In April 2009, British atheist A.N. Wilson shocked the world by announcing that he was returning to the faith. When asked later in an interview what was the worst thing about being faithless, the writer and newspaper columnist said:

“When I thought I was an atheist I would listen to the music of Bach and realize that his perception of life was deeper, wiser, more rounded than my own…. The Resurrection, which proclaims that matter and spirit are mysteriously conjoined, is the ultimate key to who we are. It confronts us with an extraordinarily haunting story. J. S. Bach believed the story, and set it to music.”

A.N. Wilson is not alone. In his Introduction to the book Does God Exist, Peter Kreeft noted that he personally knew three ex-atheists who were swayed by the argument “There is the music of Bach, therefore there must be a God.” Two of these ex-atheists, Kreeft informs us, are now philosophy professors and one is a monk.

Even the God-hater Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), upon hearing a performance of the St. Matthew Passion, was compelled to admit that “One who has completely forgotten Christianity truly hears it here as gospel.”

Bach would certainly approve, for he once remarked that “Music’s only purpose should be the glory of God and the refreshment of the human spirit.” To underscore this, he wrote the initials SDG (Soli Deo Gloria) at the end of most of his scores.

But who was this man whose music reaches down through time to touch people in such powerful ways?

To answer this question, we must travel back in time to the early 17th century, where, in the Saxon province of Thuringia (modern day Germany), there lived a miller by the name of Veit.

There Once Was a Miller

Native to Hungary, Veit had fled to Germany to escape persecutions against him and his fellow Lutherans. In the Protestant protectorate in the heart of Germany, Veit found the environment he sought for raising his son in accordance with Lutheran principles. Defended by the Elector of Saxony, this was the same state that had offered Luther a safe haven following the judgement against him at the Diet of Worms.

Next to his faith and family, Veit’s greatest joy came from making music on a little cittern, an ancient predecessor to the mandolin. Although his work as a miller was demanding, Veit did find time to play on the instrument when the flour was grinding.

Veit died in 1619, but not before passing on both his love of music and his strong faith to his son Johannes Bach. The love of music and the love of Christ lived on in the generations that followed. Indeed, towards the close of the 17th century, Veit’s many descendants dominated the German musical scene. Eventually over seventy Bachs occupied posts as professional musicians in the surrounding area. In fact, the word “Bach” even became a synonymous term for musician in that region.

The rest of this post has been removed because it will be appearing in a book published by Canon Press. To receive information about how to purchase the book when it is published, email robin phillips at robin [at sign] atgsociety.com