Handel's Hallelujah Chorus from Messiah stands as his most famous excerpt.

If you asked a roomful of people to name Handel’s most famous moment, chances are you’d hear a chorus rise up before the rest of the answer: a bright, unstoppable shout of “Hallelujah!” that fills the soundscape. Yes—the best-known excerpt is The Hallelujah Chorus, and it comes from Messiah.

A quick backdrop, because context helps the groove land. George Frideric Handel didn’t write Messiah as a Christmas-only showpiece. It’s an English-language oratorio—a big, narrative concert work that tells a biblical story using soloists, a chorus, and an orchestra. Charles Jennens supplied the text, a collage of Scripture and the Messiah narrative. Handel composed it in the early 1740s, and the piece found its way to the stage in Dublin in 1742. From there, it traveled into the living rooms, churches, and concert halls of the English-speaking world, gathering a following that grows even today.

Where exactly does the famous chorus sit in Messiah? It’s the climactic moment at the end of Part II, when the text proclaims God’s sovereign reign: “Hallelujah! for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.” The chorus is typically performed with two choirs, a swarm of orchestral players, trumpets, drums, and a tapestry of strings that makes the music feel like a celebration you can hear in the air. It’s a moment of collective propulsion—the kind of music that makes a hall feel almost pageant-like in its release.

What makes the Hallelujah Chorus soar? Let me explain with two simple ideas. First, it’s about scale. Handel doesn’t just write a row of nice melodies; he builds a living architecture where the chorus enters and folds back into the orchestral texture with precision. The texture expands from a closed, warm moment to a full-blown, radiantly open sound that seems to radiate outward. Even those who aren’t steeped in music theory can hear the effect—the way the voices catch the tempo, the way the brass punctuates like a parade, the way the strings flicker and then flood the room with sound.

Second, it’s about fidelity to text and emotional pull. The Hallelujah Chorus isn’t a mere victory tune; it’s a spiritual proclamation set to music that breathes with exultation. The repeated “Hallelujah” becomes a chant, then a rallying cry, then a grand procession of sound. Handel uses call-and-response textures and counterpoint to keep the energy buoyant, almost as if the music is a living chorus in its own right. You can feel the text painting the scene—the Lord’s omnipotence, the joy of the King of kings—without needing to understand every word. The music itself is the weather that carries the message.

Let’s put the spotlight on the broader work for a moment. Messiah is famous for mixing drama, devotion, and accessible tunes. It’s not just church music; it’s a concert piece that can thrill in secular settings too. The structure tends to invite listeners in, with big, declarative moments balanced by more intimate, expressive sections. Handel’s craft shines in those contrasts—fast, bristling passages that propel the action, followed by lyrical lines that melt into contemplation. The Hallelujah Chorus sits at the culmination of a narrative arc, a sonic coronation that feels earned and instantaneous at once.

This iconic chorus also has a cultural footprint that stretches far beyond concert halls. It’s become a staple of Christmas programming in many parts of the world, even though Messiah isn’t exclusively a Christmas work. It’s heard in churches, symphony halls, and pop culture alike; the piece has a way of signaling “this is a moment of collective joy” whether you’re in a formal concert hall or listening to a movie soundtrack. And there’s that enduring anecdote—some legends say King George II stood to hear the chorus, a gesture that supposedly set a tradition of audience standing for the finale in some places. It’s a story that adds a spark of myth to the music, whether or not every detail is accurate. Even if you’re skeptical about the tale, the effect remains: the chorus invites us to participate in a shared moment of exultation.

Now, what about the other options in that little multiple-choice moment? They’re all Handel, and each carries its own charm, but none has the same universal punch as the Hallelujah Chorus.

• The Air from Water Music: This is a sparkling instrumental suite written for a royal barge party on the River Thames. It’s elegant and buoyant, and it shows Handel’s flair for orchestral color and dance-like movement. Still, it’s a different kind of fame—the music is celebrated for its grace and occasion, not for a single, all-encompassing moment that invites a sing-along or a sense of communal rapture.

• Rejoice Greatly from Messiah: This aria, a virtuosic showcase for a soprano, is dazzling in its own right. It’s a brilliant example of Handel’s ability to craft a memorable aria with a soaring melody and a cabaletta-like energy. But the scope and the crowd-pleasing effect of the Hallelujah Chorus simply don’t match the same level of iconic reach.

• Lascia Ch’io Pianga from Rinaldo: An intimate, plaintive aria from an early Handel opera, it’s beautiful and emotionally direct. It’s beloved in recital and often performed in concert, but it exists within a different dramatic universe—personal feeling rather than a jubilant public proclamation.

Why does the Hallelujah Chorus hold such staying power? Part of it is its accessibility. The tune is memorable in a way that almost anyone can hum along to, even without a formal music background. Part is also its universality—the text taps into a shared human longing for justice, providence, and transcendence. And part is its sound—the blend of grand, open four-part harmony with a robust orchestral frame feels like a celebration of life itself. It’s a moment that makes the room feel bigger than it is, a communal breath drawn together.

If you’re listening with a careful ear, here are a few cues to guide your experience. First, listen for the way Handel stages entrances. The chorus doesn’t just sing in a single block; it arrives in waves, with overlapping lines and antiphonal calls that create a sense of depth. Second, pay attention to the text painting. The words about reign and kingship don’t merely come with louder dynamics; they ride on carefully shaped phrase lengths and rhythmic emphases that mirror the meaning. Third, notice the orchestration. The trumpets and timpani aren’t just loud; they punctuate the architecture, giving the chorus a glittering frame that helps the joy land with clarity.

If you’re new to the piece, a few listening tips can help you appreciate its craft without getting lost in the sound. Start with a recording that uses a traditional double chorus, so you hear the interplay that makes the texture feel so lush. Then compare a version with a leaner ensemble to see how the same lines survive with less weight. You’ll hear Handel’s genius in both—the way he writes for voice and instrument to keep the momentum going while preserving clarity of each line.

And for those of you who love connections across music history, the Hallelujah Chorus is a touchstone for how baroque choral writing can engage a broad audience. It’s not just a relic; it’s a living tradition that informs later composers’ sense of drama, scale, and public performance. Mozart, Beethoven, and later English composers all took note of Handel’s ability to turn a chorus into a shared experience. The echo is real: a chorus that begins with a single idea and explodes into communal jubilation, inviting every listener to participate, if only by listening with full attention.

If you’re curious to explore further, you might seek out different performances—something intimate in a church setting, something grand in a concert hall, and perhaps a historically informed recording that uses period instruments. Each version offers a slightly different flavor of the same essential moment. And you’ll likely notice how the music still carries that old, vivid sense of celebration—a testament to Handel’s knack for turning spiritual fervor into something irresistibly musical.

So where does that leave us? The answer to the question is B: The Hallelujah Chorus from Messiah. It’s the moment that many people first think of when they think of Handel, and for good reason. It’s a piece of music that doesn’t just sit in a program—it invites participation, it signals a communal event, and it radiates a joy that keeps finding new listeners year after year.

If you’re exploring Handel’s world, this moment is a helpful compass. It points to the way he balanced drama and devotion, how he used choir and orchestra as partners in storytelling, and how a single chorus can crystallize a composer’s voice for audiences eight generations later. The Hallelujah Chorus isn’t merely a highlight; it’s a gateway into the pulse of 18th-century musical life and its enduring resonance in our own.

In the end, it’s not about a trivia answer as much as about recognizing a moment that keeps reminding us why music can feel like a celebration of human possibility. The Hallelujah Chorus does that with pure, unvarnished force—and that, more than anything, is what makes it Handel’s best-known excerpt.