Comforting the downcast: some thoughts on the friends of Job

“...For He casts down the pride of the arrogant,

but He saves those of downcast eyes. He rescues

anyone who is innocent...”

--Job 22:29-30

“Have your hands clean, and you will be saved...” is how the above passage ends.  Eliphaz is telling Job what sounds like good advice.  It seems true. I think that is part of what makes it sound so strange to me.  Here we have one of those famous friends of Job who have come to comfort him in his hour of need. According to the story, this man has sat in the dirt in silence with Job for three days out of sympathy for his friend.  He (along with Bildad, Zophar and Job) has –at this point in the story—now engaged in a spirited debate about God’s justice and mercy for almost 20 chapters (and there are still a few more to come).  And in the end the main thrust of his argument (and of Zophar & Bildad) is that if you repent and confess your sins, God will be merciful. God saves “...those of downcast eyes. He rescues anyone who is innocent...”  And one can imagine these same words coming out of a minister today:

Brothers and sisters!

The cleansing power of Jesus has come to wash your sins away!

He will wash the stain of sin from your hands.  His saving blood

will wash your whiter than snow. Let Jesus wash you! Let Jesus

wash the stain of sin off your hands and you will be saved!

I can hear it.  But the problem is –the complication here in this particular story is—that Job is not being punished for any particular sin.  And though this supposedly wise friend doesn’t know that, we do –because we read chapters 1 and 2 and we saw God talking with Satan and handing Job over to him.  We know that what has befallen Job has nothing to do with any sin Job has committed but simply because God has allowed it. God has allowed Satan power over his servant Job as part of some heavenly “test.”  And so, in the back of my head as I read this advice, what am I supposed to make of it? What am I to make of Job’s friends and their seemingly wise (if banal) theological advice?

Too often these three are simply dismissed as stooges; straw men.  The fact that they don’t have any idea what is going on between God and Job, is used as an excuse to dismiss without consideration them and the theology they rode in on.  And this is all because of the context.  We know the story and so we know their basic premise –that Job has brought these afflictions upon himself—is wrong.  And in the context of the book, it begins to seem a little ironic that such seemingly good advice (or theology) is so very wrong.  Which leaves me only to remark on the inspired use of irony by the author of this book:  A character (3 of them, in fact) propose something we believe to be true about God and His justice, His mercy, and yet the in the context of the narrative these truths are shown (ironically) to be completely false.  That seems kind of bold –on both a literary and a theological level.  And yet, to push my point a little further, let me move forward to chapter 25 & 26 where Bildad offers a vision of God that prefigures God’s own response to Job at the end of the book. Bildad asks whether anyone can be virtuous in God’s eyes? God, who “spreads the North above the void” who “fastens up the water in the clouds” who sets a boundary between light and dark, who crushes Rahab (i.e. the behemoth, not the woman from Jericho), whose breath gives light to the heavens; a God who transcends human imagining... who of us can be virtuous in His eyes? What right do we have to question His judgment? Well, that’s certainly true.  And yet, Job responds to this with a statement so bitter and sarcastic that it made my heart leap.  He says:

“To one so weak, what a help you are...” (26:1)

I almost laughed out loud when I read this; it caught me off guard to stumble upon something so sarcastic and obviously humorous in the midst of all this suffering.  It is as if Job says to his friends:

Oh, of course you are right. Yes. It is such a comfort to know

that my children died, my crops failed, my property has been destroyed

and my skin is falling off and my wife is encouraging me to commit

suicide –but God is so amazing and transcendent that I shouldn’t
question His plans!  Anyway, I’m sure I must have done something
wrong. Yes, even these running sores must be part of God’s amazing plan.
Thank you. Now I understand and now everything feels better. 
Thank you. What a comfort and a help you are; such dear dear friends!

Please come again!  Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
–If only I still had a door.

It also struck me as a kind of slap in the face.  I recognized in it an honest and bitter response to such theologizing of pain.  “To one so weak, what a help you are...” Those words spoke to me about the value of such talk; to speak of suffering and God’s majesty in such a way suddenly felt sacrilegious. And I began to wonder, how many times have I been like Bildad or Eliphaz?  How many times have I –sincerely trying to comfort someone—fell into the trap of platitudes about God’s glory and mercy and love and how we can’t understand –but God has His plans and we just need to repent and... And I wondered, how much harm have I done?  How many hearts have I hardened by my words of comfort?

And looking back into the story and wondering what should his friends have done? What should I do when faced with someone who is in crisis and in need of comfort?  And I keep coming back to one moment in the story:

“The news of all the disasters that had fallen on Job

came to the ears of three of his friends.  Each of them

set out from home... and by common consent they decided

to go and offer him sympathy and consolation.  Looking

at him from a distance, they could not recognize him;

they wept aloud and tore their robes and threw dust over

their heads.  They sat there on the ground beside him

for seven days and seven nights; never speaking a word

for they saw how much he was suffering.”

–Job 2:11-13

I am thinking about those times I went into a hospital room and began to theologize about suffering and I wonder if my words weren’t more to protect and comfort me than the person I was visiting.  I wonder if perhaps I shouldn’t learn a lesson from Job’s three friends.  Perhaps the best thing we can do when we are faced with suffering is just that: sit with them in silence as best and for as long as we can, and if there is something needing to be said, perhaps you can just let your tears speak for themselves.  There is a lot of comfort in a friend’s silence and in a friend’s tears, and a lot of truth in someone willing to just sit and be present with us in our time of need.

And I can speak to that, from experience.  I remember waking up in the ICU and seeing an unexpected face sitting nearby, just waiting with me, in silence, tears glistening in her eyes.  There was no need to speak. That unexpected presence was all the theology I needed.

If Job’s friends had only remained silent... but that would be a different story.

Christmas: some thoughts on "her husband, Joseph..."

“…and her husband Joseph, being a just man and
unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce
her quietly. But as he considered this, behold an angel
of the Lord appeared to him in a dream saying: Joseph,
son of David, do not fear to take Mary your wife, for
that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit; she
will bear a son, and you shall call His name Jesus, for
He will save His people from their sins…”
–Matthew 1:19-21

In the Gospel story, Joseph fades from view.  He's mentioned a few times at the beginning of Matthew and Luke, but after the nativity and the return from Egypt, he's pretty much done. Nothing. nada. Zilch.  And yet, with that name, he clearly starts off right. Like his patriarch namesake, Joseph is a dreamer; someone God speaks to through dreams.  And, like that other Joseph, this one also pays attention to his dreams.  He listens and does what the dreams tell him to do: he takes Mary into his house and becomes "her husband," –even uproots his entire life and livelihood and flees to Egypt just to protect her and her baby because of a dream.   

            When I went to confession a couple of weeks back, I was given the penance of reading the first two chapters of Matthew and contemplating the role of Joseph.  I have always been a a little troubled by Joseph. I imagine how he must have felt when he learned that Mary was expecting a baby. The sense of betrayal and of his own foolishness for trusting her. How that must have stung his ego; he was an upright man, a just man, an honorable man. Why would this happen to him? Why would God let this happen to him?  And yet, wanting to spare this young girl disgrace, he chose to divorce her quietly and informally, when he could have demanded that she be lead out of the city gates and stoned for such a breach of morality (not to mention marital etiquette).

            I've even wondered sometimes, what if Joseph hadn't paid attention to the dreams? What if he were more like us today; what if he rationalized everything the minute he awoke? What if he were like that other famous Christmas season dreamer: a certain Mr. Scrooge? Imagine what would have happened if Joseph had responded the way Scrooge responds to Marley’s ghost:  Angels? Bah, humbug!  Why should I listen to you? You’re probably nothing more than an undigested bit of lamb, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone pita. There's more of hummus than of Heaven about you, whatever you are! 

            I’ve always wondered how I would have reacted.  Maybe something like this: Why me? This isn’t the life I was planning. All I wanted was a wife and a dog and a mortgage and a subscription to Netflix!  Why should I be raising someone else’s kid? And the kid’s teen-aged mother! I’m an honorable man, an upright man… I’m a school librarian, for heaven’s sake! What will people think? What will they say? And what on earth will I do in Egypt? No. I can’t do that. I won’t be made to look a fool! It’s not right. It’s not fair! This is my life, and it’s my choice how I live it. I won’t do it!

            In our world today, fairness and choice are the godheads we worship above all other -- except maybe pleasure (ah, there’s our modern trinity). And yet, when we hear this story, we accept without question that Joseph did what the story tells us. That he didn't sit around whining about how unfair it was. How God wasn't respecting his personal autonomy...  We just accept it. Joseph had a dream and then he did what the dream told him to do. No questions asked.  But, how often do we ponder what that means… not just theologically, but personally. What does that mean to you, personally? What lesson do you derive from Joseph’s example?

            For me, I think it is this:  it’s not about me.  Look at Joseph. He fades from view, and in the end becomes little more than “her husband.” 

            Yes, God is asking hard things from him. And yes, in today’s world hardly anyone would recommend that he listen to that voice and do what it says. We probably would recommend that he seek therapy? And try some psychotropic drugs... but, at best, we'd go along with being compassionate and helping an unwed mother find a safe place to live; perhaps a charitable shelter.  And it would be generous of him to make a donation of some kind to that organization. Of coure.  But who would recommend that he take the young lady into his home and make her his wife?  That would be like throwing your whole life away.  She got herself into this situation... It’s not his problem.

But, for me, that seems to be the point.  It’s not about him. 

So, if I want to give my life to God, then my life isn’t really about me. Yes, I have gifts and I have talents and I have plans for how I want to use them. That’s fine. It’s good. It’s honorable. I still have that dream of writing the great American novel.  Or winning the Nobel prize for poetry! I still dream of fame and success and glory.  But, don’t you think Joseph dreamed of becoming a great and famous carpenter?  And yet, at some point we have to put away childish things… Joseph put aside his plans, his personal dreams, and --at some point-- started listening to God's. And because he did, he became “her husband,” and slipped into the shadows –yet, 2000 years later we remember this: he gave up his personal plans, his personal dreams, in order to receive God’s. 

Like Joseph, we need to open our ears (and our hearts) and start listening– God has a plan for you (and for me; for every single one of us) and it may seem small, and insignificant… but believe me, if it’s from God, you won’t want to miss it.  

           

Pharaoh’s hardened heart: Another look

“[the Egyptians]…whose hearts He turned to hate His own people,

To treat His servants deceitfully…”

--Psalm 105:25

Psalm 105 is a brief history of ancient Israel, with several verses on the exile and Exodus story.  And in it we come again upon this idea of God making someone obstinate or hateful –for some purpose known only to God. In this image from the Psalm we see God paradoxically turning the hearts of Pharaoh and the Egyptians against His own beloved people. In some unspoken way this turning of the enemy's heart to obstinacy and hate and deceit is presented as necessary for the fulfillment of God's plan; it seems somehow essential for the building up of Israel.  God makes Pharaoh’s heart hard and obstinate, against Pharaoh’s own good and the good of the Egyptians. And God does this (it seems) so that Israel’s ultimate victory can somehow be recognized as even more astonishing; more miraculous.  Israel overcomes her foes who are powerful, obstinately bad, persisting in evil, and who  far outnumber her –but who, in the end, are defeated through God’s miraculous intercession.

But I am left pondering: How is the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart necessary to God’s plan?  Even if this is just a myth (or hyperbole), why did the ancient story teller feel it necessary to put it in these terms? What lesson was God imparting by having His scribes write His story in this way?  If (for instance) God’s hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is a metaphor –then what is it a metaphor of? And what lesson (or insight) was it supposed to teach? What psychological (or spiritual) insight was it intended to reveal?

1.       That God is willful and can do whatever He likes?  Even make our hearts hard and turn our ways to deceit? Sin?  -OR

2.       That God’s plan, the work of a loving God, may even be found in the hardened heart and deceitful ways of our foe…

And, in the end, the key question is: What does a loving God accomplish by changing the hearts of Pharaoh, the Egyptians, all of Israel’s foes “so that they hate His own people?” What is it that He accomplishes through this hardened heart that He couldn’t accomplish otherwise? Why didn’t He change their hearts so that they loved His people?  What part does this hardening of the heart play in God’s plan?  How does it reveal His loving presence?  Those are the questions, the paradox, I am pondering these days. 

Next I want to spend a little time considering this passage, this image, through the lens of the four-fold method; seeking in it the four levels of reading: literal, allegorical, moral & anagogical.