For what great nation is there that has gods so close to it as the Lord, our God, is to us whenever we call upon him? Deuteronomy 4:7
One of the greatest works in the history of theology, the Summa Theologiae by St. Thomas Aquinas, is famously unfinished. About a year before his death, Thomas had a vision of God that left him unable to continue working. “Everything I have written is straw,” he said, “in comparison to what I have seen.”
This is remarkable, especially since God himself told Thomas in an earlier vision, “You have written well of me.” What kind of encounter could bring one of the greatest minds in human history–not to confusion, but to silence?
Thomas is not the first figure of faith to be brought to silence by an encounter with God. Job, the archetype of the innocent sufferer, also speaks at length about God–until God reveals himself. Faced with the living God, Job admits that his words fall short, unworthy of the God he now beholds. And yet, as with Thomas, God affirms those words and praises Job for speaking rightly about him.
What is remarkable is not just that both men fall silent, but that they arrive there by radically different paths.
In the Book of Job, everything falls apart. Job’s children die and his wealth vanishes in a single day. Soon after, his health is taken from him as well. Unknown to Job, this suffering is permitted because “the Satan” seeks to prove that Job’s faith is merely transactional – that it will collapse under trial. Job suffers precisely because God knows he is faithful.
Job also knows that he is a good man, or at least he is confident that he has done nothing to deserve such devastation. When his friends urge him to repent or reassure him that God is in control, Job is infuriated. Their words sound hollow. God, it seems to Job, is simply watching him suffer. His lament in chapter seven is raw and heartbreaking.
God’s presence is not missing for Job–it is unbearable. It feels merciless. Caught between his conviction that God must be good and his current experience of agony, Job is torn apart. At times he begs God not to draw nearer, but to look away.
Though Job’s experience is extreme, it is relatable for far too many people. Loneliness is the most painful when you aren’t actually alone. To feel that everyone is present yet distant–just watching as you suffer and doing nothing about it – is agony. To feel like the world is falling apart and everyone with power is just observing, or even causing it, is always awful.
Confronted with the loneliness of others, Christians are often prone to offer a quick assurance: God is with you! You are not alone! God is in control! Like Job, this isn’t a particularly satisfying answer when it feels like God is the one who doesn’t care. In fact, God rebukes Job’s friends for statements just like this.
At first glance, Thomas can sound like Job’s friends. Early in the Summa, he explains that God is present to all things by his power, as the one who sustains them in being and before whom all lies open and bare.* This is true–but it is not enough. It was not enough for Job, who longed for a good and merciful presence. And it is not enough for Thomas either.
Thomas continues that there is a more intimate way God is present to you and me: union. God does not merely sustain creation from a distance; he unites himself to us in the person of Jesus Christ. This union did not end with the Ascension. It continues sacramentally in the Eucharist. In his sermon for the Office of Corpus Christi, Thomas writes:
What great nation is there, or ever was, that has a God so near to it as the Lord our God is to us! For the only-begotten Son of God, willing that we should share in his divinity, assumed our nature. He was made man, that he might make man divine… But that the remembrance of so great a favor might remain with us, he left to be taken by the faithful, under the appearance of bread and wine, his body for food and his blood for drink. O precious and wonderful banquet, health-giving and full of all delight!... What is more wonderful than this Sacrament?**
Encountering the God of love is what brings people to silence and peace. Whatever Job and Thomas beheld, we know it was inexpressibly good. It was so good that Job dropped his complaints. It so was so much “more wonderful than this Sacrament” that Thomas stopped writing.
This intimacy is not reserved for mystics and saints. How great a people we are to have a God so near to us—not a God who merely watches, but a God who became man so that we might become one with him. A God who draws close to us in the sweetness of the Eucharist.
Whether your relationship with God feels strong or fragile, whether your life seems whole or fractured, take time to adore the God who is so near. I cannot promise that praying before the Eucharist will bring an answer to all your questions or resolve every ache. But our faith promises this: the God whom Job hungered for and whom Thomas adored is truly present – knocking at the door to fill you with all delight.
*Summa Theologiae, I-I, q. 8, a. 3
**First Reading from Matins for the Office of Corpus Christi
Br. Joseph Trout, OP
Socius and Vicar for Mission Advancement