Talk About Trouble: Chapter 24, Part 1

The groans of the dying rise from the city,
and the wounded cry for help,
yet God ignores their moaning. (Job 24:12)

In the New Living Translation, Job 24 is given the section heading, “Job Asks Why the Wicked Are Not Punished.” I think that’s such a sweet, polite heading. Look at the passive sentence structure that avoids making God the subject: not “Why God Does Not Punish the Wicked,” but “Why the Wicked Are Not Punished.” How tactful. But I think it misses the point.

Job is not as concerned with tact, is he. Verse one, he launches right in.

Here’s his bottom-of-the-mountain beginning as it is translated in the New Living Translation:

Why doesn’t the Almighty bring the wicked to judgment?
Why must the godly wait for him in vain? (Job 24:1, NLT)

Don’t sugarcoat it, Job. Tell us what you really think.

You may be finding about now that verse one above looks very little like verse one in your Bible, and I would like to take a long-winded but important detour to address that. I have been struggling with what to make of Job 24 because it sounds an awful lot like what his three friends have been saying, so I have been spending a lot of time reading it in different versions to see if that clarified the nuances in the meaning at all. I have been considering how the differences in our own language’s denotation and connotation may be skewing my own understanding of this chapter, too. In short, I have been ripping the language of this chapter apart as best I can in a non-native language of the text to see if I have been misunderstanding something with my American English speaking mind. I think I have.

Let’s start with clarity’s biggest obstacle: the change from the original language.

I usually like the New Living Translation best, but sometimes, I think it’s worthwhile to shop around the different versions and try to understand why different translations phrase things so differently. I am going to be using a couple of terms interchangeably that really should not be used interchangeably, so let me briefly define these terms as I understand them so I can completely ignore these definitions as we proceed:

translation: word-by-word change from one language to another (Few translations are true word-by-word translations due to widely varying grammatical structures across languages, especially in different linguistical families like Hebrew and English, that make an exact translation impossible to decipher for those who don’t know both languages – we call this kind of straight translation a lexicon, aka a massive headache).

interpretation: concept-by-concept change from one language to another in a way that considers cultural context and common phrasing to increase understanding. Biblically speaking, The Message is the best example of an interpretation rather than a translation of the original text. This is usually easier for a non-native reader to understand, but the danger is that it is up to the interpreter to decide what the original author meant by the words, and sometimes that can be unclear, leading to seemingly large discrepancies between versions. The interpreter’s own culture, beliefs, and biases can also influence their interpretation, although that can be said of translations as well.

interpretive translation: a middle ground that tries to stay as true to the word choice of the original as possible while modifying grammatical structure and obscure language to be more understandable. Most “translated” works fall somewhere on the spectrum of interpretive translation.

The NLT is more on the interpretive side of interpretive translation, meaning rather than just changing it from one language to another word-by-word, it does its best to capture the original meaning of the phrases and concepts.

For contrast, here’s verse one in the New American Standard Bible, a straighter translation that I usually find very accurate, but the meaning can be a bit foggy to those of us who don’t have a great grasp of the subtleties of ancient Hebrew language and embedded culture.

Why are times not stored up by the Almighty, And why do those who know Him not see His days? (Job 24:1)

Oh, dear, that’s very different, isn’t it. That’s very, very different. At least the way I understand it.

The most difficult part about translating and reading a translation is that there are ideas that just don’t translate straight across languages. One reason we work so hard to preserve languages today is that we have come to realize that there is cultural knowledge and perspective embedded in language; there are words for things in some languages that other cultures do not even know exist, like political roles or familial designations that are unique to that culture. The most famous, perhaps, is the extra distinctions in the Inuit language for different kinds of snow (though scholars disagree on how many words they have and whether or not that is really so different from other languages). We also identify different kinds of snow in our language (ie snow, sleet, slush, etc), but because they are native to a northern climate, their vocabulary contains words for different types of snow we consider to be all the same. In contrast, an equatorial language might not have any words for snow, or maybe just one to describe something that happens to other people, but they may have a word for different kinds of weather in their rainy season that the Inuit do not experience and therefore do not have words to describe. Color is another popular example of embedded cultural perspective; while we think of colors as having distinct lines between them when we are young, we grow to understand that color is actually a spectrum. It turns out different cultures draw those color-separating lines in different places, so trying to translate simple words like color words can be much more difficult than expected. One culture’s word for blue might not include all the hues we consider blue, but it might include some we would consider green and some we would consider gray.

Because some cultures have words for concepts other cultures have no reason to know, like weather patterns or local animals or unique social and political terms, word-by-word translations can be more than a little challenging for both the translator and the reader. Archaic literature takes the linguistic-cultural barrier one step farther by displacing us in time as well as place. We all know how difficult it is to understand our own children’s slang terminology, right? That’s only one generational step to cross; Job was written thousands of those generational steps ago.

All that to say, I am going to do my best to understand the nuances in the language of Job 24, but I am no historical scholar. I am no linguist or anthropologist. I studied literature. I read books, people, in English, that’s it, that’s all I’ve got for the talent show.

So I did some cross-referencing across all the English translations I could find, and I think if we listen to a combination of conceptual interpretations and word-by-word translations, we can begin to understand how the same words went through the transformation-into-English process and came out so very, very different.

One version I like to go back to when I am not sure which translation I am understanding correctly is the Orthodox Jewish Bible. The OJB is a primarily English translation that incorporates both modern Yiddish and Hasidic vocabulary for words that are not always easily or accurately translated. I do not speak Yiddish. I do not understand any of the Hasidic words. I could not even begin to tell you which of the words are Yiddish and which are Hasidic, and my explanation of the difference between the two would edge on embarrassingly ignorant. But sometimes there are words in parentheses that really help, and often the internet knows a lot more about it than I do, so a quick copy-paste search goes a long way to clarifying things I don’t understand.

So here’s what we’ve got from the OJB:

Why are times [for judgment] from Shaddai not kept, and why do those who have da’as of him not see his yamim [days [of assize])? (Job 24:1)

There are a couple of words in there that us ignorant English-only speaking folk need some clarification on, so let me give you a brief summary of what my much-too-long internet search came up with:

Shaddai – Almighty, a name of God (I knew this one!)

da’as – simply translated, knowledge, but this is a special kind of knowledge that comes from being closely acquainted with someone. This isn’t just someone you know, it’s someone you know, ya feel me? Yeah that’s why language is hard to translate.

yamim – simply translated, days, but more specifically, kind of like a court date. Often translated “day of judgment.” Apparently that’s what “of assize” means too because I don’t know about you, but that parenthetical hint did nothing for me, so I looked it up. A court of assize was some kind of periodic court that convened at specific intervals around England apparently. Who knew. I’m still not sure I really do.

Given what the OJB says, I think we can safely say that the most accurate interpretive translation is probably this one:

Why doesn’t Shadday set aside times for punishment? Why don’t those who are close to him see his days of judgment? (Job 24:1, Names of God Bible)

Or, the way I summarize it in my own head,

“Why isn’t there a court date for all these murderers, thieves, and swindlers yet, Lord? If there is one, why don’t you at least tell your best friends when it’s happening?”

So now that we’ve got verse one figured out, on to 2-25! Eeks, this is looking to be a long post. Sorry everyone. Not sorry. Pretending. I love words.

Don’t worry, we won’t go through all of them nearly as closely. Maybe. We’ll see.

You know what. I think we’re going to have to go ahead and break this one into parts. Yeah, let’s do that.

to be continued…

Talk About Trouble: Chapter 23

If only I knew where to find God,
I would go to his court. (Job 23:3)

I go east, but he is not there.
I go west, but I cannot find him. (Job 23:8)

A quick, oversimplified, poorly explained lesson in Hebrew poetical structure:

Hebrew poetry is generally structured with a technique called parallelism. Parallelism is not a lyrical structure, meaning it is not about the sounds or cadence of words like most English poetical structures. It is a conceptual structure, so it has more to do with the ideas being expressed. The way I think about it is a rhyming of thoughts rather than a rhyming of words.

Hebrew poetry is often written in couplets that contain these “thought rhymes” directly. These “thought rhymes” can be two ideas that are synonymous but reworded, like these: “For I have stayed on God’s paths;/ I have followed his ways and not turned aside.” (v. 11) Stayed, followed, and not turned aside are all synonymous in meaning; God’s paths and his ways are likewise synonyms. They can be two ideas that mean the same expressed in opposite ways, like these: “But once he has made his decision, who can change his mind?/ Whatever he wants to do, he does.” (v. 13) No one can change his mind and he does what he wants to do mean the same thing, but they have opposite subjects (no one/he), opposite verbs (change, does what he wants), and yet mean the same conceptually . Or they can be a foundational idea and one that builds on top of it, like these: “If only I knew where to find God, I would go to his court.” (v. 3) The first idea directly leads to the next, and the second idea is only the natural progression of the first.

But the best Hebrew poetry carries this structure farther. The couplets themselves become single units in a larger rhyming of thought; the structure grows and grows, building on itself, to a peak that expresses the main idea of the poem. I think of it like switchbacks, or a spiral trail up a mountain. Mountains have tremendous spiritual significance to the Semitic peoples. Noah’s ark came to rest on the top of Mount Ararat when God’s judgment had passed; Abraham climbed a mountain to sacrifice Isaac and receive the substitute sacrifice; Moses climbed a mountain to commune with God and receive his commands. The spiritual significance of mountains was not limited to the Jews in ancient religion, either. When the Bible refers to “tearing down their high places,” in regards to idol worship, it means that literally. Many temples and alters were constructed on top of mountains in that part of the world and several others. The gods were said to dwell on top of mountains, most famously like Mount Olympus of the Greeks. Wherever there were mountains, it seems, people found some kind of meaning in them. I would even argue we still do.

The ancient peoples, too, saw symbolic significance in ascension: a person began at the bottom too close their ideas, beliefs, questions, or problems to see clearly, and as they rose higher and higher on the proverbial mountain side of contemplation and gained distance from those things, they could see the lay of the land better and better, if you will. Sometimes distance is needed to see the full picture. Up the mountain of thought, the poets went, to gain perspective and spiritual clarity, and then back down into their real life to put into practice whatever revelation they received at the top.

If we apply this structure to the book of Job, Job is just beginning to descend from that peak of revelation that will change how he approaches his life from now on. He has contemplated the failure of his own efforts to achieve a peaceful and prosperous life, despite his flawless actions, and has climbed through the realization that he needs someone stronger than himself to mediate between him and God. He has reached the absolute peak of revelation with his declaration that he will see his Redeemer stand upon the earth, and now, he begins his descent back into his life with this changed spiritual mindset and repaired and refined theology. In other words, now that Job understands his own efforts are not enough and he needs someone to save him, the question is –

What now?

Or, in the words of Francis Schaeffer, How Then Shall We Live?

Job’s friends have made it clear what they believe. They very much represent what the people down in the valley on the other side, who have not climbed this mountain, still believe. Literarily, they provide a contrast to show the extent of his spiritual growth and change.

Physically, literally, they present an insurmountable obstacle. At this point, Job is in an impossible rhetorical position: even though all evidence is on his side, and even though he is telling the truth, he cannot win this argument because of the prejudice of his opponents. Their preconceived beliefs about how the world should be, how they want it to be, prevent them from seeing this situation for what it is. Their own arguments are circular and self-perpetuating: because you are suffering, you are sinful, and because you are sinful, you are untrustworthy, and because you are untrustworthy, your self-defense is sinful, and because you are sinful, you are suffering. They have fallen into the fallacy of presumed guilt. Job cannot reason with them because they don’t believe a word he says. They don’t believe a word he says because of who they believe he is. They believe he is someone he is not, but because of what that is, he cannot even defend himself. He is entirely bound and gagged, and though they tied the gag themselves, they condemn him for not answering.

In frustration, Job wishes for a more reasonable audience: God.

Would he use his great power to argue with me?
No, he would give me a fair hearing.
Honest people can reason with him,
so I would be forever acquitted by my judge. (Job 23:6-7)

I can just imagine Job rolling his eyes, throwing up his hands and saying, “I wish I could talk to God and settle this!” He has no doubt that the God who sees all and knows all truth would at least acknowledge what he is saying as true, unlike his “friends”!

This is where Job has arrived on his spiritual journey: he has realized that what he really needs to do, since no human can offer him the right solution, since no human can offer him hope, is to go straight to the source.

But he knows where I am going.
And when he tests me, I will come out as pure as gold. (Job 23:10)

He needs to talk to God. He does not think it will change anything –

But once he has made his decision, who can change his mind?
    Whatever he wants to do, he does.
So he will do to me whatever he has planned.
    He controls my destiny.
No wonder I am so terrified in his presence.
    When I think of it, terror grips me. (Job 23:13-15)

But it is the only consolation he has left to him, to be acquitted by God. So he wants to talk to God.

Small hiccup: Where is God?

Thursday: Love and Limits

“But why can’t I come now, Lord?” he asked. “I’m ready to die for you.”

Jesus answered, “Die for me? I tell you the truth, Peter—before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know me. (John 13:38)

The Scriptures detailing the events and conversations that we now call Holy Week are some of the most rich and beautiful literature in existence. Do you realize how radical this conversation is? Do you realize how detailed, how well-preserved, how human and raw and real this record is! So much of our recorded history is glossy and air-brushed, altered to make our heroes look just a little more divine. What makes the Scriptures such an anomaly is this conversation exactly, the open acknowledgment that humans are weak of heart and riddled with chemical floods of emotion that make us act on instinct over principle. That Peter, who loved his Lord with all his being, who walked on water, who saw Jesus standing on a mountain with Moses and Elijah, who could hardly bear to have his feet washed, who in a peaceful moment meant to die in his place, would instead panic and self-preserve when the actual choice to die smashed through the wall of the theoretical and became reality. Peter. Even Peter.

Whatever boasts we are tempted to make about our own faith or abilities ought to fall to the side at Jesus’ answer to Peter’s boast. If we believe ourselves more capable of love than we are, then we will never understand how much greater he really is. Sometimes we say so often that Jesus died for our sins, that he rose again, that we are trying to live like Jesus, that we diminish in our own minds the enormity of what that means! We start to fool ourselves into thinking we are imitating him well, when in fact like Peter our actions are a far cry from what we imagine them to be. We start to think it’s not so hard to love like Jesus did. And when we overestimate our own goodness, we undervalue his.

Seeing Jesus clearly begins by seeing ourselves clearly. So the Scriptures do not airbrush anyone. Peter does not die for the friend who loves him perfectly; he swears he does not even know him. Judas robs him dry and sells him. John just sits by, frozen, and watches the bullies tear him apart. One unnamed young disciple flees naked in terror, wiggling himself out of his clothes rather than forfeit his life. They act and react like panicking humans. And after it all, Jesus says,

“Let these others go.” (John 18:8)

There is no other hero in ancient literature who trades himself for traitors, thieves, bullies, and cowards. When men write stories, they show heroes trampling such villains under their feet, triumphing over those who have wronged them and emerging, vindicated and victorious, to live in peace. Do you realize how radical this one and only story is? There is nothing else like this in our entire canon. There is no other such hero. Mercy exists in the tales of God alone.

Drop your boasts and look at your real reflection. Now read the events of Maundy Thursday, and let yourself stand in silence; look at him. Just look at him. Be overcome with awe and ache with yearning. This is where worship begins.

The stone the builders rejected
    has become the cornerstone;
the Lord has done this,
    and it is marvelous in our eyes.
The Lord has done it this very day;
    let us rejoice today and be glad. (Psalm 118:22-24)

The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes.

Talk About Trouble: Chapter 22

Then you will take delight in the Almighty
    and look up to God.
You will pray to him, and he will hear you,
    and you will fulfill your vows to him.
You will succeed in whatever you choose to do,
    and light will shine on the road ahead of you. (Job 22:26-28)

If you could summarize almost every major world religion, it would sound like Job 22:26-28. 1) If you make this deity, ideal, being, or force your focus and 2) follow all these rules – pray in this way, follow these precepts, etc. 3) then you will get everything you want (or, sometimes, everything we tell you you *should* want). That’s it. That’s the basic premise of *almost* every religion that has ever existed. Do what we tell you and you’ll get what you came for. Even exchange. What a bargain.

So Eliphaz refuses to concede Job’s point, then. He won’t budge. The more Job insists he is innocent, the more blatantly Eliphaz accuses him.

Is it because you’re so pious that he accuses you
and brings judgment against you?
No, it’s because of your wickedness!
There’s no limit to your sins. (Job 22:4-5)

Since Job won’t tell them what he’s done, he begins to invent accusations, in case maybe Job doesn’t understand what sin is. He gives him examples of things he may have done without even realizing it –

For example, you must have lent money to your friend
    and demanded clothing as security.
    Yes, you stripped him to the bone.
You must have refused water for the thirsty
    and food for the hungry.
You probably think the land belongs to the powerful
    and only the privileged have a right to it!
You must have sent widows away empty-handed
    and crushed the hopes of orphans. (Job 22:6-9)

There is a glaring problem with this argument, of course. 1) Job has already told them he has done nothing but take care of the weak and the poor and 2) they’ve seen it for themselves! His reputation is untainted by scandal, people have nothing but good things to say about him, and no one will testify against him. There is no foundation for these accusations. Poorly reasoned, Professor.

Submit to God, and you will have peace;
then things will go well for you. (Job 22:21)

In verse 21 Eliphaz reaches the culmination and conclusion of his argument. You can solve this problem by just repenting and doing what God said, Job. Just get it over with already so we can all go home. Eliphaz, splash! in the water saving his drowning buddy Job.

One small problem, of course. He has not been listening. Job has nothing to apologize for!

Talk About Trouble: Chapter 21

“How can your empty clichés comfort me?
All your explanations are lies!” (Job 21:34)

When our children are little and we want them to stop crying, we say, “You’re okay. It’s okay. Everything is okay.” Sometimes it’s true. But more often it’s dismissive. And what are we really saying except, “Your suffering is bothering me. Please stop expressing it!”

We never grow out of this discomfort with others’ suffering. Pain is a shared experience, whether we mean it to be or not. We have many ways of shaming the hurting into silence; we tell them it’s not as bad as they say, others have it worse, they should be grateful that it isn’t worse. Stop whining. Put your big girl pants on. Everyone has to do it. It’s temporary. You can handle it. This is what you get for [fill in the blank]. Deal with it. What we’re really saying is: I am powerless to help you, and it hurts, so if you could please stop hurting me that’d be great. Who, I ask, are we actually trying to help?

Job called his friends out. He said you know what’s really unhelpful right now guys? Lies. Telling me that what’s right in front of my face is not right in front of my face. Telling me it’s not so bad, it’s okay, everything is going to be okay when my skin is *literally* falling off, my children are dead, I’ve been robbed and wrecked and reduced to my final breath – not helpful. You’re supposed to be comforting me, and all you’re really worried about is you.

I said it before, and I’ll say it again: humans are miserable comforters. The fact of the matter is most of the time we don’t have the emotional capacity to carry others’ suffering, and though we want the best for the people we love, we’re too arrogant – or too scared – to admit we’re not it. So we try. And we lie. And we drown ourselves beside them.

When I was a little girl, my grandparents had a pool. I was out swimming one day with some of my cousins when the younger sister went too far into the deep end and started to drown. I remember watching her flail and scream, “HELP!” and panicking because I had no idea what to do. Of course I would have pulled her out if I could have, but I was smaller than she was and could not swim! But her older sister yelled, “I’ll save you!” and dove in after her. I remember watching the younger sister almost pull her under in her panic, and I watched them both struggle back to the side of the pool.

I have never seen my grandfather angrier than he was that day. He came tearing out of the house, ripped the life ring off the fence, and shouted, “Do you see THIS! NEVER THROW YOURSELF IN TO SAVE SOMEONE WHO IS DROWNING! You throw THIS!” and he threw the life ring down on the ground so hard the smack terrified us all.

I feel his rebuke to the corners of my spherical soul.

My cousin had meant to be brave and valiant. She did all she could think to do in the moment. But she had relied too much on herself, and my grandfather was right. She could have gotten them both drowned.

In the book of Job, Job is drowning in disillusionment, and he’s going to drown them all.

Why do the wicked prosper,
    growing old and powerful?
They live to see their children grow up and settle down,
    and they enjoy their grandchildren.
Their homes are safe from every fear,
    and God does not punish them. (Job 21:7-9)

Job confronts them with the truth: not everyone gets what we believe they deserve. Of all the facts of life, this one is the hardest to reconcile with a good God. Life. Is. Not. Fair. His friends have done what most do; clung to the belief that cheaters, thieves, liars, the greedy and selfish and cruel, will eventually get what’s coming to them. They have clung to the belief that their own prosperity is the direct result of God’s favorable opinion of their righteousness. They have lived in denial, and Job is making them face what they do not want to face: LIFE. IS. NOT. FAIR.

They spend their days in prosperity,
    then go down to the grave in peace.
And yet they say to God, ‘Go away.
    We want no part of you and your ways.
Who is the Almighty, and why should we obey him?
    What good will it do us to pray?’
(They think their prosperity is of their own doing,
    but I will have nothing to do with that kind of thinking.) (Job 21:13-14)

When I was teaching, a colleague of mine told me one day, “Don’t worry too much about cheaters. The honest kids will call them out. It bothers them when someone else gets the credit they worked for without doing the work.” And you know what? It was true. I didn’t have to police the cheaters because their hard-working peers were angry enough to turn them in. Job has seen too many people get the blessings he got without putting in the work. He’s angry. They cheated, and he didn’t. No one hates a cheater as much as the cheated! But he’s angry because he knows God already knows, God has the power to do something about it, and he appears to have done nothing to stop them or punish them for it. It is God Job accuses. And even he cannot believe his wrath’s audacity.

My complaint is with God, not with people.
    I have good reason to be so impatient.
Look at me and be stunned.
    Put your hand over your mouth in shock.
When I think about what I am saying, I shudder.
    My body trembles. (Job 21:4-6)

It’s not like Job wants this to be true. That is what his friends don’t understand. He’s not saying any of this to justify or excuse his own actions. He is just in a position where he cannot deny it any longer. I can hear weariness in him when he says,

Look, I know what you’re thinking.
    I know the schemes you plot against me.
You will tell me of rich and wicked people
    whose houses have vanished because of their sins.
But ask those who have been around,
    and they will tell you the truth.
Evil people are spared in times of calamity
    and are allowed to escape disaster.
No one criticizes them openly
    or pays them back for what they have done.
When they are carried to the grave,
    an honor guard keeps watch at their tomb.
A great funeral procession goes to the cemetery.
    Many pay their respects as the body is laid to rest,
    and the earth gives sweet repose. (Job 21:27-33)

I can hear him saying, “Guys, I can’t pretend anymore. I am tired of pretending!” Grief has a way of making us crave something real.

The question is – will Job’s friends finally throw him a life ring? Or are they going to keep throwing themselves in instead?

Talk About Trouble: Chapter 20

You know that moment when you first step on a patch of ice and your foot moves in a way you did not intend? What is your reaction to losing the control you took for granted a moment before?

I imagine Job’s three friends are feeling all of those things that people feel in a moment of lost control. I don’t know that there’s anything scarier than that feeling, and I think most of the things that scare us can be boiled down to this: I lost control of the outcome. I could not make what I wanted to happen – happen.

That’s scary. It’s pain and loss and weakness. It’s vulnerability to suffering. Some people are so afraid of suffering that they spend their whole lives building defenses against it. And in the end – they must cross through it anyway. Zophar is completely insulted by the thought.

I must reply
because I am greatly disturbed.
I’ve had to endure your insults,
but now my spirit prompts me to reply. (Job 20:2-3)

NO, Job. That’s not the way the world works. Input = Output, it HAS TO. I can control my own destiny. I can do what is right, and God will HAVE to bless me. With the holiness of my actions, I can control him, too. Only the wicked are vulnerable to suffering.

Don’t you realize that from the beginning of time,
    ever since people were first placed on the earth,
the triumph of the wicked has been short lived
    and the joy of the godless has been only temporary?
Though the pride of the godless reaches to the heavens
    and their heads touch the clouds,
yet they will vanish forever,
    thrown away like their own dung.
Those who knew them will ask,
    ‘Where are they?’
They will fade like a dream and not be found.
    They will vanish like a vision in the night. (Job 20:4-8)

“From the beginning of time,” he says. It’s always been this way. It will always be this way. Do not scare me with a God who plays by rules I don’t understand.

We run into a theology here that is easy to slip into: God will act in ways I understand. There is comfort in the familiar, the known, the understood; I easily slip into wanting a God I can understand, too. But do we? Do we really want a God limited by our own understanding? Do I really want a God who always agrees with me? I know how often I am wrong! Don’t I want a God who understands what I do not?

But what if – stay with me – this God who understands what I do not does something I don’t like. Do I still want him? What if he allows me to suffer when I don’t think I deserve it. What if he lets someone who hurt me get away with it. What if a flood doesn’t sweep away their house, and what if they don’t vanish like a nightmare in the morning.

The heavens will reveal their guilt,
    and the earth will testify against them.
A flood will sweep away their house.
    God’s anger will descend on them in torrents.
This is the reward that God gives the wicked.
    It is the inheritance decreed by God. (Job 20:27-29)

What if his understanding is so complex that he inputs things I don’t see to get the output he deems best?

“We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.” -C.S. Lewis

I understand Zophar’s determination to hold onto an understanding of the world that keeps himself in firm and complete control. I share that determination – often. But his determination to not need rescuing – his determination to keep his feet planted firmly beneath him, thank you! – is blinding him to something better than the pressure and responsibility of saving himself. It is blinding him to what God, who understands more than he does, has called best. It is blinding him to dependence on the God who is utterly dependable.

Even when he looks like something else to us.

Talk About Trouble: Chapter 19

Job 19 contains one of the most quoted passages in the Bible. It is certainly the most quoted from the book of Job, the one we can really sink our teeth into and feel good about it, the one we like, the moment of hope and redemption in the midst of despair:

But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives,
    and he will stand upon the earth at last.
And after my body has decayed,
    yet in my body I will see God!
I will see him for myself.
    Yes, I will see him with my own eyes.
    I am overwhelmed at the thought! (Job 19:25-27)

These verses are beautiful, a true anthem for all who are suffering. This is the sturdier hope, the eternal hope that carries us through our worst moments! But we’ll come back to that. Job 19 is more than just these three verses, and there is a verse here that has haunted me for days. I have meditated on it, troubled over the errors I have found in my own heart at different points along the way, wondered if maybe we don’t talk about it enough.

What is so wrong about the argument made by Job’s three friends?

Remember when I said sometimes I wonder? Well, I think I’m starting to figure it out.

You think you’re better than I am,
using my humiliation as evidence of my sin. (Job 19:5)

If we view suffering or punishment – humiliation, as Job puts it, or in other versions disgrace, reproach, troubles, problems, shame – as our sole evidence of sin — if we reject Job’s plea of innocence as the deceit of a guilty man — then who else will we accuse of the same? Who else will we not believe suffered though he was innocent? Who else endured punishment, the full weight of God’s wrath, though he himself did nothing wrong? If we take the side of Job’s three friends, we will look right over Jesus.

I don’t know if I said that loud enough.

IF WE VIEW SUFFERING AS EVIDENCE OF WRONGDOING, WE ARE BLIND TO THE MESSIAH.

In some small way, it reminds me of the doctors and other medical professionals who were so bent on fixing me, the young mom who clearly didn’t know what she was doing, and what I was doing “wrong” that they almost missed the heart defects in my babies. They were blind to the real problem because they had fixated on an assumed problem: me. What if we are blind to the real solution (Jesus!) because we are fixated on something else? What if we are trying so hard to do everything right to save ourselves that we don’t even see the humble, homeless, hungry and exhausted traveling tradesman who says things we don’t like and gets himself arrested and crucified? What if we let our own self-righteousness blind us to God’s greatest gift of mercy and grace?

What if Job had gotten everything he believed he deserved, what if he’d been allowed to keep it, and what if he’d died believing he’d been strong enough to save himself? What if he’d stood before the God of the universe and found, at the end, his own righteousness compared to God’s – what if he’d seen how short he fell, not because he was not the best he could be, but because he was just too small? What if God had let him believe he, in his own mere human power, could compare with God? Would that have been just? Is it just to let a toddler arm wrestle an adult for his salvation? What if the justice of God considers knowledge of things greater than our minds can hold – what if God’s justice is full and complete, based on things we can’t even know. Are we arrogant enough to say such things do not exist?

Throughout this conversation, because he has suddenly become aware of his own vulnerability, Job has repeatedly cried out for a mediator, someone to stand between him and God and turn away God’s wrath from him. He knows he has done all that he knows to do to earn God’s favor and blessing, and still it has been ripped from his hands. He knows there is nothing more he can do on this earth than what he has already done! He knows he needs someone with more oomph than he has to stand up for him. And it took coming to the absolute end of his own power and ability and failing to gain what he’d tried to gain – security – for Job to realize his need for a Savior, for someone stronger and wiser and more powerful. And it took suffering “unjustly” by his understanding for Job to understand that suffering is not only a direct punishment for the sufferer’s sin. It took all of this for him to be able to see and understand clearly the Savior who was coming. It took all of this for him to be able to recognize Jesus.

And when he finally sees clearly, that is when he cries:

But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives,
    and he will stand upon the earth at last.
And after my body has decayed,
    yet in my body I will see God!
I will see him for myself.
    Yes, I will see him with my own eyes.
    I am overwhelmed at the thought! (Job 19:25-27)

I know on the front cover of this book, I know in the prologue, the first two chapters, I KNOW it looks like what the Lord has allowed done to Job is completely and entirely unfair. The Lord doesn’t even like doing it – it’s not the sort of thing that brings him pleasure. But we know he is faithful and just and accomplishes his own purposes in his own ways, so how does these two truths reconcile? I don’t know the mind of the Lord, and I can’t see all he accomplished by allowing this to happen to Job. But I do see this: God, who loved Job with a love we cannot even fathom, faithfully corrected Job’s vision so that Job could see a hope that would outlast his own life. God, who loved Job with a love that has no boundaries, stripped Job of the belief that he could save himself, so that he could see what his friends could not – so that Job could see Jesus, plain and clear as day, thousands of years before he walked on this earth.

God looked at Job and said, “I love him so much, I will give him more than the earth. I will give him myself.”

Let that knock your brains around a bit. Thousands of years before Job’s Redeemer walked on the earth, Job said,

Oh, that my words could be recorded.
Oh, that they could be inscribed on a monument,
carved with an iron chisel and filled with lead,
engraved forever in the rock. (Job 19: 23-24)

And then he said –

I know that my Redeemer lives,
and he will stand upon the earth at last. (Job 19:25)

…I will see God! I will see him for myself. (Job 19:26-27)

Of all the words Job wanted to save for us to hear, it was these. Of all the knowledge he had, it was this knowledge that he wanted to ring like a town bell through the ages for all to hear! That though even he, Job, with all his goodness and power and righteousness, was not enough to save himself from the hand of God should God decide against him, there is an even greater hope than self-sufficiency. There IS someone who stands between men and God, and there IS someone who turns God’s wrath from us all.

There IS A SAVIOR.

It is God himself, the Word made flesh.

There is a Jesus. ❤

Talk About Trouble: Chapter 18

Oh, boy. Bildad’s back, and he’s changing his tack. For a refresher because it’s hard to keep straight which friend said what, remember: Bildad’s first argument was that Job’s kids must’ve sinned and brought on this punishment, but that it would all get better if Job would just say he’s sorry for his kids’ sins and move on. Those naughty kids are to blame! Definitely the right thing to tell a grieving parent, Bildad. Good job. How’s that foot taste?

How long before you stop talking?
    Speak sense if you want us to answer!
Do you think we are mere animals?
    Do you think we are stupid?
You may tear out your hair in anger,
    but will that destroy the earth?
    Will it make the rocks tremble? (Job 18:2-4)

Oh, wow, that good, huh? I don’t know about you, but that whole “you can rip your hair out, but it won’t change anything” sounds kinda like something you might say to a tantrum-throwing toddler. And then! And then Bildad tosses his whole “it was your kids’ fault” right out the window and comes straight for Job:

Terrors surround the wicked
    and trouble them at every step.
Hunger depletes their strength,
    and calamity waits for them to stumble.
Disease eats their skin;
    death devours their limbs. (Job 18:11-13)

Hmmm quick context refresher:

So Satan left the Lord’s presence, and he struck Job with terrible boils from head to foot. (Job 2:7)

And another jab:

The homes of the wicked will burn down;
burning sulfur rains on their houses. (Job 18:15)

And some more context review:

While he was still speaking, another messenger arrived with this news: “The fire of God has fallen from heaven and burned up your sheep and all the shepherds. I am the only one who escaped to tell you.” (Job 1:16)

And let’s make the last blow really drive the point home:

They will have neither children nor grandchildren,
    nor any survivor in the place where they lived.
People in the west are appalled at their fate;
    people in the east are horrified.
They will say, ‘This was the home of a wicked person,
    the place of one who rejected God.’” (Job 18:19-21)

While he was still speaking, another messenger arrived with this news: “Your sons and daughters were feasting in their oldest brother’s home. Suddenly, a powerful wind swept in from the wilderness and hit the house on all sides. The house collapsed, and all your children are dead. I am the only one who escaped to tell you.” (Job 1:18-19)

Oh, Bildad. Never one to pull your punches, were you. If this is comfort and consolation, I’ll pass. First – “your tantrum is childish” then – “you big sinner.” Wow. I hope I’ve never sounded quite like Bildad. I am afraid I may have, once or twice. Or more <wince>. Eesh. Not a pretty picture in that mirror.

I suppose this is what we all look like when we start expressing opinions we don’t have enough information to support. When we think we know things we don’t actually know. When we start trying to to make ourselves right rather than trying to seek the real right. God’s right.

I used to work at the writing center in college, and so often I would have students come in with a paper they had written entirely without evidence. I would watch them pick out quotes from whatever source supported their arguments best, and I would get to thinking how poorly we humans reason. Over and over I taught people to start from the evidence as the foundation, build main points from the ground up, and put the thesis on like the roof to cover it all. I would tell them, again and again, that if you build the roof first it’s going to collapse.

Again and again, I am guilty of forming opinions about others that are not supported by the evidence. I build my roofs with nothing underneath them, like Bildad. Without support, a roof is just a pile of sticks in the mud. A useless waste of space and resources. How many of my opinions are the same?

Lord, shut my mouth to any but your words!

And in response to this barefaced attack, when the false is exposed for what it is and the truth shines out with its real light – then Job sees what’s been there all along.

The best part is coming. Job is about to find his eternal hope. ❤

Talk About Trouble: Chapter 17

My spirit is crushed,
and my life is nearly snuffed out.
The grave is ready to receive me. (Job 17:1)

I have been stuck on Job 17 for days. I have been grieving it with Job, feeling the poignancy of his lament. There are questions here, real questions, that are worth asking.

Where then is my hope?
Can anyone find it? (Job 17:15)

Job 17 is the tree our American Christianity kite gets so wrapped up in: misery, the kind of misery that makes death look friendlier than life. The yearning for a quick end, the fear of lingering on for no purpose but to suffer. If you’ve ever heard someone you love express a desire to die, if you’ve ever had to consider the choice between suffering and death for a loved one, if you’ve ever questioned which is better for yourself, you know – Job’s words tear down a veil we have constructed for a reason. It covers the picture of Dorian Gray; it wraps the ghost of Christmas future; it disguises the shadow of death. We are afraid to look behind it; we are afraid to become what’s behind it.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4, NKJV)

There are things we teach our children: we don’t touch fire, we don’t look at the sun, and we don’t greet death like he’s welcome here – like he’s one of us, like he’s part of us. These things are dangerous. They damage.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

– Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night

What do we know of death but its cold shoulder? What should it know of us but ours. Right? And yet, death lurks over us; it is written into our cells and seasons and natural world, and though we try to ignore its presence, it blocks the light and warmth of the sun. It casts a shadow. And we live in it.

When someone like Job – someone who we admired, revered even – falls into this level of despair, of yearning for death – it calls into question everything we live for. It makes us look at death, and most of us would rather ignore that face. American Christians especially shy away from it. Life. Jesus brings life. We talk about life.

The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life. (John 10:10)

Sometimes, I think we talk about life so much that we have forgotten what it means to live in death’s shadow. We live as if we will go on living forever, when in fact, we are made to live as those who are dying. We build the wrong things, invest our time and energy in the temporal while neglecting the eternal. We trade the eternal joy of heaven for the fleeting pleasures of earth. This is the danger of forgetting death: we wish, we hope, we desire poorly.

It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased. – C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory, and Other Addresses

Job’s depression is hard to sit beside, hard to read, hard to face because it lurks within us all. In our deep places that we keep shut off from our waking mind, the places where our fears reside, the question floats atop an answer few of us have the courage to test: what will I do when my hope is gone? What will happen when there’s nothing left I want?

My days are over.
My hopes have disappeared.
My heart’s desires are broken. (Job 17:11)

By this point, Job has given up trying to convince his friends of his innocence with his arguments. For that, he appeals to God, who alone knows the state of his heart. His anger is running thin, an energy that he has exhausted, and all that is left under it is sorrow. His anger has left him depleted. He’s tired.

What if I go to the grave^[a]
    and make my bed in darkness?
What if I call the grave my father,
    and the maggot my mother or my sister?
Where then is my hope?
    Can anyone find it?
No, my hope will go down with me to the grave.
    We will rest together in the dust! (Job 17:13-16)

Look at his language. I realize this is a translation, that it can only convey his meaning so well because different cultures embed their own beliefs into their language, but in English, the language around death rings similar to the language around sleep, and in some ways, one is a parallel, symbolic of the other. I believe from the translations I have read – how Jesus had to clarify that Lazarus was dead because the disciples thought he really meant sleeping, how “he rested with his fathers” is the way of saying a man died – that the same connotations are embedded in Job’s language, too. I don’t know that. But I suspect. I suspect what translates as “make my bed in darkness” and “we will rest together in the dust” are both fairly straight translations. The Strong’s Hebrew concordance supports this. Job is tired, and the language he uses is language of rest. He craves satisfying rest; he finds none left in life, and since his exhaustion seems so permanent, he seeks a rest more permanent.

And this is why I think the book is Job is not actually about suffering, as is commonly believed. I think the book of Job is about hope. Because hope is our reason for carrying on through pain and suffering and exhaustion. Job, in chapter 17, could find no more reason to carry on – because he’d misplaced his hope. Like so many of us, his hope was in the temporal. Like so many of us, his hope was flimsy. Like so many of us, his hope snapped under the weight – of death.

No, my hope will go down with me to the grave.
We will rest together in the dust! (Job 17:16)

Job needs better hope. His life depends on it. Job needs a Savior – the same Savior who is foreshadowed in his own feelings, words, circumstances:

My spirit is crushed,
and my life is nearly snuffed out.
The grave is ready to receive me. (Job 17:1)

He took Peter, James, and John with him, and he became deeply troubled and distressed. He told them, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” (Mark 14:33-34)

I am surrounded by mockers.
I watch how bitterly they taunt me. (Job 17:2)

God has made a mockery of me among the people;
they spit in my face. (Job 17:6)

The soldiers took Jesus into the courtyard of the governor’s headquarters (called the Praetorium) and called out the entire regiment. They dressed him in a purple robe, and they wove thorn branches into a crown and put it on his head. Then they saluted him and taunted, “Hail! King of the Jews!” And they struck him on the head with a reed stick, spit on him, and dropped to their knees in mock worship. (Mark 15:16-19)

You must defend my innocence, O God,
since no one else will stand up for me.
You have closed their minds to understanding,
but do not let them triumph. (Job 17:3-4)

Inside, the leading priests and the entire high council were trying to find evidence against Jesus, so they could put him to death. But they couldn’t find any. Many false witnesses spoke against him, but they contradicted each other. (Mark 14:55-56)

They betray their friends for their own advantage,
so let their children faint with hunger. (Job 17:5)

Then Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve disciples, went to the leading priests to arrange to betray Jesus to them. (Mark 14:10)

My eyes are swollen with weeping,
and I am but a shadow of my former self. (Job 17:7)

Then Jesus wept. (John 11:35)

The virtuous are horrified when they see me.
The innocent rise up against the ungodly. (Job 17:8)

A large crowd trailed behind, including many grief-stricken women. But Jesus turned and said to them, “Daughters of Jerusalem, don’t weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. (Luke 23:27-28)

When the Roman officer overseeing the execution saw what had happened, he worshiped God and said, “Surely this man was innocent.” And when all the crowd that came to see the crucifixion saw what had happened, they went home in deep sorrow. (Luke 23:47-48)

Even as Job cried out for better hope, his life prophesied his coming: the sturdy hope who can bear the weight of even death and loss and suffering. Messiah. Hold on, Job. He’s coming! Better hope has come at last!

Job wants Jesus. ❤

Tag: hope