How Sufferers See
". . . but now my eye sees You." —
Job
When we suffer and ask "Why?", it is time for seeing — more clearly and more completely than ever before. Pain has a way of sharpening the senses, focusing our attention, and enlarging our vision.
The perspective of pain amazes me. Just the other day I wrote down a memorable query voiced by a woman who is suffering from inoperable cancer. She has reached the stage where her bowles are blocked and vomiting is constant. During a call to her doctor she asked, "Can you become dehydrated by tears?" Despite her pain and exhaustion, she "sees" through her suffering with pathos and humor.
Job is another person who sees through suffering. He is quick to learn what God is saying to him. After drawing a picture of the crocodile as the personification of evil, God makes His point with Job:
He beholds every high thing:
He is king over all the children of pride.
(Job 41:34)
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The word "pride" stings Job. For the first time, he fully realizes where he is wrong. Like a chess player throwing up his hands and exclaiming, "Checkmate," Job interrupts God to recite what he has learned in answer to God's question, "WHO AM I?" His answer is an affirmation of his new-found level of faith:
I have heard You by the hearing of the ear,
But now my eye sees You.
(Job 42:5)
As with every human being who has ever seen God, Job also sees himself. He concludes his brief and final speech with a confession of his unworthiness and an act of contrition:
Therefore I abhor myself,
And repent in dust and ashes.
(Job 42:6)
On the pivot between Job's affirmation of faith and his confession of need is his insight into the way he knows God. Before he suffered, Job says he had heard about God "by the hearing of the ear." After God spoke to him, however, he says, "But now my eye sees You." Through suffering, Job's eyes are opened. He sees God wholly and himself clearly. He speaks now with the language of the eyes.
The Language of the Eyes
Ears and eyes have special meaning in Scripture. Hearing with the ears is conceptual. Ears are the symbol of rational understanding with a certain detachment from the subject under consideration. Only the mind is involved. Seeing with the eyes, however, is perceptual. The total being is involved — mind, emotions, and will. As Jesus said:
The lamp of the body is the eye.
If therefore your eye is good, your whole body will be full of light.
But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness.
If therefore the light that is in you is darkness, how great is that darkness!
(Matthew 6:22-23)
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When I instruct someone how to take a picture with my Polaroid camera, I say, "What you see is what you get." Jesus is giving similar instructions to us about the spiritual focus of the eye: "What you see is what you are."
Our eyes reveal our souls. Through them is the entry of light or darkness; from them is the entry of light or darkness; from them is the reflection of light or darkness; in them is the image of light or darkness. Much has been written about the language of the body. The way in which a person responds physically in gestures, posture, blushes, and twitches is a nonverbal language of its own — so much so that our "body language" can speak more loudly than our words.
Our eyes are even more eloquent. Poets have always recognized the "language of the eyes." Shakespeare wrote:
The heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes.
(Love's Labour's Lost. Act ii, sc. 1, 1. 229).
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy.
(Love's Labour's Lost. Act ii, sc. 1, 1. 242).
Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages.
(The Merchant of Venice. Act i, sc. 1, 1. 163).
She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
(Romeo and Juliet. Act ii, sc. 2, 1.12).
There's language in her eye.
(Troilus and Cressida. Act iv, sc. 5, 1. 55).
Far less classic, but no less meaningful is the popular song of the 1950s which tells how the language of the eyes can override the language of the lips:
Your lips tell me "No, No,"
But there's "Yes, Yes" in your eyes.
Learning to read the language of the eyes is an art in itself. For a long time, I wondered why Arab businessmen
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always seem to wear sunglasses, whether indoors or out-of-doors, summer or winter, daytime or nighttime. I assumed that they had become accustomed to protecting themselves against the brilliance of the Middle Eastern sun. Then I learned the real reason. Unlike Western businesspeople who do their bargaining across huge tables, the Arabs sit face to face and do their business eyeball-to-eyeball within inches of each other! Thus, they become experts in reading the eyes of their competitors, constantly on the alert for telltale signs of lying, fear, anger, compromise, defeat, and determination. Sunglasses are worn to keep their eyes from betraying their lips.
Long ago, I stumbled upon the secret of reading people through the language of their eyes. For my annual physical checkup, I went to a doctor whom I have known as a classmate and friend. All during the time that he poked and probed at me, he kept up an incessant, excited chatter about his successes in the stock market. At first he confused me because I went to him for medical, not financial, advice. Furthermore, I knew that he had come from a family that was as poor as proverbial church mice.
He had struggled in poverty through college and medical school. Now, he stood over me in a white coat, a prominent physician in the community, chattering about the stock market. As I looked up, our eyes met. I shall never forget what I saw. Through the gleam in his eye, I saw clear through to his soul. Under the white coat and behind the professional confidence, a poor boy still dreamed of being rich!
Ever since then, when we meet, I ask him, "Doctor, how are you doing in the market?" Like snapping on a light switch, the gleam in his eyes flashes and the chatter begins.
Since that time, I have worked to perfect my "gleam-in-the-eye" technique. When I interview job candidates, I ask question after question until I see the gleam. Just yesterday, a faculty prospect sat in my office. We talked about a variety of professional matters standard for such an interview. Then I asked him point blank, "Where's the gleam in your eye?" The light came on as he answered, "Our new baby is first. He's a miracle because the doctor told us we could never have children. Then, I want to write. Our spoken words are
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temporary, but our writing is permanent. I dream of being an evangelical Christian who influences biblical scholarship through my writing."
We spent the rest of the time talking about the personal priority of our families and the professional priority of our writing. When we meet again, I will ask first, "How's your son?" and then, "How's your writing?" If he joins our faculty, he has my assurance that I will help him follow the gleam in his eye.
The language of the eyes leads us to ask, "What does Job mean when he answers God, 'But now my eye sees you'?" Instead of the look of pride do we detect now a gleam in Job's eye that is a reflection of his soul — seeing God wholly and himself clearly?
Seeing God Wholly
How do we know God? Job illustrates that we can know Him through the exercise of reason, or, as he puts it, the "hearing of the ear." By its very nature, reason keeps God at a distance as a detached object to be studied but not experienced. Reason also restricts our knowledge of God to a partial view of His Person. There is little room for the range of God's emotions or the freedom of His will. But our greatest fault in knowing God by the "hearing of the ear" is to assume that He is like us — a Person subject to the rules of reason which we conceive, and accountable to the logical deductions that we make. Such an assumption leads to the sin of pride — the very trap into which Job fell.
Many theologians are still guilty of the sin of pride. A generation does not pass except some theologian tries to define God and Jesus Christ in rational, human terms. A century ago biblical scholars became enamored with the budding field of psychiatry and, following the theory of that discipline, concluded that Jesus was a psychotic with messianic fantasies and self-destructive tendencies. In our generation, we have survived the historical Jesus, the demythologized Jesus, the Death of God, and the Myth of God Incarnate. But neither God nor Jesus can be explained or extinguished by
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the flitting conclusions of human reason. That would be like fireflies trying to put out the sun.
We should have learned our lesson from Job. Reason took him a long way toward understanding God, but it failed when Job assumed that he could argue with God on equal terms and according to his own ground rules. As we have already learned, God allows us to ask the question "Why?" when we suffer, but if we demand an answer on our terms, we are like Job — guilty of the sin of pride.
When our suffering is total, partial answers will not do. We must see God wholly. Through the totality of suffering, Job realizes that he has never seen through to God in His wholeness. When he confesses to God, "But now my eye sees You," Job is testifying to an experience of viewing God as a Person with whom he can relate rather than an object to be studied or a mind with which to compete.
In a lecture entitled "Seeing Through the Eye" Malcolm Muggeridge gives us some insight into the meaning of Job's words. From the poem by Edmund Blake, Muggeridge quotes:
This Life's dim windows of the soul
Distorts the Heavens from Pole to Pole,
And leads you to believe a lie,
When you see with, not through, the eye.1
Television is the special target of Muggeridge's criticism. He contends that the tube induces us to "see with the eyes" to secular fantasy and dissuades us from "seeing through the eyes" to spiritual reality. Quite in contrast to the pride of rational thought which leads us to believe that we are like God, Muggeridge damns television for exploiting our senses and leading us to the sin of lust which makes us animals.
Muggeridge gives us insight into Job's confession which draws the distinction between knowing about God through some isolated part of our human nature and seeing Him as a whole Person in His divine nature. "Seeing through the eye" to God, according to Muggeridge, ". . . is to grasp the significance of what is seen, to see it in relation to the totality of God's creation . . ."2
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This definition is consistent with Job's confession. We can accurately translate his words:
But now I see through to you with my eyes.
No longer is Job asking the question, "Why do I suffer?" It is still important for learning, but it is not essential for faith. Job is now captivated by God's answer to His own question, "WHO AM I?" No longer does Job want to prance like a prince into the presence of God or demand that God come down and answer him like an attorney in a courtroom. Having seen his suffering in relationship to the Person of God, Job affirms his new-found level of faith by answering God's question "WHO AM I?"
I know that you can do all things;
no plan of yours can be thwarted.
You asked, "Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?"
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me to know.
You said, "Listen now, and I will speak;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me."
(Job 42:2-4)
Within these words is the affirmation of faith that will sustain us during the times when we ask "Why?" — whatever the cause, nature, or timing of our suffering. It cannot be recited glibly; in fact, it can be spoken only out of the experience of asking, "Why do I suffer?" and seeing through to the Person of God. We must come to the place of saying:
I KNOW THAT YOUR POWER CAN DO ANYTHING FOR ME.
I KNOW THAT YOUR PURPOSE WILL BE FULFILLED FOR ME.
I KNOW THAT YOUR WAYS ARE TOO WONDERFUL FOR ME.
Long before I studied Job, I learned the value of this affirmation of faith for people who are suffering. As a hospital chaplain, I frequently ministered to patients who entertained fantasies about their healing, others who were filled
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with bitterness against God, and still others who gave up without a fight. The result was the same. Their attitudes worked against their healing. If, however, through the ministry of listening, counseling, prayer, and Scripture, we could lead them to see through the eyes of faith to the greatness and goodness of God, their spiritual healing led the way for their physical and emotional healing. Not once do I remember a patient being healed by drawing a conclusion about the answer, "Why do I suffer?", but I can cite case after case of persons — some who were healed, others who continued to suffer, and still others who died — with the gleam in their eyes of "seeing through" to God.
The key to understanding the gleam in Job's eye is his sense of wonder. Fear dictated his faith when he knew God only through the hearing of the ears. But now when he sees through to God, wonder is the language of his eyes.
Malcom Muggeridge attributes his spiritual conversion to the wonder that he saw in the eyes of Christians. As a crusty and cantankerous journalist, he put Christianity into the category of another philosophy of life which he had tested and rejected. Neither the words nor the writing of Christian witness fazed him. Then, on an assignment with the British Broadcasting Company, Muggeridge traveled to Jerusalem to film a television documentary on the Holy Land. While he was on location, a group of Christians on pilgrimage appeared. Muggeridge had heard their prayers and hymns before, but he had never seen the gleam of wonder in their eyes. Afterward he wrote:
. . . seeing a party of Christian pilgrims at one of their Shrines, their faces bright with faith, their voices as they sang, so evidently and joyously aware of their Savior's nearness, I understood that for them the Shrine was authentic. Their faith made it so. Similarly, I too became aware that there really had been a man, Jesus, who was God: I was conscious of His presence.3
More often than not the gleam of wonder in our eyes is the language of our souls.
Seeing Ourselves Clearly
When we see God wholly, we also see ourselves clearly. Job joins with patriarchs, priests, prophets, and apostles who
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saw themselves reflected in their own vision of God. With one voice, they cry out:
Therefore I abhor myself,
And repent in dust and ashes.
(Job 42:6)
How sad it is that some critics of Job make this a debasing experience for the man and a justifying act for God. Nothing is farther from the truth. Even through Job needs to bow and repent of his pride, he is not a maggot groveling in the dust or a wimp quivering in the ashes. By his own free choice, he confesses his sinfulness and repents of his pride. Reaching down into the dust and ashes of his alter of suffering, he pours them over his head as the symbol of his penitence.
Yet, in the language of his eyes, there is a gleam. To his earlier affirmation of faith, Job can now add:
I KNOW THAT YOUR WILL IS GOOD FOR ME.
I KNOW THAT YOUR LOVE IS HOPE FOR ME.
So Job bows in humility to identify with all of humankind and repents with hope for all who suffer.
A Personal Note to All Who Suffer
Earlier, I confessed an open wound left over from my expectation that I would be named as Secretary of Education in the first cabinet of the Reagan Administration. Bit by bit God has healed this wound by helping me see through to His Person and purpose. For three days after the ego-shaking news of my rejection, I jobbed along the shores of Puget Sound shouting my anger into the winds and demanding that God answer my question "Why?" On the fourth day, God spoke clearly, ". . . I know the thoughts that I think toward you, . . . thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope" (Jer. 29:11).
Peace settled over my spirit for the first time in days. Intellectually, at least, I accepted the fact that God knew what He was doing.
The promise held until I went back to Washington for the first time after the decision. Sitting in my hotel room, I saw a
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local telecast which opened the wound once again. When the camera scanned the Cabinet Room in the White House, it focused on each of the brass nameplates on the back of the cabinet officers' chairs. Like Baby Bear in Goldilocks and the Three Bears, I pouted, "Someone's sitting in my chair." Shortly thereafter I revealed my bleeding and festering wound to Senator Mark Hatfield, who had nominated me in the first place. The Senator became my Elihu.
After listening graciously and intently, he told me his own story. Although the details must be reserved for his memoirs, the Senator recalled the time when he and his wife waited through the night for the expected call to be the running mate for Richard Nixon. The call never came. At the last second the fickle winds of political maneuvering changed direction in favor of Spiro Agnew. Think of it. If Mark Hatfield had been nominated that night either Watergate would not have happened — or he would have become President of the United States!
Why? Does God know what He is doing? While Senator Hatfield had no answers, he had peace, a peace that passed his understanding. With him, the course of the nation was at stake. With me, it was just a brass plate on the back of a walnut chair. I left his office shamed by the smallness of my sight, but seeing clearly for the first time. God knows what He is doing.
Many times since that experience, I have recited Job's affirmation of new faith. For all who go through suffering, ask "Why?", and then get a glimpse of Who God is, it is our promise of a future filled with hope:
I know that Your power can do anything for me.
I know that Your purpose will be fulfilled for me.
I know that Your ways are too wonderful for me.
I know that Your will is good for me.
I know that Your love is hope for me.
With this confession, we bow with Job in the dust and ashes not like a worm, but like a phoenix bird — ready to rise to new splendor of spirit — by the grace of God.
