Hallelujah!

I am totally a morning person.

I love sleep more than most people I know (and probably more than is healthy). But I function far better in the morning than I do at night. In college, if I hadn’t finished a paper, I wasn’t the one who stayed up to finish it. I was the one who would set my alarm two hours earlier, get up and finish it.

I have never been able to sleep in (all of my friends who ever had me over for a slumber party growing up can attest to this). And most mornings, I wake up fully functional.

I get this from my dad. No question. You have never met more of a morning person than my dad was when we were growing up.

When Ali and I were practically toddlers, Dad used the early morning time to teach us how to play poker, make breakfast, take us hunting or fishing while it was still dark. We were relatively used to his unnatural perkiness.

And then one morning when I was in high school, he upped his game. Big time.

It was exactly 6 AM, the time when we all started getting up for school and suddenly my mom, my sisters and I were all startled out of our sleep to hundreds of voices booming: “HA-llelujah! HA-llelujah! Hallelujah, hallelujah, ha-LLE-lujah!”

Dad blasted the Hallelujah Chorus at top volume over the stereo and the angelic voices thundered up the stairs. He enjoyed it so much that he did it every year starting December 1 to Christmas morning.

The result is that I know that song better than most people know “Amazing Grace.” Now we sing it at our church’s Easter service. I’ll never forget standing next to Beau years ago (when he was still shorter than me) during one Easter service. The sheet music was given to us to sing along when our choir sang it. I didn’t need it.

Beau fumbled through the papers, trying to find his place among all the repeats and codas, looked over at me to find a page number only to find my eyes closed, my voice singing loud and proud and the sheet music still left on my chair. He was amazed. When the service ended, he said, “You weren’t even looking at the words!” I just smiled.

Several Decembers ago, my mom had driven down from Ocala to do some Christmas shopping with me at the gorgeous Mall at Millenia here in Orlando. We shuffled and bustled through the crowded mall for the better part of a day. When we finally got back in the car, my Christmas playlist started up and the Hallelujah Chorus came on.

Mom and I both exhaled. After a few moments, Mom smiled and said, “We needed this.”

Too right.

I now use that song as my alarm in the morning. Any problem I have during the day, any question in my mind can be answered by that song: The kingdom of this world is become the Kingdom of the Lord, and of His Christ! And He shall reign forever and ever! King of kings! And Lord of lords! Hallelujah!

Of course, the Hallelujah Chorus is just a small part of Handel’s Messiah, basically a musical composition of the entire story of Jesus, beginning with the prophecies, ending with the celebration of His victory over death.

The story of this legendary creation likens it to a divine revelation.

George Frederic Handel was in despair. His most recent compositions were widely unpopular. He struggled to earn a living in London occasionally unable to even buy food (which was apparently one of his favorite things. I’m with ya, dude.).

One night in 1741, depressed and defeated by writer’s block, he wandered the streets until daybreak. When he returned home he found a thick envelope from Charles Jennens, the man who wrote his librettos.

The pages were full of Scripture.

He tossed them aside and crawled into bed, but sleep eluded him. The words he had briefly read pounded relentlessly through his mind.     

Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, saith your God … The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light … For unto us a Child is born … Glory to God in the highest … Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Writers know better than to sleep through inspiration. No matter how tired you are, when the idea strikes, you get up. And so Handel did, sat down at his piano where he remained for three weeks.

No food, no sleep, maybe a couple potty breaks. He refused to see anyone. When he finally finished, a friend managed to find a way in.

Handel was at his piano, sheets of music strewn around him and tears streaming down his face.  “I do believe I have seen all of Heaven before me, and the great God Himself,” he exclaimed.

When it premiered in Dublin in 1742, it received the greatest ovation in the city’s history. An urban legend says when it was performed in London a few weeks later, the King was so impressed during the Hallelujah Chorus that he rose to his feet, which is why we still stand for it today.

Christmas time reminds me that it wasn’t just a baby being born in a barn on some quiet hill in Bethlehem. It was, as John Eldredge says, The Great Invasion. Jesus Christ, God in the flesh, invaded the world that was stolen from Him in the Garden of Eden. The foundation of Satan’s kingdom was rattled to the core.

While He left the world temporarily, He’ll be back, no longer as a humble servant, but the King, in full regalia, according to Revelation:

I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose Rider is called Faithful and True. With justice He judges and makes war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on His head are many crowns. He has a name written on Him that no one knows but He Himself. He is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following Him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean. Out of His mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. He will rule them with an iron scepter. He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On His robe and on His thigh He has this name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.

Don’t be fooled by the sweet baby in the nativity scene. He didn’t come just to heal a few invalids and feed a few thousand people. He came to rock the world and execute God’s rescue mission.

Before the fruit touched Eve’s lips, The Plan had been perfected and sealed. God in His infinite knowledge knew we would fail and arranged a way from eternity past to bring us Home. That one bite set into motion the greatest love story ever written. One so perfect and complete, it could only be penned by the God of the universe, in the blood of His Son.

The Plan was on God’s heart when He set the world into motion. The Plan was on His mind when the first animals walked off His palm onto the earth. The Plan was there waiting for its cue in the garden where Adam and Eve gazed longingly at the tree.

Father, Son and Spirit carefully guarded The Plan throughout history. The Curse, the Blessing, the kings, the kingdoms. The prophets pointed to the future, to the Messiah. Generation by generation, David’s line began closing in on the night that ripped time in half. Then came Mary.

Mary, the precious teenager who agreed to the most awesome and terrifying assignment ever given by God: Carry God Himself, not just in her heart but in her womb. Deliver Him as a baby. Raise Him as her son. All the while knowing someday she’d have to give Him up, though not knowing to what extent. In her heart, she probably prepared herself for the day He’d leave forever to pursue His ministry. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw on the Cross.

The words of Isaiah hung heavily in the air during His brutal flogging. His death tore the curtain in the temple for all time. God’s perfect justice was satisfied. The debt was paid. Forty something days later, Jesus returned Home to the arms of His Father, forever scarred by the battle He fought and won for our salvation.

We should never take for granted the love of a God that went to such lengths to save our lives.

My favorite flash mob video of all time occurs in the food court of a busy mall during peak Christmas shopping hours. And as I get lost in Christmas preparations, parties, shopping and wrapping, I will easily slip into bah-humbug mode.

The quickest remedy for me is the Hallelujah Chorus. Puts it all in perspective.

Hallelujah!