Tracing one’s roots is an important existential activity. You can find connectivity in anything, just as you can find differences. That’s no, new discovery. Einstein taught us that our universe is relative. For example, even though the prelude and the postlude are vastly different sounding, there is an underlying unity that’s hard to put into words. For a more profound understanding, the offertory anthem by John Rutter, shows us the deep, running closeness of the universe, even in what feels like distant objects, like the stars and the moon. This teaches about the nearness of God.  

Max Reger, the composer of the magnificent, succulent, and dramatic Benedictus, today’s prelude, was profoundly influenced by Bach, the composer of the effervescent, whimsical postlude today. Reger was once quoted as saying, “In music, I owe everything to J.S. Bach.” I think many organists, who play and cherish Bach, would also echo this sentiment. But I question Reger’s use of the word “everything.” Remember relativity? We can’t know everything without something to compare it to, and the same kind of logic comes in knowing the everything-ness of God. Everything means everything, so to what do you compare it?  

While in college, one of our graduate students at the time did an organ teacher “family tree.” Like we do with the apostolic succession in the church, tracing ordinations back to the apostle Peter, this student traced our lineage of teachers to “The Rock” of organ music – J.S. Bach. There is an unbroken line of teachers that goes from me, back to Bach. There is a running wave through it, as we are reminded in the offertory. It makes me wonder if any of Bach’s knowledge of organ playing is now mine. I hope some of it rubbed off on me, but I think it goes even further, runs deeper, and can’t quite be pinpointed.

Our priests have been a part of an unbroken lineage of ordinations since Peter. The laying on of hands is a symbolic gesture of unbrokenness. If you’re confirmed, you too have been touched by “The Rock” upon which the church is built, the apostle himself. Although Reger, Bach, and Rutter seem worlds apart, there is an underlying connection that we miss. The illusion comes in thinking people are “gifted” leaving us “ordinary” mortals to deify our heroes. But if you know your roots, we’re all heroes.

It is through the illusion of brokenness, the conception that we’re left out, that we realize our oneness. Traced all the way back to the beginning of time itself, you originate from the one and only Rock of Ages, no different than your “heroes.” This is the deep, running, connective wave of peace (referenced in the Gaelic Blessing, our communion anthem) that transcends difference. Reger doesn’t owe Bach a thing. How could there be any deficiency if we all come from the same place?  

If you feel broken, the prodigal is welcomed. Even though this music might seem “out of this world,” or “out of your league,” remember that no one is touched by God, in the singular sense. If it feels that way, you haven’t fully realized your lineage, yet. If you realize who you are, traced to the beginning of time itself, it’s not that you’ve been touched by God, per se. It’s that you’ve realized that the hands you use to touch the world are the very hands of God himself. With that kind of source connectivity, you can do all things, because you understand the allness of God.  Soli Deo Gloria.