‘Let me feel the lack’ – theophany and the search for God
“If I never meet you in this life, let me feel the lack. A glance from your eyes, and my life will be yours.”
First Sgt. Welsh, The Thin Red Line
For some, Theophany is seeing God’s beauty, truth and goodness in the world around us.
I remember the hype when The Thin Red Line came out. It was 1998 and director Terrence Malick had made his return to filmmaking after a 20-year hiatus, adapting James Jones’ epic World War II novel to do so.
There were rumours that actors had lined up, hoping for a chance to work with the famed director. Travolta, Clooney, Harrelson, Penn, Caviezel, Nolte, Cusack, Brody, Reilly, Koteas, Savage, made the cut – big names, huge names. Some of them stayed on during production, well past when their scenes had been shot, just to watch Malick work.
As directors go, Malick was different. He was a draw and had forged a lasting mystique yet had only made two films—Badlands (1973) and Days of Heaven (1978)—before disappearing into his decades-long obscurity.
As a cinematography graduate, I revelled in the film, delighting in John Toll’s wide angle, hand-held work. Toll had brilliantly interpreted Malick’s vision: a vision of space, and timelessness within a confined space and time; and one of beauty despite the horrors of war. And it was Malick who had in-turn, interpreted Jones’ concept of the human condition within that horror.
As directors go, Malick was different.
I watched The Thin Red Line several times and knew it would take many years of digging to get through the thick layers Malick had built. More than twenty-five years later, the film continues to reveal its secrets to me. Such is the world of art. And such is Terrence Malick.
Malick is renowned for using narration; the internal struggles of his characters spoken out in thoughtful prose overlayed with striking cinematography. Often the dialogue jumps out, but sometimes it’s more subtle.
“If I never meet you in this life, let me feel the lack. A glance from your eyes, and my life will be yours.”
I missed it the first time I watched it. And the second and third time, and… But hearing the line quoted in a podcast about Malick I rewatched the film to hear it in its context. It floored me when it came; so clear and obvious that I was embarrassed to have missed it so many times before.
“If I never meet you in this life, let me feel the lack. A glance from your eyes, and my life will be yours.”
The line comes towards the end of the film, narrated by First Sgt Welsh, played by Sean Penn who had been in a movie-length tug-of-war with Pvt Witt, played by Jim Caviezel.
Witt’s difference is God; he sees God—revealed in beauty, truth and goodness—everywhere.
Welsh’s roughness and perfunctory thinking contrasted with the gentle Witt and his love of beauty, and desire for goodness and truth, yet these two opposing forces of men were drawn to each other. But it is Welsh who seems the most intrigued by the other.
Witt’s difference is God; he sees God—revealed in beauty, truth and goodness—everywhere. The Greeks had a word for it: theophany—from theo: God and phanaeia: appear.
Witt saw it because he knew such things. Welsh did not. But what Welsh could see and could not ignore was Witt whose life shone a bright light into the dark lack in his own life.
Terrence Malick is unreservedly Christian. On watching Martin Scorsese’s film Silence, he famously wrote to his contemporary to ask, ‘What is it that Christ asks of us?’
It's a remarkable question. Theologically the answer is to know Christ and accept Him. But Malick is perhaps drawing on Ephesians 4:11–16 where the apostle Paul writes that Christ gave the world apostles, evangelists, pastors, and teachers to equip people with faith and knowledge.
Malick is reminding Scorsese that they, as filmmakers, have a responsibility; that they are evangelists and teachers with gifts and talents that need to be honoured. Incidentally, Scorsese’s next film will be about Jesus.
‘What is it that Christ asks of us?’
But beyond vocation, perhaps the answer to Malick’s question—and what he shows us in The Thin Red Line—is to understand theophany, to see God’s beauty, truth, and goodness, and, like Pvt Witt, reflect it towards others.
By the end of the film, Welsh is pleading to God. It is not the usual plea for ignorance but an open request for pain, suffering, yearning, desire; a plea to feel intensely what he is missing.
“If I never meet you in this life, let me feel the lack. There is anguish in that sentence. There is admission that life exists after this one; there is emotion in the verb to feel; and the noun lack is much stronger than a casual what’s missing. Let me know you God; let me know your beauty, truth, and goodness.
It is followed by something contrasting because it is much more usual: a challenge, a pledge, a dare. ‘A glance from your eyes, and my life will be yours.’ Just show yourself to me, God, and I will give my life to you.
How many times do we hear that, feel that, hide behind that, despite God revealing himself to us constantly? And did not God already show His complete beauty, truth and goodness—and love—more than 2,000 years ago in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Christ?
Like Witt, we just need to look. ‘Blessed are your eyes because they see,’ Jesus said in Matthew 13. But He also gave this warning, ‘For truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it.’
Welsh saw himself as one of those when he admitted to Witt, ‘…you see things I never will.’ But the irony is that Welsh could already feel the lack; and the glance from God’s eyes he would soon ask for was Witt.
God’s beauty, truth, and goodness are all around us. We just need to see.