When Every Fragment Found Its Music

For centuries, the messianic prophecies lay scattered across dozens of Old Testament scrolls — Isaiah's suffering servant, Micah's Bethlehem birthplace, Malachi's refiner's fire. Each prophet caught a glimpse. Each recorded a fragment. No single voice held the complete picture.

Then in 1741, George Frideric Handel received a libretto from Charles Jennens that wove those scattered prophecies into a single narrative arc. Handel locked himself in his London home on Brook Street and composed for nearly twenty-four days without stopping. Servants found his meals untouched. When he finished the Hallelujah Chorus, he reportedly said, "I did think I did see all of Heaven before me, and the great God Himself."

What Handel did with music, God did with His Son. The writer of Hebrews tells us that God "spoke to our fathers through the prophets at many times and in various ways" — a passage here, a vision there, a whisper in the night. Each prophet carried a measure of truth. But in Jesus, every fragment converged. He is the radiance of God's glory, the exact imprint of His nature — not another partial revelation, but the full symphony.

The prophets gave us scattered notes on a page. Christ is the music itself, played at last in its entirety, and every listening heart knows: this is what it was all pointing to.