiet afternoon, it demands something of the listener. It asks us to move through the shadows of sorrow and into the light of triumph. To listen to Messiah is to witness a moment where human artistry reaches for the divine, creating something that, centuries later, still has the power to make the heart race and the soul soar.
