Hearing Through a Glass Darkly
For most of my life, I have had tinnitus. It shows up differently for different people. For me, it means I hear 6-8 audible pitches at any time, most of which are dissonant. Sometimes, I also hear a low-pitched rumbling like a motorcycle idling outside my head. Other times, the pitches swell for ten or twenty seconds, so loud they drown out any other sound. Although I've trained my brain to overlook them most of the time, they are most noticeable in silence.
Tinnitus is not a real sound, even though it feels annoyingly real. It is actually a reaction of the brain to hearing loss. The brain is trying to replace the pitches it can no longer hear properly through the ears, but it does a pretty bad job. By listening to certain sounds, such as crickets chirping, tree frogs singing, or the sound of rain falling, or when hearing aids help to amplify the missing pitches, the brain says, "Oh, I don't have to work so hard to replace those pitches. I can back off a bit," and one can experience some temporary relief.
Tinnitus can be a kind of torture. I don't do much singing these days as the discomfort in my ears makes it difficult to sustain notes, and sometimes the vibrations caused by singing create an uncomfortable, muffled sense of distortion. Sometimes I avoid live music because I'm straining to hear what’s out there over what’s in my head. It's exhausting. Even so, I still find solace in music. Most of the time, it's worth the work.
Isn't hearing God like this sometimes? We know He is speaking somewhere, over there, but it's soft and kind of muffled. Maybe He's even singing? But it's just so hard to make out. There are so many noises in the background. All the ringing and rumbling. It's like hearing through a glass, darkly.
I know it will not always be so. In fact, I have had moments when the music broke through.
In college, we had the privilege of performing Mendelsohn's oratorio, Elijah. Several combined choirs, the full symphony orchestra, and invited soloists of renown crammed the stage of Edman Chapel. The great John Nelson stood before us as conductor. Unforgettable.
About halfway through Elijah comes, "Thanks Be to God." At this point in the story, (1 Kings 18) the prophet Elijah has prayed to God to bring rain after a famine. There are no clouds, no clouds, no clouds. Then, after checking 7 times, a cloud the size of a man's hand appears in the sky. It grows larger until it becomes massive and pours out rain. The choir exclaims:
Thanks be to God, He laveth the thirsty land!
The waters gather, they rush along!
They are lifting their voices!
The stormy billows are high; their fury is mighty.
But the Lord is above them, and Almighty.
This was more than making music. It was art. It was goodness, meaning, and community. I felt the presence of that Almighty One swell around me, inside me, through me. It overwhelmed my senses, and for a brief moment, it overpowered even my tinnitus. I stopped singing as the tears dropped from my eyes. I heard with everything that I was.
Later, in 1 Kings 19, even after God sends fire to destroy the altars of Baal, even after God sends rain to the thirsty land, Elijah despairs of his life. God first ministers to his physical needs, providing food from the ravens and drink from Cherith brook. Elijah rests. And then he goes on a journey high into a rocky cleft. There, God says He will pass by. Wind, an earthquake, and fire all pass by with noise and fury. But God is not in them. Finally, Elijah hears God speaking in the sound of a gentle whisper.
How interesting that an answer to tinnitus is found in the gentle sounds of the created world - crickets, tree frogs, water. The good earth does this for us. It drowns out the high-pitched screams of modern life and calms our brains. For a moment, we can stop trying to fill in the missing parts. We can just listen.
God has given us other "hearing aids" to amplify his voice. Sometimes, He whispers through his Word. Sometimes through the voice of a friend. Sometimes, through quiet prayer. God does not shout but speaks to those with ears to hear.
I long for the day when I will be able to comprehend a whisper without background cacophony. I long for a time when I can actually experience silence. And for the day when we will all be able to clearly hear the still, small voice. For now, we must strain to hear Him over the clamor of being creatures in this loud world.
But oh, that one day, we will all be swept up in the music of the Ancient of Days.
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