Hallelujah, Even Here: Experiencing Handel’s Messiah With Hearing Loss

It might surprise some people to learn how much I genuinely love beautiful music, even with hearing loss. I know it’s something I’ve never fully experienced the way others do, but I’m deeply grateful that I can still hear music at the level I do.

Music means different things to different people, but to me, it’s everything. In a nutshell? Music is therapy. From a young age, I’ve had a soft spot for classical music and opera, partly because it's one of the richest genres for conveying pure emotion. I’ve sat through operas in Italian and even English, having no clue what was being said, and still caught the emotional thread because the music spoke for itself.

In another life, I’d have been a violinist or cellist. Instead, I have settled for being a fan of Mozart (a king) and Beethoven, whose genius still astounds me. He was deaf, and yet managed to compose some of the most brilliant music ever written (shout out to Fur Elise, Symphony No. 5)

Which brings me to Handel.

Growing up, I only knew Handel as the guy who composed the "Hallelujah Chorus" I sang it in school choir, so I know it well (Please don’t ask me to sing it now, If you value your ears). In my spare time, I still believe I’m an award-winning opera singer, but that talent magically vanishes when other people are around. 😅

As part of my “one different thing a month” adventure, I finally treated myself to the full Messiah experience last Christmas at the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. (I gift myself often 😀) The ticket I found a bit pricey, but hey! it was Christmas, and it was THE TSO. One of my bucket list items is to visit the some of the world’s most famous symphony halls and philharmonics.

Fun fact: I used to work right behind Roy Thomson Hall, where the Toronto Symphony Orchestra performed, and walked past it for two years without ever stepping inside. I only made the trip after moving out of the city. Ironic, right?

The hall itself was stunning, far grander than my local symphony hall, and yes, I did scan the crowd to count how many other Black people were in the room. (Not many, but the few I spotted made for a nice nod of solidarity)

The performance began with unfamiliar tunes. I hadn’t heard the full Messiah before, and definitely not in order. I didn’t realize the entire work was essentially arias / oratorios (solos / choirs with orchestral accompaniment). I could hear the voices, but couldn't make out the words. I resigned myself to the idea that I wouldn’t fully grasp the experience… But I still admired the beauty of the voices and the sheer brilliance of the composition.

Trying to explain it is like saying: I can see, but not see the colours. I see the shapes, the movement, the light, but not the hues. Still beautiful. Still moving. Just not quite whole.

Then came intermission.

I absent-mindedly flipped through the performance booklet I’d picked up earlier, and lo and behold, the lyrics were inside. I hadn’t realized. It felt like someone had handed me glasses to finally see the colours.

I quickly scanned what I’d missed, just in time to catch the next half which contained Hallelujah Chorus and some additional tracks of what would become my favourite pieces.

If I thought I enjoyed the first half? The second half truly blew me away. Knowing what was being sung made ALL the difference. It was an experience transcending time and space... I felt incredibly lucky to be alive, and I thought of how much my parents would have loved this moment too.

Also, can we talk about how Handel composed the entire Messiah in 24 days? That’s three and a half weeks. In project management terms, that's 1.5 sprints. And he handwrote every part, for every instrument. No tech. No do-overs. Just brilliance, a quill, and paper. That’s not just talent. That’s anointing.

What hits even harder is that Handel wrote Messiah during a low season in his life. He was 56, broke, in poor health, and had fallen out of favour with his audience. His London audiences were unimpressed, and even the Messiah premiere happened in Dublin, not exactly considered elite society at the time. Imagine being so ahead of your time that you doubt yourself, and then your work lives on for 300 years.

Beethoven himself once said: “Handel is the greatest composer that ever lived. I would uncover my head and kneel before his tomb" Bro! you can say that again!

As a woman of faith, I hadn’t realized the Messiah was essentially a journey through the life of Jesus, from birth to death to resurrection. The aria “He Was Despised” moved me deeply. Of course, during the Hallelujah Chorus, the entire audience stood. I later learned that King George II stood during the original performance, apparently moved by the music, and the tradition stuck.

But weirdly? The Hallelujah Chorus wasn’t even my favourite. Maybe because it’s the most famous of his works, like the Mona Lisa, great, yes, but you already know what it looks like. (Also, that painting is shockingly small in real life)

My absolute favourite was one of the final arias: “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.” Just... stunning. That piece closed the night for me, and I practically floated out of Roy Thomson Hall.

The Messiah experience gave me several takeaways:

• Messiah is now one of my personal best albums. I listened to it on repeat for three months straight. Thank you, Spotify.

  
  

• A simple tool, like printing the lyrics, can transform an experience for a person. Whoever made that call had no idea it would change the evening for someone with hearing loss.

  
  

• Excellence matters. If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. This was a consistent theme that night for me. From Handel's work to the TSO's performance, and even to the person who put together the booklet for the night, and included the lyrics, which changed everything for me.

  
  

• Good things can still emerge from hard seasons. Even if you're doubting yourself in your London era, remember: your Dublin era might be on the horizon.

  
  

• And lastly, Live. Your. Life! That ticket price I hesitated on? The annoying traffic I dreaded? All irrelevant. What I remember is joy. What I gained cannot be quantified.

I often ask myself: Will this matter in ten minutes, ten days, ten months, or ten years? That performance? Ten years from now, I’ll still be telling this story.

So, guess who's going back to Toronto Symphony Hall Christmas 2025 to see Handel's Messiah?

To George Frideric Handel, thank you for composing the masterpiece that is the Messiah, and to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra for delivering it; it is a gift I truly will cherish for the rest of my life.

If you're curious, here are my two favourite performances:

He Was Despised by Jakub Jozef Orlinski (Warsaw Philharmonic)

His intonation, breathwork, and emotional expression are unmatched. Even my classical music buff friend agreed. Certified brilliance.

I Know My Redeemer Liveth - Sylvia McNair

There are so many stunning versions, but hers just edges the others. Pure grace.

Yes, they’re technically “sad” songs, but there’s so much beauty in sorrow. That’s what makes joy shine brighter.