“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me!” (Job 19:25–27)
Job has lost much in the narrative up to this point. He has lost wealth, security, comfort, and reputation; he has lost his family, his children, his friends, his health. Even the solace that might have remained in the person of his wife has been taken from him: her heart has become embittered and there is thus no refuge to be found in her.
To make matters worse, the weight of all this is quickly eroding Job’s own strength and resolve. His heart is fast giving way, and darkness is beating at the edges of his soul like a torrent threatening to extinguish what little light still flickers within. This is perhaps the heaviest burden. As Solomon observed, “A man’s spirit will endure sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?” (Prov. 18:14).
It is in this state that Job casts anchor, and, in the midst of the storm, grasps upon the final, ultimate, and highest hope of the human heart—the sole hope that remains when all others have been ripped away, namely, the sight of God:
“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me!” (Job 19:25–27)
Job does not know the reason for his suffering; oftentimes, neither do we. But one thing Job does know—one truth he depends upon and lashes himself to amidst the unspeakable grief, loss, devastation, and confusion—is that his Redeemer lives, and because He lives, so too will Job. One day, whether on the other side of his suffering, or even deeper still, on the other side of the grave itself, Job’s eyes will see God. His body, that presently is wasting away, will be restored and he will see for himself the glory of the only Sovereign, the King of kings, and Lord of lords (1 Tim. 6:15). The very life of God his Redeemer ensures this. It is a ballast no trial can take away.
The Beatific Vision
Being creatures, it is in some sense only natural for us to tether our hope to creaturely things: the improvement of our circumstances, the enjoyments of the body, the restoration of whatever it is we have lost or perhaps something we hope to gain in its place.
But the story of Job shows us that such things cannot ultimately support the weight of our hope and joy, for every created thing, however good it may be in itself, can soon be lost. If we want a hope that is enduring, we must bind ourselves to something (or Someone) who is Himself enduring. We must look, as Paul says, not finally to things that are seen, but to things that are unseen, “For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Cor. 4:18 CSB). Only here, with our eyes fixed squarely upon the life to come, will our afflictions appear to us in their true condition: not crushing and final, but, incredibly, light and momentary, working for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison (v. 17).
Job teaches us, in other words, what little hope is contained in creature comforts and what vast and boundless oceans of hope are stored up for us in God Himself. As Job comes to realize, one glimpse of God—one flickering sight of His face—will be enough to make ten thousand lifetimes of suffering a mere trifle, like waking from a bad dream to the warm, golden light of full morning.
This, importantly, is not because our suffering is in fact a trifling thing—far from it—but rather because the majesty and glory of God is of such a reviving and ebullient quality that it will vastly outweigh whatever grief and sorrow we have faced. Even the deepest wounds will surrender their hold and give way to everlasting peace. As Paul says, “…the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing to the glory that is to be revealed to us” (Rom. 8:18). The face of God, in a single moment, will make it all worthwhile: make all sad things come untrue, make all darkness turn to light, turn all death into everlasting life, and usher in a joy so deep and full and enduring that it will wash every trace of grief from our hearts forever.
God Himself, who has called us to his eternal glory in Christ, will do this, after we have suffered “a little while” (1 Pet. 5:10).
A great reminder and encouragement, brother.