The fates didn’t favor the Choral Symphony Society’s performance of George Friedrich Handel’s 1744 oratorio “Semele” at Christ & St. Stephen’s Church yesterday afternoon. Its conductor, David Labovitz, fell ill and was unable to appear. Yet the society chose to go ahead with the performance. Thanks to the performers’ dedication and courage, some of the magic of this extraordinary, seldom-heard work came through on Sunday.

The libretto of “Semele,” after Congreve, bristles with a sexual frankness not usually associated with baroque opera. The swift wit of its lines, as well as the plot – a powerful man’s passion inspires his young, beautiful mistress to recklessness – make it one of the most consistently timely of music dramas. The powerful and famous continue to embarrass themselves, and continue to fascinate the unpowerful and unfamous.

In Handel’s day, a clerical admirer refrained from attending so scandalous a work (strangely, this didn’t stop the cleric’s wife from attending opening night); it was a little strange to hear these erotic anthems and double entendres sung in an Episcopalian church. Perhaps the piece offended no one at Christ & St. Stephen’s because almost none of that wit and sexiness registered.

It was one drawback of this “Semele” that couldn’t be attributed to its conductor’s absence. Another was the inappropriately stately tempi employed through much of the performance. When music of such spirit and slyness is played so politely, little of its emotional extravagance and captivating beauty becomes evident. The total lack of any attempt to stage the action, as well as the scant interaction between soloists standing side-by-side clutching scores, further diminished Handel’s work. Other problems were evident – shaky coordination and intonation, missed cues, lagging pace – but were to be expected in a conductorless situation, and were mostly excusable.

The strengths of this “Semele” rest ed in its small, plucky orchestra under the last-minute leadership of concert mistress Pauline Kim and organist and harpsichordist Walter Hilse. (John Patterson was the choral leader.) There were moments when everything stopped while the ensemble hastily agreed upon who would lead the next piece, and there was one rough moment near the end of the second act when everyone onstage began to sound very tired (there was no intermission between the first and second acts). But on the whole the orchestra was effective.

The choral singing was powerful. The New York Cantata Singers displayed a powerful, sure grasp of Handel dynamics and style that few of the soloists shared. Some were simply not up to singing their roles; some seemed so unconnected to the words and music it was no surprise they occasionally got lost mid-recitative or air. But others had attractive, effective voices and gave worthy accounts of their music.

Thomas Trotter offered lovely renditions of Jupiter’s sweetly erotic airs, especially the famous “Where’er you walk.” Rachel Antman sang the gossamer-like lines of Cupid’s wonderful air with a floating, beautiful voice. Susan Hanselmann’s soprano has a bell-like clarity. Matthew Norwood, as Somnus, got more of the humor in his part than any other soloist, and his pleasure in singing the music was infectious.

In the title role, Ruth Ann Cunningham made a promising impression. If she was not up to every demand of this enormous part with its almost absurdly complex coloratura, she still sounded in command, at times audibly keeping the rest of the ensemble together. Some vocal struggles and a few shaky stylistic choices were the sort of lapses a skilled Handel coach could have addressed.

In the higher, more dramatic lines, Ms. Cunningham was especially fine, offering several knockout high notes. But I wish she had learned her part, and had not had to keep her eyes darting, moment-by-moment, from the audience to the score. Handel wanted his “Semele” to be irresistible; it’s hard to fall for someone who keeps checking a book in front of her to find out what to do next.