Make God Loud

The office connects to the factory by a brief and narrow hallway, concluding at a thin plywood door that has seen better days. It’s a fragile but effective barrier between the two worlds: one administrative, the other industrial.

When you open that door, you will experience several things.

First, the heat. A wave of stifling, unconditioned air will rush over you in a moment. You’ll breathe it in, feel the moisture condense on your skin and in your lungs. Some days, that heat will make your eyes water.

Next the sight. Cleanliness will become a myth; colors will thin to a narrow definition of rusty browns, industrial greys, and engulfing blacks. You’ll feel a thin film of oil on any exposed surface you make the mistake of touching.

Then, sensation. The grit of ten thousand metal shavings will crunch beneath your feet; you’ll breathe in grimy smoke and metallic dust, dodge the lightning-flash of sparks as you pass the grinders, swelter in the convection heat of acetylene torches as you walk through brazing.

Finally comes the sound. Silence is a memory on the factory floor, as all the industrial cacophony surrounds you at once. Grinding wheels, shifting gears, screeching metals, coolant spray, and the inescapable shout of a hundred competing fans.

And above it all, the radio.

Deafening as the factory is, the radio always manages to clamor over it. It is constant, predictable, and unpleasant. Yes, the heat may be dizzying, and the view grim and apocalyptic, but if you’re lucky, the music might be tolerable every once in a while.

But you work at a factory. Most days are not very lucky.

I usually have at least one earbud in throughout the work day. I mostly listen to a mixture of worship music, Tim Keller sermons, and Gavin Ortlund podcasts. It helps keep me sane. I like to think that I keep God in one ear, whispering to me all day through “psalms and hymns and spiritual songs” alongside the “teaching and admonishing” of Colossians 3:16. It makes the hard days bearable.

But when I step out that door, crossing the threshold from the office into the shop, the noise and presence of the factory floor overwhelms me. It’s loud. Some would say blaring. When I step out that door, even with an earbud in, I can’t hear what I’m listening to. All of the calm, quiet life I need in my ear gets drowned out by the oppressive, industrial clamor of the factory.

So I make God loud.

Before I open the factory door, I turn my earbuds up exactly three clicks. It doesn’t matter then what’s on the radio, or whether one of the grinding wheels has chosen that particular moment to screech like a territorial rooster, or whether some of the guys are cussing at each other across the floor – no matter how loud it gets, the quiet voice in my ear is louder still. Three clicks, and I drown out all the clamor around me.

I think the same principle can be true of our lives. Just as crossing the factory threshold invites an overwhelming clamor of sensations, stepping out into the world comes at an equivalent cost. As the clamor of busyness, and the stifling weariness of heartache, and the long oppression of suffering overwhelm us, it can be easy to let those loud voices be the ones that define our day to day. Because they are loud, they seem near; because they seem near, we think of them first.

But as loud as those voices are, let God be louder still.

Be jealous of your time with God. Cherish your devotional times. Linger in prayer and in scripture, and let those words return to you throughout each day. Consider your spiritual walk as being like a desert nomad hopping from one oasis to the next, drinking in all the life she can get to sustain her from one cool and shaded spring to the next. Turn the volume up.

Ruminate on scripture, not your troubles, that you might be “complete, equipped for every good work.” Discover a few trusted psalms to return to, words of comfort to “calm and quiet” your soul. Remember at all times that the Lord is “good to those who wait on him.” Return in your heart to the one who is “gentle and lowly in spirit,” who will give you rest. Turn the volume up.

Don’t try to do what you can’t control. This world is dark, and full of suffering. The people around you will be selfish, rude, thoughtless, vile, and cruel. You will never be fully sufficient to meet all the troubles of your world without being shaken and unmoored. You can never turn the world’s volume down. But you are not helpless.

Turn the volume up.

On Monday I will go back to the factory. I will walk down that hallway, and I will stop outside that door. When I open it, I will feel the heat, see the oil-stained floors, smell the smoke and dust and old rusty metal, and feel crunching grit beneath my sneakers. But I will not hear the industrial clamor and metallic screeching and the overbearing radio.

Because I will turn my earbuds three clicks louder.

And I will drown out the clamor of the world with the gentle voice of truth.

I will make God loud.