The Three Letters at the Bottom of the Page

Johann Sebastian Bach is widely regarded as one of the greatest composers who ever lived. His fugues, cantatas, and concertos have shaped Western music for three centuries. Yet at the bottom of manuscript after manuscript, Bach wrote three small letters: S.D.G. — Soli Deo Gloria. To God alone be the glory.

These weren't printed on concert programs. They weren't announced to audiences. They were scratched in ink on working manuscripts — documents Bach never expected the public to see. At the top of many scores, he wrote two more letters: J.J. — Jesu Juva, "Jesus, help." He began his work asking for help and ended it redirecting the praise.

Consider what that means. A man whose musical genius was evident even in his own lifetime chose, in the private margins of his craft, to insist that none of it belonged to him. He didn't write those letters for posterity. He wrote them as an act of surrender.

The Apostle Paul understood this posture: "Not I, but Christ who lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). Humility isn't pretending you have no gifts. Bach clearly had extraordinary gifts. Humility is knowing where those gifts come from and who they are for.

What if we scribbled S.D.G. at the bottom of our daily work — our emails, our parenting, our teaching, our serving? Not for anyone else to see, but as a quiet reminder that every good thing we offer was never really ours to begin with.