The answer.

February 10, 2011

Dear reader, a short but efficient post today, 2 for the price of 1 no less!

Yesterday I read Job 23-24. Basically, Job has a good old rant at God, whom he feels deserted by and at the world’s injustices. It’s a very good rant, the kind of rant where you find yourself thinking, ‘yeh!’ as you read. Oh yes, I can really get on board with Job’s outrage and indignation. The fact that there are people making clothes for the West who can’t afford clothes for their children, or picking crops who can barely feed their families seems very close to Job’s complaints in 24:10-12.

Funnily enough, I didn’t consider writing a post that just said ‘yeh!’ Maybe I should have. I was tired and not feeling so well so I thought I’d wait until today, read Isaiah 61-66 and try to write about them both. Afterall, last week’s posts on these books fed into each other quite well.

Well, dear reader, I get the feeling that if I wasn’t still feeling slightly off-key (and also cooking a meal for 15 students) tonight, I may very well be able to come up with a creative and insightful posts synthesising these two passages. As it is I’m struggling.

But there is a grain, a little seed of something that I’ll share with you.

The passage in Job questions why there is oppression, why there is hunger and deprivation and why those who oppress and steal seem to be rewarded in their earthly lives. The passage in Isaiah begins with these famous words:

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
   because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
   to bind up the broken-hearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
   and release to the prisoners;
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour

These words speak of a God who won’t stand for the very injustices that Job rants against. And these are the words that are read by Jesus at the synagogue in Nazareth at the very beginning of his ministry (Luke 4:16-21). When he had read these words he said “today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

So, perhaps, there are no answers to Job’s rants, no adequate ones any way. None that tie everything up and sort anything out.

Except Jesus.

Not that Jesus sorted out the world, so that there’s no oppression or hunger, if only that were true. But that he has come to set us free from this world. He has died and rose again so that all, no matter what their earthly state, might live fully and eternally.

This seems so simple that I find myself wanting to qualify it with lots of disclaimers like “this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight for a better world” and “I’m not suggesting that we should say to people who are deep in suffering “cheer up, Jesus died for you!””.

But I’ll try to ignore those impulses leave it at this: Jesus came. And just as Job knew, somehow, mysteriously, in the depths of darkness, that his redeemer lived, just as he trusted in a final, unending justice (23:10), so can we in Christ Jesus. In him there is freedom.

Amen.

My plan for today’s post was to do a little experiment called ‘questions for God’. The idea being that I would read Job 21-22 and write down any tough questions it brought up for me. Questions I’d like to ask God, funnily enough. Sometimes I find that I avoid these questions when writing this blog, or refer to them briefly, partly because I can’t answer them and partly because they scare me. I thought this would be a good way to face them head on.

The problem is, Job’s done it for me. Chapter 21 is his tirade of questions directed at his mocking and, in his opinion, deluded friends. But early on he asks “as for me, is my complaint addressed to mortals?”; these are really questions for God (21:4). And they’re good ones too. “Why do the wicked live on,  reach old age, and grow mighty in power?” This pretty much sums up Job’s detailed inventory of the prosperity of the wicked in 21:7-16. Next he moves on to refuting the naive claims of his friends, starting with these questions that ring with irony:

17 ‘How often is the lamp of the wicked put out?
   How often does calamity come upon them?
   How often does God distribute pains in his anger?
18 How often are they like straw before the wind,
   and like chaff that the storm carries away?

He is referring back directly to claims his friends have made (eg 15:20, 18:6, 18:12) and you can just hear his tone: ”Really? That’s what you think happens to the wicked is it? Hellooo!’ My favourite part is when he says “You say, “God stores up their iniquity for their children.”   Let it be paid back to them, so that they may know it.” Too right! I’ve always thought the whole generational guilt thing was a bit unfair!

So, Job gets that off his chest, and his friends see his point, right? Of course they don’t. Eliphaz’s reply is sooo frustrating! First of all he lists loads of things that Job has done wrong, which is confusing because he’s supposed to be “blameless and upright” (1:1) so you get the feeling Eliphaz is clutching at straws somewhat. Then he says “Agree with God, and be at peace; in this way good will come to you.” Oh, cheers, Eliphaz, I’m sure the blameless and upright Job hadn’t thought of that one! The point is that he’s still clinging to the idea that Job is suffering because he’s in the wrong, but we know it’s not like that, don’t we?

If we thought along the lines of Eliphaz then we would think that all rich and prosperous people were good and everyone who suffered disasters and loss was in the wrong. This is the kind of logic that led to some of the repugnant thinking about the Haitian earthquake from certain people who I hesitate to call Christian. It’s also the kind of thinking that can lead to a sort of self-satisfied malaise in those who have it good; something that Jesus wasn’t too keen on.

But knowing that life just isn’t that simple just makes everything more confusing, doesn’t it? I find myself reading Job’s words and thinking “yeah! yeah, exactly!” And, like Job, I want answers. The thing is, none will satisfy, even if they were a bit more complex than “bad things happen because you’re bad!”

These are questions for God and, as such, there is no real answer in our vocabulary. Except trust, I suppose, to trust in the bigger picture. But then I think tell that so someone who just lost their home to a flood, or their child to a bomb, or their arm to a diamond mine. This is tough stuff and it’s one of the fundamental questions of faith. What it all boils down to is, why doesn’t God just sort everything out?

You know, I sort believe He does sort everything out or that he is sorting everything out. That doesn’t stop me having a thousand more questions for Him though.  Because faith isn’t mindless, it’s just not mind-limited. One big point is that we should never impose our trust on someone who’s suffering. Telling someone who’s just been diagnosed with cancer that it’s all part of the bigger picture is not always the best route to go down. If we can learn anything from Job it is that just being there with a friend and allowing them to feel all their anger and pain is probably the most useful thing we can do. We’re allowed to not know why things happen the way they do, in fact that not knowing might help us to empathise with others. Job’s friends have all the answers, and they’re not so helpful…

To be comfortable with an unanswered question in this age-of-reason culture is pretty radical. And I like being radical.

I ended an old post on this subject with the phrase “may all of your prayers and none of questions be answered”. I think I might make it my catchphrase!

A nice piece of synchronicity means that in Isaiah 50-55, like yesterday’s reading from Job, we find words used in Handel’s Messiah. Like those words from Job, it is also a passage for which many Christians see the interpretation as ‘obvious’. The song of the suffering servant (chapter 53) is used in Handel’s Messiah and by many Christians over the centuries, to reflect on the suffering of Jesus on Good Friday, and I can see why. The song ends with “yet he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.” Sounds a lot like Jesus to me. But when you read this chapter in its context, this interpretation doesn’t seem so obvious.

A traditional Jewish interpretation of this text, and now the view of many Christian scholars, is that it personifies the nation of Israel and its sufferings under occupation and exile. The voices who speak here are the kings of the powerful nations, struck by the resurgence of God’s people. This actually makes a lot of sense to me. Not only is Israel named as the servant in previous chapters (44:1, 44:21, 45:4, 48:20, 49:3), but the kings are mentioned in the preceding verse 52:15;  “kings shall shut their mouths because of him; for that which had not been told them they shall see, and that which they had not heard they shall contemplate.” This leads straight in to the first line of 53; “who has believed what we have heard?”

Yes, when I read 53 as a whole, rather than certain verse or half verses, and especially when I read it in its place within Isaiah, I see that it may well be about the suffering nation of Israel in exile. But so what? Does that make it less powerful? Less relevant to Christians? I don’t think so, not at all.

Isaiah 50-55 is striking in that it is awash with contrasts. The suffering servant songs of 50:4-11 and 52:13-53:12 occur between shouts of jubilation and hope. In 52:7 we read the beautiful lines

7 How beautiful upon the mountains
   are the feet of the messenger who announces peace,
who brings good news,
   who announces salvation,
   who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns.’

and in 55:1 there is what the NRSV entitles “an invitation to Abundant Life:

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
   come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
   come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
   without money and without price.

There is something vital for us to learn from this song of hope and suffering, or of hope that comes out of suffering. Something about patience, endurance, something about every experience forming who we are.

One reason I’m reluctant to subscribe to the Jesus-as-suffering-servant model is that I’m wary of presenting Jesus’ suffering as a substitute for our own. You know, the whole “Jesus: he suffers so you don’t have to!” slogan; it just doesn’t float my boat. Plus it’s totally not biblical; hello! John the Baptist, Paul, Stephen – there was definitely some suffering involved in following Jesus. He died that we might live, he didn’t suffer that we might live it up.

So there is something we have to face in the fate of the nation of Israel, in their rejection, exile, oppression. We have to face the idea that being called to follow God doesn’t mean an easy life, far from, it means more is demanded of you. It also requires faith when hope seems absurd.

But that’s easy for me to say. I’m not in Congo or Kashmir or Cote d’Ivoire or Queensland right now, for me it is likely that this talk of suffering will only ever be relevant on an existential level. I know nothing of war or coups or natural disaster.

So I think there is another reason we must face this image of the suffering servant. We must face it lest we become like the powerful kings who are startled when they realise that those they had thought of as below them are those who God loves. We must know that’s God’s love is for the oppressed, and we must live our lives in honour of this. If the Bible teaches us one thing it is that the rich need to watch themselves!

So may we know that in every suffering, there will later be song. And knowing this may we be a part of helping others to sing.

Amen.

I love the book of Job. Before reading chapters 19-20 I had a nagging feeling that it was all getting a bit repetitive. You know, Job cries out about his suffering and his friends tell him that God punishes sin, so he must have sinned! When I’m not really engaged it can feel like a bit of a circular argument. But reading today I see this book unfolds its insights gradually, giving glimpses of hope along the way in its exploration of the biggest questions we have.

So in chapter 19 we have Job giving one of his best ‘not fair, it’s all God’s fault!’ speeches. He’s really getting it all off his chest here: there is no justice (19:7), God breaks him down (19:10), and (my personal favourite) his breath is repusive to his wife (19:17). All in all, he’s not happy. But then in the midst of all this there is one of the most famous, moving assertions of hope given in the Bible.

He turns to his friends, with their accusations of his wickedness, and says  “I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at last he will stand upon the earth. ” (19:25) Despite all of his suffering, all of anger at God, all of his questions, Job holds onto a deep conviction that he things will made right, that he will be redeemed.

This is a knowlede that is central to the Christian faith. “I know that redeemer lives” takes on a new potency in the context of the resurrection. Some even see this passage as prophetic; that Job’s hope too is in Jesus. I’m unsure about this, and mainly because it seems an unnecessary imposition on an already moving text. The idea that hope in God can be present even in times of crippling trail is big enough for me. Job’s words jump off the page, they sing themselves into being. They offer us too the option of faith, whatever our circumstances.

And it is a challenge as well. I know that my redeemer lives. Such certainty is rare in this fickle world. Job seems to ask us if we too know. Do we know that this too shall pass? That though all else dies our God lives and loves and frees us eternally?

To deeply know this; isn’t that what it’s all about?

Handel used this passage in Messiah and his music communicates the hope and peace given through this knowledge, in Christ Jesus, in a way few can:

A shared sorrow…(Job 17-18)

December 30, 2010

“My spirit is broken and my days are extinct.” (Job 17:1)

It’s funny, isn’t, how this resonates with so many of us. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had all I own and most of my family obliterated in the same moment, yet somehow Job’s words speak to some feeling in me. Some deep distress, even as I sit in my wonderful home, with my wonderful husband in the next room, with full cupboards and a healthy family. Middle class guilt perhaps, or something deeper. Something closer to the bone.

I think we all recognise, somewhere within, that deep sadness. It’s hard to admit it when things are going well, that we’re not happy happy through and through, but there it is. It’s why we all love sad songs and sad films, well some of us more than others. If someone recommends me a book and proceeds to tell me how tragic it is I run for the hills; why do I want to spend my leisure time having my heart-broken by the lives of fictional characters?? But I do love to indulge in a melancholy melody. The catharsis of hearing someone else’s lyrics mirror your own pain is a great release.

And that’s part of what Job gives us. I feel silly even writing it because I have had nothing to cause me suffering as Job has. Don’t get me wrong, I can put a suffering spin on my life if I want to; grew up in a single parent family with money worries in London, Dad never lived with me, hard time a school blah blah blah. Or the non-spun version; wonderful creative childhood with loving mother and dedicated (if absent) father, never wanted for anything although money was tight, very academically successful at school. It’s important to notice when my mind craves drama, or even trauma, and so concocts its own. But still, there is a deep longing in me. I often have moments of depression. Just moments (and I am grateful that they are so fleeting), but they are there.

Is it just me? I doubt it, or Leonard Cohen and Radiohead and Jonny Cash would have a much smaller fan base. I have a theory that most people’s favourite song is a sad one, in fact I’ve attached a poll to this post to test my theory, please take part in it! Because there is something seductive about sadness, but also because there’s a bit all of us that is sad.

There are many reasons for our personal melancholies, many stories attached to our sorrow. But I think, I really believe that there is one reason we all share. It is a deep longing. What some people would call being in original sin, I suppose, though I think that phrase has too many centuries of shame and dogma attached to be useful to many people. I think we sense that we are not as close to God as we could be, that we have made barriers between ourselves and Our Lord. We long for closeness we sense is achievable and yet we believe so many lies that few of us ever feel it for more than moments.

Perhaps this is why the experience of finding faith in Jesus can be so euphoric. Because he is a gateway to God for so many of us, because he has broken down barriers that we could not, or would not perhaps. But we Christians must be honest and say that this euphoria is fleeting; it is not a lifetime’s supply or a reward for ‘signing up’. I think the taste is enough to beckon us closer, though in the end the presence of God is bigger than anything we could feel, and present always; whatever our experience. Perhaps it is this sense, of God’s presence and yet the feeling of separation, that  causes our deep longing and sadness. This is certainly something that Job experiences acutely and expresses with a wonderful lucidity that taps into something we all know well. Don’t we? Perhaps I have made a personal experience universal, but I expect not…

And now for my first poll…enjoy…

 

Right? Wrong! (Job 15-16)

December 16, 2010

Eliphaz and Job do not see eye to eye in chapters 15-16. No change there then. What they do share, however is a need to be right. Both want the other to see their point of view, so neither is heard.

I find the defensiveness of these men’s language so striking. “Are you the firstborn of the human race?” snipes Eliphaz at his friend who he sees as turning away from God through his complaint. “miserable comforters are you all” Job tells his friends. He’s got a point too. Is it ever appropriate to tell your grieving friend that he is choosing “the tongue of the crafty” and give him a lecture on what God does to the wicked? (15:17-35). 

If there’s anything this book is teaching me about it’s empathy. Much of what Job says seems incredibly dramatic and even self-indulgent. Some of it is, I must admit, difficult to understand at all. But then there are moments when his words reveal utter desolation, such as 16:6: “If I speak, my pain is not assuaged,  and if I forbear, how much of it leaves me? ” He can find no comfort, no catharsis, he can only keep expressing, keep going over the events that have rendered him hopeless and led him to question the God to whom he was so devoted.

But what’s this? Right at the end of chapter 16 Job seems to suggest that he has hope in heaven yet:  “Even now, in fact, my witness is in heaven, and he that vouches for me is on high.” Somewhere inside, through all of his ranting about what God has done to him, there is a glimmer of the promise that this same God will be his justifier, his redeemer even? It’s quite a surprise after narrative of abandonment and/or abuse that’s been running for quite a while. A pleasant surprise too.

In order to see these things, both the hopelessness and the flicker of light,  I had to give Job my attention. Although I am beginning to feel like I’m reading the same arguments over and over, I had to try to treat this chapter as a new start, where I could find something different. I ask myself what I would be like as a friend, a sister, a wife, a daughter, a worker, if I paid this same sensitive attention to those around me. If I let empathy arise in me but at the same time looked for hope.

I know that in Job there are more than just relationship dynamics going on. This book gives us great philosophical and theological debate. But sometimes we get too much into the head stuff, too much into the abstract and we neglect the practical, the compassionate, the now. So I promise I will speak about other things in my posts about Job (there’s plenty more to come) but I just keep thinking more and more about ways of relating. Perhaps it’s something that needs hammering home in me. I do looove to be right. And I also looove to share my opinions, as you may have noticed. But I hope I love to be a good friend, a good listener more. Does the world need more words? Probably not. Does the world need more empathy and hope? I’m gona say yes!

What if we all listened and watched for hope once today when we would usually jump in with our learned opinion? It would be an interesting experiment at least…

I shall leave you with a quotation that I found on my friend’s facebook page, of all things. Doesn’t say who it’s from, perhaps it her own:

“From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in the spring. The place where we are right is hard and trampled like a yard. But doubts and loves dig up the world like a mole, a plough”

Listen up! (Job 13-14)

December 2, 2010

One could quite easily get to Job 13-14 and think “alright Joby mate, change the blooming record, I mean you’re talking but all I’m hearing is ‘moan, moan, moan, moan moan moan moan!” But let’s have a brief recap. Job was a prosperous man with many livestock; they all died. Job had 10 children; they all died. And none of this was spread out, it was like bam! There goes your life Job, hard luck. And Job, good chap that he, is responded by saying “the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed me the name of the Lord.” Impressive stuff. Well,at least he had his health, right? Wrong! He then gets afflicted sores all over his body. Ouch.

And at first his friends were incredibly sensitive. They sat with him in silence for a whole week. But when Job starts speaking, boy do they chip in with their two pence. I wonder if they spent that time in silence preparing their pearls of ‘wisdom’ for when the chance came. Last week I wrote about how Job’s suffering had put him on the defensive so that he didn’t hear comfort in his friends’ words. This week I’m realising that perhaps it’s Job that needs to be heard.

In chapter 13 Job asks to be listened to, or to be let to speak, no less than six times. He needs to speak out his grief, his anger, his confusion, his desperation. He needs to make his case to his friends and to God. He does not need a theology lecture or an oration on the nature and causes of suffering.

I have a good friend who likes a bit of moan. And quite right too, he/she (identity preserving non-gendering going on here) has had it rough in a lot of ways. When we spoke I used to try to help him/her look on the bright side, or to put the other person’s view across if they were in conflict. This did not go down at all well and my ‘advice’ fell on deaf ears for the most part. Then one day I was telling friend about something that was upsetting me and I made some over-the-top melancholy statement I knew not to be true like “men always leave me” or something as daft. This friend tried to reason with me “now you know that’s not true; you’ve had a great life, etc etc…” This was perfectly correct, but I did not need correction, I needed sympathy. I needed someone to hear my pain and comfort me. Of course, this had to happen more than once before I realised that I treated my friend exactly the way I didn’t want to be treated. Now I  try to just listen and allow them to me in whatever place they are, perhaps offer some advice if asked, and when I do that the conversation is much more satisfying on both ends.

Job reminds me that we are not rational when we suffering, and for the most part we know that. As Job put it 13:1-2 “look, my eye has seen all this and my ear has understood it. What you know I also know; I am not inferior to you.” We don’t need teachers, we need friends. Luckily, friends are teachers. Like my friend who needs to talk about their not-so-peachy life and taught me a very important lesson. To open my heart and close my mouth, if you like. Perhaps we can all learn from Job’s pleading.

But his friends aren’t the only ones who Job needs to be heard by. He need’s God’s ear too.  And he needs to hear God. There are so many questions in 13:21-14:22. Does God hear them? And does God hear us now? I’d really like a booming voice from the sky saying “yes I do!” just to be sure, wouldn’t you? But that’s not the deal…okay it is at the end of Job, but not for us.

If God’s speaking is subtle then God’s listening is too. He doesn’t hear us like we hear our friends; at the end of the phone at the end of a busy day. He doesn’t receive in Dolby Digital surround sound. But he does hear us I think, somehow, we are heard. It’s just really hard to connect with that truth sometimes, to feel heard by this transcendent intanglible being.

All the more important to listen to each other then…

It’s all getting a bit heated in Job 11-12. Job’s mammoth moan isn’t even half way through but his friends are starting to lose their patience. Zophar speaks for the first time and he’s not pulling and punches;

3 Should your babble put others to silence,
   and when you mock, shall no one shame you?
4 For you say, “My conduct is pure,
   and I am clean in God’s sight.”
5 But O that God would speak,
   and open his lips to you,
6 and that he would tell you the secrets of wisdom!
   For wisdom is many-sided.
Know then that God exacts of you less than your guilt deserves. (11:3-6)

Ouch. Job claims to be blameless (and we read in chapter 1 that he’s God’s favourite!) but Zophar wishes God would have a word with him; put him in his place. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but Zophar will get what he wishes for by the end of this book.

Job’s dry wit rings out in his reply; “No doubt you are the people and wisdom will die with you.”  (12:2) . The last thing he needs, he reminds his friends, is a lecture about wisdom. He’s bereaved, forlorn, hopeless. He’s been made a “laughing-stock”. Zaphor means well but perhaps he could have found a nicer way to say it!

The thing is, that the telling off was not all Zaphor offered Job. Yes his opener was rather biting but then he offers these wonderful words of comfort;

13 ‘If you direct your heart rightly,
   you will stretch out your hands towards him.
14 If iniquity is in your hand, put it far away,
   and do not let wickedness reside in your tents.
15 Surely then you will lift up your face without blemish;
   you will be secure, and will not fear.
16 You will forget your misery;
   you will remember it as waters that have passed away.
17 And your life will be brighter than the noonday;
   its darkness will be like the morning.
18 And you will have confidence, because there is hope;
   you will be protected and take your rest in safety.
19 You will lie down, and no one will make you afraid;
   many will entreat your favour.

Your misery will be remembered as waters that passed away; even your dark times will be like the morning. Zaphor is attempting to remind Job that this, too, shall pass. To offer him hope. But Job doesn’t seem to hear this, he heard Zaphor’s reproaches and  locked onto them. He can’t hear the hope; only the shame.

Do you recognise this mind-set? I do. Job has a much better excuse than me too; I’ve never experienced anything like what’s he’s going through. But still I know what it is to be so wrapped in my own suffering that I can’t accept any comfort that is offered. I brush it off saying “I know that! I don’t need you to tell me, thanks very much!”. Even the gentlest words of correction feel like attack. Someone telling me that this will pass is useless; what do I care about the future? It’s now that I feel like rubbish.

When we are suffering it’s hard to be vulnerable. Our barriers are up to ensure that we don’t fall apart. The only problem is that these walls keep comfort out and lock our insecurities and self-pity in. While I continue not to ask for or accept help I continue to suffering.

Sometimes we need to indulge our self-pity, our anger, our despair. Job needs to feel his feelings and ask his questions. But if we allow others to be a part of this process the weight of it seems to lift a little.

So I guess the question is; Do I want to be vulnerable? Or do I want to miserable?  

Chosing the former is brave and pretty counter-culture… It’s also, for me at least, a step closer to freedom.

We have the choice.

Have you ever had a conversation that’s not really a conversation? You know the kind; when you get the sense that the other person is not so much listening to you as waiting to continue with their speech. I get the impression that this is happening in Job 5-6. Job is on a role. He’s having a good old moan and there’s nothing Eliphaz can do about it.

I don’t blame the guy. He’s having a tough time to say the least, what with the whole my-whole-family-has-died-and-I’ve lost-all -i-owned situation. And we all know that there’s nothing as Carthartic as a good old rant. Indeed, you all know I’m particularly partial to ranting… But it’s a shame, because Job is so wrapped up in his own grief that he misses something beautiful.

Eliphaz has reminded Job of who he is (as I wrote about last week). Now he reminds him of who God is. Within this he says “He does great things and unsearchable marvelous things without number.” (5:9) And what is Eliphaz’s first example of this?

“He gives rain on the earth and sends waters on the fields.”

He makes the rain.

Now, I like in Manchester, we have a slightly different perspective on the desirability of rain than our brothers and sisters closer to the equator.  The rain is not something we have to wait for, nor do we need to wonder if it will come. Still, this gives even more beauty to the example. The rain always comes; we don’t usually will and we certainly don’t appreciate it, but it comes all the same.

When we question suffering, and even more when we are caught up in our own suffering, we are seeing a very human experience-centred picture. We forget the seasons that change and the rains that come. The trees that grow and the currents that flow. The millions of new lives that comes even as others go. We forget the rain, we forget the sun. We see such a narrow vision of all that creation is, or all that God gives.

So when I am caught up in the woes of the world. When my heart is broken. When I worry. When I am struggling to understand God’s plan or purpose. When I feel, as Job, that life has lost its flavour (6:6). I am going to try to remember the rain. Remember the rain.

Testing times… (Job 1-2)

October 15, 2010

Today I begin my journey into a book of profound poetry that wrestles with that most timeless issue; unjust suffering. Why do bad things happen to good people? A first reading of Job’s first chapters might give you a rather disturbing answer; because Satan tells God to do it…huh??

A brief(ish) synopsys: Job is very good man who also happens to be pretty loaded and very fertile – 10 children (7 of them sons; big bonus for the patriarchal Israelites), about a billion cattle. It didn’t go to his head mind you, he’s well holy, even offering sacrifices just in case his children sin at their dinner parties. So, as you may have guessed, God’s well pleased with his man Job and likes to tell the “heavenly beings”, and among them Satan, all about him. Satan is not impressed; “of course he’s good and holy; he’s loaded! Take away his cattle and children, then you’ll see, he’ll curse you.” Rather remarkably, God agrees to this! So in the space of about 5 minutes Job loses everything (except his wife, but that doesn’t seem to be much comfort to him as he calls her a “foolish woman” in chapter 2). Job responds by tearing his clothes, shaving his head, and worshipping. Nice. Another Heaven scene occurs, God boasts about his devout Job again, but Satan’s not having any of it; “yeah yeah, but if you took his health…then he’ll curse you.” Astonishingly, God agrees again… But again Satan’s plan fails. Job says wisely (to his ‘foolish woman’) “Shall we receive good from God and not receive bad?” Pretty impressive stuff (apart from the sexism, which we’ll put down to post-traumatic stress for now).

What’s not so impressive, rather perplexing, is the exchange between God and Satan. If we read Satan as ‘the devil’ then this is pretty worrying stuff! So who is he? Well he only pops up in three verses than aren’t Job in whole Hebrew Bible (Zech 3:1-2; Chron 2:11) and is not to be confused with Satan in New Testament. In Greek Satan is used interchangably with “the devil”, it’s less clear cut here. Satan is present among “the heavenly beings” and the Hebrew “ha-Satan” (the satan) can be translated as “the accuser”, or commonly “the prosecutor” in the context of Job. “ha” shows that a name is a title bestowed on a being, not the being’s names itself.  David M. Carr (An Introduction to the Old Testament) actually says ‘satan’ comes from the Hebrew “to roam” so it could just mean  a roaming spy, a position in Yahweh’s divine council that informs God of His people’s wrong-doings… though you wouldn’y think God needed spies…

The main thing is that this doesn’t have to be read as God being manipulated by the Devil (phew!) ‘the satan’ seems to be part of the Heavely court in this narrative. Perhaps it is a device to show us a “thought process” of God – if He can be said to have such a human thing – and introduce the very pertinent question “do you worship God because of what you have been given or because He’s God?”

Whatever answers the book of Job ends up giving us (stay tuned to find out!), we can pretty safely say that the authority begins and ends with God. God gives the Satan power; he doesn’t have on his own. And at the end of Job (spoiler alert!) the Satan is not there, it’s just Job, his friends and God, implying that the ultimate authority over suffering rests with God. But then again, that’s pretty hard to swallow too, isn’t it? I suppose that’s why our Holy Scripture has a 42 chapter reflection on the nature and causes of suffering slap bang in its middle.

The Epilogue to this heavenly tale is too moving to be ignored. Job’s friends hear of his suffering and set out to “console and comfort him”. When they arrive they mourn with him; “They sat with him on the ground for seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word with him, for they saw his suffering was very great.”  Later they debate the meaning of suffering, but for now they just sit, they don’t try to do anything for Job, they’re just with him. Wonderful. It seems God had not taken all of his riches after all…