I heard a song by Pink once, called “God Is a DeeJay.” I thought the idea of God in front of two turntables, crates filled with every song ever written in all of time, spinning, mixing, scratching was kind of cool. I imagined maybe that’s what heaven was like, a big dance party where God is scratching “holy holy holy” in the pocket. I couldn’t figure out how angels break dance with those wings, but I was pretty sure they wore the freshest sneaks I’d ever seen.
If God is the deejay and my life is the dance floor, then he is in constant control of the songs that play. Sometimes, right as I’m getting into the groove of a particular tune, Mr. Deejay of All Deejays switches the cut on me, forcing me to find a completely new rhythm in which to live my life. He’s been waiting for me to get tired of my same old song.
Some deejays rock the party from these sound booths perched near the ceiling. You can’t see the kind of turntables they use or if they still spin vinyl, but the whole room moves with the beats they spin. Other deejays spin closer to the floor, but they spin records behind a walled-in space. You can hear them, but you can’t get very close. Every now and then, I come across deejays that don’t need a sound booth or walls to separate them from the crowd. All they need is a warehouse and their turntables. This way you can watch them work: shuffle beats, melody, lyrics, and cross fade.
Before I thought of God as a deejay, in my mind he was bald with a long beard that rivaled Rapunzel. He didn’t talk, just sort of nodded or raised three fingers like many paintings depict him. I’ve always imagined a cartoony, beige Jesus, dark brown shoulder-length hair, parted down the middle, wearing a white toga and brown Birkenstocks. I always pictured him sitting on a bunch of clouds: clean, righteous, and old. Nothing like me. I felt like I’d never meet up to his standard; maybe that was only for saints or nuns or kids that got perfect attendance in elementary school.
I discovered God is not perched up in heaven, looking down on us mere mortals, switching our lives and timelines just for fun. All the times we thought we were doing good at being good and then failed, messed up, disappointed ourselves, God, or other people, didn’t get the job, lost a loved one, suffered a break-up, went broke, felt alone, or like God couldn’t possibly understand or care, God was never far away.
Jesus came to show us his turntables, to play us tunes from God’s music. And I’m not talking about the genre of music you hear on your local Christian radio station. I’m talking about God’s rhythm, his melody, the one he’s constantly trying to get us to turn down the noise of our lives and listen to. By coming down to Earth, dying, and rising from the dead, Jesus became the reason none of us has to approach God from far away anymore. Jesus wants to show us how to listen and how to live.
I learned a lot about God from deejaying. Watching the deejay taught me that God’s thoughts are higher than ours. He’s smarter than us, he has a view on life and the world that no human being can muster, but it also taught me that God doesn’t want to be far from us. Deejays concern themselves with a song’s beats per minute, but God knows how many times our hearts beat per minute. He wants us to know him up close and personal.
The job of the masterful deejay is to take a bunch of musical breaks, string them together until they don’t seem broken at all. Sounds like Romans 8:28 to me, “Every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good. (The Message)” When God deejays, each of our lives and experiences are like songs, and he has this amazing way of connecting stories, beats, people, and rhythms. We look up, and he’s built, mixed, and mastered life in front of us.
I’d have to agree with Pink, God is a deejay, and the amazing part is that he’s still spinning. He’s got this eternal song that’s playing through all the situations in our lives, if only we would take the time to listen.