Handel’s Messiah in the ICU

I’ve heard Handel’s Messiah in churches and concert halls, but never before in an ICU.

I remember the December, my husband and I bought tickets to hear it at the Ohio Theatre. We sat under thousands of ceiling stars gilted with gold leaf as a coloratura soprano sang, “Rejoice greatly.” 

The theatre was bathed in deep scarlet and gold hues. A 21-foot, 2.5-ton chandelier with 339 light bulbs and strings of crystal hung from the vaulted ceiling. Golden horses galloped around each cluster of its candelabras.

The Ohio Theatre was designed as a sort of palace for ordinary folk, a place that would free them from daily duties and usual thoughts.

It was easy to rejoice greatly that December as I sat with my husband in such grandeur. It seemed bit of heaven.

But in the ICU, Handel’s Messiah took an earthy vibe.

My brother and I heard the violins on a far-away stage play through my laptop speaker. But through all 53 movements, monitors beeped, wheels rolled, lights dinged, and nurses consulted.

From vocalists, we heard arias, recitatives, ensembles, and choruses. But from a bed in the room across the curtain, a poor soul moaned incessantly.

We were just two people in one small cubical in a vast hospital complex filled with people fighting for health and life. Just two people in a city where people battle poverty and crime. And just two people in a world where people are caught in the ravages of war.

So much pain. And such need for solace.

I’ll never listen to the Messiah in the same way again, not after I’ve been so near to the suffering parts of it and in such deep need of its comfort. The Ohio Theater may match the great beauty of the Messiah. But perhaps heaven came closer for me than ever in the ICU.

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Postscript: My little brother is now out of ICU, out of the hospital, and home for Christmas.