(this is a scene from a story I am working on)
“I know. I know, my boy. So it seems. Hopeless. But think of this. When Abraham was about to
lose everything, God sent an angel to comfort him and stop his hand. When Moses
was cast into the desert, a burning bush appeared to him and when Job was
utterly lost and without hope –even from his friends—what happened?”
“What?”
“God answered him. Not in words, not in reasons, but by
revelation. God revealed Himself to Job. That was His answer. Job was a good
man who suffered unjustly –we would say—suffered not because he had done
anything wrong, but simply because bad things happened to him. And what was the result, my dear?”
“Yes.”
“What was the result?”
“Yes.” Henry felt his chest begin to
tremble. The sense of emotion and anxiety and dread and a sudden euphoric joy
overwhelmed him. His voice broke as he repeated, “Yes.”
“Oh dear. Yes. You’re right. It was
something beyond. A vision of God’s splendor. You’ve heard people speak of the
transcendent, haven’t you? Yes. Dear me.
I know you have. You’re not a fool. I know that. But, do you understand? God didn’t answer Job
in human terms. Not in the way that Job and his friend were thinking of an
answer. No. They were all good men, so to speak. Don’t you imagine? They all
had good intentions. But God said to Job: Gird up your loins, and then as…
well, by way of… yes, well, then He… what does God do? He… well, He challenges
Job. But, you understand. Don’t you, my dear? You understand God wasn’t being
mean. He wasn’t belittling Job. No. No. Dear
me. God doesn’t work that way. He was simply, and transcendently –yes. Yes.
Very transcendentally… revealing Himself in all His splendor… all His
glory. Think about those images: the
storehouse of the snow, the pedestals of the earth, the great and terrible
behemoth –Who can put a hook in his nose?—and the birthing of the gentle
mountain goat… the womb of the seas, telling the water it may come this far and
no more… Do you understand? It’s all so amazing and wonderful. It’s all so
awesome in the actual sense of that word. Not like the kids would say: an
awesome movie! You know? But awesome in the sense of, well… awe inspiring.
Truly awe inspiring. And what happens? What does Job do?”
“He places his hand over his mouth…”
“Yes. Yes. That’s right and he says though I spoke before I will not speak again.
He is truly and utterly…”
“Yes…” Henry whispered.
“Yes. Yes. That’s it. People often think this is because Job
realized he shouldn’t challenge God. He shouldn’t ask God to defend
Himself. But that’s all wrong. People
often mistakenly say that the answer Job gets is that things are too big for
people, even someone as great as Job, to understand. As if God were chastising
Job and putting him in his place. As if
God were saying to Job: what right have you to question me? But Job isn’t a book about an inscrutable God
and His unfathomable ways. It is a book
about suffering –though ultimately, you see, not about misery—No. No. It’s about the power of suffering. The –what
does Peter call it? …the refiner’s fire. Job endures the refiner’s fire. Unjust
sufferings, seemingly endless miseries, and never learns why… and yet in the
end what happens?”
Henry simply stared, unable to speak.
“He gets a glimpse of the truth; of God’s
glory. Don’t you see?”
“Yes.” He whispered.
“Is it possible? Is it possible, my dear
friend, that God reveals Himself through His cross? Through the cross we come
to understand God. Through our own part in that cross we come to understand
Him; not intellectually. I don’t mean that. But to –in a way—taste a moment of
His –what? Glory? I think taste might be a better word because we don’t really
think of understanding a cheeseburger, but when we taste it we know what it is
and we even know something of its splendor. If it’s a good one, of course. I
have to say I do like a good cheeseburger. Yes. Ruby Red. Oh, the peanuts. Yes.
Oh dear. Oh dear. I miss Ruby Reds.”
Henry chuckled. “Yes, Father. Me too.”
“I just… oh dear, me. But. Do you understand what I am trying to
say? I am trying to say that perhaps the story of Job isn’t about the suffering
itself but about the experience; and in the end --do you see?—it’s about what
comes of it. Is it possible, dear dear
Henry. I know I’m not supposed to know who you are, but you know I do. I’m
sorry. I do. Is it possible that what you are going
through, and of course it is a kind of crucible, I know that. I know. Yes. I
know. Oh dear… But is it possible that
God is trying to reveal Himself to you? through this? Through your wife’s
suffering. Through your job? Through your struggle? Even and maybe especially
through your brother. Oh, dear Henry. You are Job. If ever I knew one, you... I pray for you often. Daily. I do. But, am I
just like one of Job’s friends? Am I just a foolish old priest making pompous
statements about things I don’t understand? Oh, Henry. I don’t know. I don’t
know anything. Don’t listen to me. What do I know about wives and sufferings. I
was an only child and now I’m an old priest. And you, you my son… I think you
are a saint. In the making, at least. Oh dear. Dear. Dear, me. I’m sorry.
Sometimes I just say things. I don’t know why.
Do you pray to Joseph? Pray to Saint Joseph. If anyone will understand
your troubles, it will be him. Pray to him now. As your act of contrition.
Please. Let us do this together. Both of us.”
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