josh Allan

“Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.”
– BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

I talk a lot about God here in this blog of mine. I must say, I wish he/she’d talk back once in awhile, because I haven’t heard a damn thing in a long damn time.

Now, you may say I’m just not listening (and you may be right), but that would bring up a good point: what does God sound like? When he/she talks to you, is he/she softspoken? Angry? Chatty? And how can you be sure it’s not just, well, an over-active imagination - or last night’s greasy pizza, for that matter - talking?

I think I talk a lot about God because I don’t “get” him/her. I really don’t. And I’m the kind of person that needs to talk to figure things out in my head. And since I don’t really have any friends to talk to right now (besides Allison, of course, but that should be understood), I have to talk here on ye ol’ blog.

I suppose I also figure that there’s not much else worth discussing at great lengths. What are we to spend our time on (I’m sure some of you may hate me for this)… professional sports? The weather? Politics? Now, I could probably justify an exception for music, as I am overwhelmingly obsessive about all things related to that topic, but even music eventually gets old unless it connects with some deeper implications and the whole “meaning of life” bit, for me at least. Which is, I suppose, why music remains my path; in my life the musical and the spiritual constantly intersect. (I suppose for other people, the other things I listed might intersect in the same fashion.)

Yesterday I went to a large church-type-gathering on the western side of Michigan called Mars Hill. I’ve been wanting to check this thing out for some time, as Rob Bell, the primary teacher there, has garnered a good deal of respect from me through various projects he’s worked on, articles he’s written, etc. The gathering itself takes place in an old-school run-down mall, with virtually no signs to let you know you’re in the right place until you get out of your car and walk to the door and discover you are, in fact, there. You walk through this time-capsule of a shopping experience circa 1974, and eventually get to what was undoubtedly one of the original department stores, hollowed out and filled with chairs, all facing the center square stage.

I’m not much for “church” anymore, I have to be honest. I don’t know what it is, but I’m just totally burned out on the lingo, the ritual, the people, the smiles, the songs, the everything. It all drives me crazy more than it does anything else. As you probably know, when people gather to “do” church, they do a number of things, but one that is almost always in the lineup is to sing. And sing they did, yesterday, and there I stood, because I’m not really much into participating anymore, either. But standing there… I’m not sure if it was the way the room was laid-out with the focus of everyone being on the center or what, but I felt the sound wash over me like a wave in the Pacific. It was a powerful, physical force that I couldn’t control and couldn’t stop; the only thing to be done was to let it roll.

And it was nice, actually.

I realized that although I wasn’t a part of this group of people — I was an outsider in all senses — but for that moment I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. Somehow, I knew the momentum of noise would carry me along with it to a peaceful place, whether I wanted to go or not… and that was OK with me.

Don’t ask me what this means, because I haven’t any clue. I’m on some kind of bizarre-ass journey called “life” and hell if I know what it’s “supposed” to be. But I think in that moment I determined to make a conscious effort to look at the world as an exciting adventure, not just a rusty merry-go-round. And that, for the time being, feels good.