How P!nk Helped Me See the L!ght

As a kid, I imagined God literally controlled each one of us. I visualized it with Flintstone vitamins. I’d pour them out on the kitchen table and take Fred and Dino in each hand and bounce them toward and away from each other, making them talk to each other and interact.

“Hi, Dino.” “Ruff! Ruff!” “Down, boy!”

You find philosophy in the strangest of places.

Like lately — I’ve been downloading crap for the last few weeks from iTunes. Everything from Tim Burton movie sountracks to mindless pop music. Something tickles my fancy, and 99 cents later, it’s mine. Recently I was reminded of a little gem from P!nk called “God is a DJ.”

I’ve heard worse.

In fact, I’m a little embarrassed to admit, I like the song. It’s kind of clever, isn’t it? (Isn’t it?) Father forgive me, for I have sinned. It is … a long time since my last confession.

If God is a DJ
Life is a dancefloor
Love is a rhythm
You are the music

If God is a DJ
Life is a dancefloor
You get what you’re given
It’s all how you use it

At first, I thought that last line was “And somehow you use it,” which I actually like better.

I suppose there’s a sort of theological relevance: God is not a puppetmaster, manipulating us like marionettes. God doesn’t move us one by one. Rather, he spins the record, and we groove along the best way we can. He merely controls our environment, and we are left to make our own choices.

Of course, “God wants you to shake your ass,” as P!nk so gamely shouts toward the end of the song. It’s the sort of clever conceit that passes for deep thought in pop music. But truthfully, it’s not a bad metaphor. “Get your ass on the dancefloor,” she shouts again. Get out there and do something. Take what you have in life, and move. Don’t stand there against the wall and watch everyone else dancing.

I can see why someone might believe that. It might also be total crap. Who knows if P!ink herself even believes it. It’s irrelevant.

At any rate, it’s a much more comforting way of comprehending divine intervention than what my childhood imagination allowed. It outs a lot of pressure on a kid to think of himself as a chewable pawn between the index finger and thumb of God’s hand.


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the untallied hours

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