Handel's Dream

With my symphony orchestra this year, we had the chance to perform a Bach Christmas cantata with a very talented choir. And as beautiful as the piece was, I initially struggled to get into that musical work for several reasons. First, the piece was sung in German. That immediately chalks Bach's cantata up there in my book along with all of those foreign language operas that I can't understand and relate to, no matter how much translation or contextual explanation accompanies the production. Second, although the cantata is rife with Christmas messages, the piece seemed to jump around in its narrative without following what to me seemed like a story progression. The choir begins with a joyous chorus about the glorious day, then queue the angel, invite Mary and Joseph out to sing a duet of gratitude, cut away for a barn dance with spiked eggnog and mistletoe, get serious again by having King David come and declare that Christ is the fruit of his loins and the promised lion of Jesse, and then finish out with another joyous chorus about jabbing Satan in the rump with a big poker. The whole piece is very appropriate and fitting for the holiday. It just doesn't seem to connect with me in a narrative way, especially given the language barrier where I have to have someone describe to me what is being about. Did I feel uplifted by the beautiful music? Sure. Did I feel inspired? The jury may still be out on that one.

I contrast Bach's Christmas offering with that of his contemporary Handel. They lived just 40 miles apart from each other and must have crossed paths on many occasions. I have had the opportunity to play Handel's Messiah most years. Some years, it may be with a group that begins rehearsals back in September and works really hard to make its December performance a gift to the Christ child that is as close to perfect as possible to emulate the perfection of that holy child. Other years like this year, I've showed up on the day of the performance to play with a pick-up orchestra that hands out music a few weeks beforehand but only spends an hour or two before the performance running through the music as a group. Whatever the quality of the resulting music may be, I have performed The Messiah enough times that I have learned to appreciate the narrative progression of the musical work as it follows the story of Christ through repetitious scripture. In some ways, the constant repetition of scripture could make The Messiah as hard to relate to and "understand" as Bach's cantata. But the main thing that The Messiah has for me over Bach's Christmas work is familiarity. Everyone knows some of the most famous choruses. And there is nothing quite like hearing a choir belting out those choruses with full power and majesty. I love it.

I share these thoughts about Handel and Bach because today's Forgotten Carol is a something of a tribute to George Frideric Handel. I can't say that I feel quite as inspired by the angel/Handel character as I do by the fictional innkeeper or the fictional shepherd boy who slept through the angelic visitation. With these other characters, I feel compelled to look at myself and ask myself how I might have reacted in their shoes and what lessons their experiences might have for me. With the angel, I don't get that same drive to search my soul for Christmas meaning. 

However, I do find myself wondering where I may have been as an angel or a spirit myself when Heaven was shouting for joy during the wondrous birth, during our Savior's triumph over death, and during other key events holding significance for all mankind. Was I a part of some Heavenly choir? Was I having a party with you? Or was I quietly excusing myself to some private cloud for a moment of quiet contemplation and gratitude-filled prayer? I'd like to think that I was keenly aware of what was transpiring and that I was marking the occasion in some way with a celebration fitting of the event. 

But whether or not I was auditioning for a place in an angelic choir or orchestra, I love the way that Michael McLean's song declares that the tone deaf little angel who didn't make callbacks for his audition did have a voice that would be heard. That angel boy's "voice" would be heard through the musical voices of countless others. The song of his heart would find voice through the testimonies of people like me who each year sing or play Hallelujah!, Joy to the World, and Glory to God! But not everyone is a musician or a master of composition. I think about those who don't have an ounce of musical talent. How are their voices going to be heard? And then I think about those brothers and sisters of mine who I've observed from a distance who silently let their voices rise up in exultation through their expressions of testimony and belief, their Christlike acts of service and love, and their humble examples of goodness and faith. 

Each and everyone of us has a voice. And as the Grand Chorus master says, "You have so much to give, and your time will come. You have a different voice... [a] voice that will echo through time." Thankfully, there are those with angelic, beautiful voices who I'm sure heralded the birth with majesty worthy of that wondrous event; and, thankfully, there are many Handel's out in the world who can translate their musical genius into beautiful masterpieces I can enjoy. For the rest of us, we can let our voices ring out in other ways. Regardless of what the nature of your voice is, I hope you'll join me in singing with the angels and heralding our brother's birth once more this holiday season.

Merry Christmas and God Bless!

*******

In my dream, he told me, I was a very young angel in a very heavenly place, when a trumpet was sounded and an announcement was made. All the angels in heaven were invited to audition for the choir that would announce the Holy Birth. There was an excitement and a sense of anticipation that, well, it nearly caused my little angel heart almost to burst.

When my moment arrived, I stood before the Musical Tribunal, and I sang, and I sang, and I sang! And no one snickered, or laughed at me, because this was heaven. But I knew almost immediately that I would not be invited to join the heavenly choir for one simple and rather obvious reason: I couldn't sing. I could feel it; I could feel that music, but I couldn't get that feeling to come into my voice. Well, the Grand Chorusmaster, he smiled and nodded to his chief assistant to show me out.

"This isn't fair!" I pleaded. "If you could hear what's in my heart, you'd let me sing!" And I raced back in to beg the Chorusmaster to give me one more chance. And as I did, music filled that heavenly room. And I recognized it, because it was the music coming from my very own innocent, tender heart.

Hallelujah, Lord of all

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Be our guide every day

King and Lord of All

Give us the strength to see

how best to follow Thee

Hallelujah Lord of all

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

When all the heavenly singing had stopped, my friend told me that, in his dream, all the other angels stood motionless and amazed when they heard the sound. He said, and when my carol to my King was over, the Grand Chorusmaster himself stood, and said, "Oh little one, you have so much to give, and your time will come. Your time will come."

"Ohh... then I can't sing with the choir?" I wanted him to change his mind, but he just shook his head.

"You have a different voice," he said, "but it will be heard. Centuries from now, it will be heard. More orchestras and choirs than you can possibly imagine will be giving the music of your heart a voice that will echo through time."

Joy to the world, the Lord has come

Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

He is God, Praise His name

The King and Lord of All

Wonderful! Counselor! 

The mighty God! The Everlasting Father! 

The Prince of Peace!

The Everlasting Father!

The Prince of Peace!