Job: Sitting with the questions

Job 1

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’” In all this Job did not sin or charge God with wrongdoing.”

So begins the book of Job.

And that’s just it, it’s the beginning of the story. Not the end. And we’re not even sure Job’s words are wise words—not yet. This is a perfect example of scripture that can be quoted terribly out of context, because Job’s supposition about God’s giving and taking is about to be put to the test over the course of the next 40-odd chapters. This story could begin with chapter 1, skip everything that follows, and resolve with God saying, “Well, guess Job was faithful. I guess he earned everything back and more!”

But it doesn’t. In-between the loss and the resolution: that’s where the book of Job teaches us about our role in the vastness of the universe, about how little we are, and about how our losses (and our gains) are only a small part in this divine play.

For forty chapters we are caught in the interplay of God and man. Who is God? Who are we? That’s the relationship the book of Job is concerned with addressing. Figures arise to question Job’s character—every conceivable angle is pursued for a reason why Job loses everything.

Everybody tries to tease out an answer. Surely it’s karma that leads to Job’s losses; surely, Job is secretly doing something he shouldn’t be doing. There has to be a reason for so much suffering.

Then Job proceeds to make his defense. He goes back and forth with the visitors who are certain the reason for the calamity has something to do with Job. You reap what you sow, after all. We will come to all this is in the weeks ahead as we venture further into the book of Job, but chapter 1 is clear: Job is blameless, faultless, above reproach. “In all this Job did not sin or charge God with wrongdoing.” He even makes offerings in case his family sins in secret. If anybody was truly deserving of everything he had Job was the man.

And that’s exactly the point. What follows is a long-form discussion, debate, even a trial of what a person deserves in this life, and in the end Job is found wanting because Job is not God. Job is vulnerable. The book of Job explores how the things that happen to us—good and bad—interplay with our behavior and our role as created-creatures. Do we really reap what we sow? Is karma the rule of the day? Or are we subject to the random whims of the world, of Satan, and of the darkness that lives inside of us?

            This is an Old Testament book, which means we don’t have Jesus to swoop in and save the day, and, for once, I would beg we wait on the Sunday School answer. Answering that “Jesus” makes all this good and right in the end might be true, but it also fails to honor the reality of grief and pain felt in the moment of utter terror and suffering. Job begs us to delve into the real depths of despair and loss, pain and grief. Job begs us to refrain from going to Jesus for just a little while, to dwell in the sadness, and, in that sadness, to realize why we need that God of the cross in the first place. Job is a perfect introduction to the Gospels, because it leaves us feeling vulnerable and small and wounded.

Job addresses the universal, eternal questions of evil and despair and suffering. Why do these exist? Every people and nation has asked this question in different words. Everybody wants to know: Is there anything that can be done to protect myself from suffering?

            The book of Job answers this question not with a shallow word; not a simple “yes” or a morbid “no.” Job instead deals with the power of Satan, who describes his own actions as “walking to and fro on the earth,” wandering between peoples and nations, randomly almost; not targeting anyone particular until we come to Job. Then, when all is lost, Job’s questions turn to God and how we piece together this world of competing powers, not to mention our own, deeply human, motives that lead us to sin. I believe this is the most human book in the Bible and should be required reading for anyone who ventures off into the so-called “real world.”

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

So, with that much introduced, what to say today? This is, after all, merely the introduction. What moral can I possibly draw from Job, chapter 1—Job, perfect and blameless, losing everything because of the whims of Satan and the permission of God? No, seriously, I’m asking. What can a person say about this? Because this chapter itself is not the thing. The thing is what follows. So, let’s not be shortsighted enough to believe that the good news of Job is this verse ““Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” That’s merely the hypothesis, and boy is it going to be tested! In the end, Job might find himself back there believing those words, or he might not. We don’t know yet.

The story needs to be fleshed out. And my worry is that the way we treat scripture, looking for answers and wisdom from a verse here or a chapter there, overemphasizes individual trees and neglects the forest where the answers can actually be found. You can’t read only the first chapter of Job. It doesn’t work. So, today, I’m going to do something that might make some of you uncomfortable and others of you very pleased. I’m not going to resolve this. Instead, you have to come back… or if you’re going to be visiting the Church of the Holy Lake Home for the next many weeks, then you have to pack your Bible and read through Job on your own, because there is nothing I can say today that will sit with you deeper than the path that Job walks.

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

            Sit with that. Then, question it. Question it because this matters for you when you lose something. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Really? Would you say that? If so, why? If not, why not? Could you say that when you’ve lost your family and your friends, your wife and children, your land and possessions—everything that seemed to give your life purpose and meaning and all the love that they embodied? Could you? Why? Why not? Sit with that. Then I’ll see you next week.