Scripture
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Today we come to the end of Job’s story, after a month in this book.
We’ve seen him at every stage of the journey, from the moment of disaster to the demand for explanation to the eye of the whirlwind. Through it all, Job has spent every waking moment crying for God to answer his challenge, his case, his questions.
And at the end of it all, Job still hasn’t learned why any of this has happened to him. But he has learned how to go on.
He needed a story, desperately, and he was given one. The story of creation. The story of God and earth. It’s not the story he wanted—but it’s the one his own story is a part of. And it turns out, that is enough to begin to heal. It’s enough to go on.
He needed a trial, a judgement for God, some way for the Almighty to answer for his own trials. And when, despite all odds, the divine Defendant agrees, the case evaporates. No evidence is presented, no ruling issued. But it turns out, the presence of God is enough to go on.
That’s the strange thing about sorrow and pain. We want an answer, every time. But it often turns out that we don’t truly need one. We just need enough to go on.
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I think one of the reasons a lot of churches shy away from Job is his anger.
We don’t like anger. We don’t trust anger. It’s uncomfortable to experience, and it’s uncomfortable to watch. It feeds on our adrenaline, and it’s not so easy to quiet. And we’ve probably seen too many people use it as an excuse to be cruel.
But in and of itself anger is neither good nor bad. It’s simply information, like all emotions.
We feel anger when the world isn’t as it should be. When we see people go hungry. When someone treats us poorly. When the wars don’t seem to stop, and it feels like no one is doing anything about it.
All throughout this book, Job is angry. And all throughout, his friends tell him why he shouldn’t be. Why he really deserves all this, or why the anger is bad for him, or why this isn’t the good Christian way to feel about suffering.
But Job isn’t having it. He sees the unfairness in his world for what it is, and he will name it. He will not downplay it so that his friends can feel more comfortable. No, he will let his anger fuel what it is supposed to—desperate prayer for justice and mercy and a world where no one needs to feel this bad.
And at the end of it all, those are the prayers God praises. Those are the words spoken correctly.
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The Book of Job teaches us that the pinnacle of holy wisdom is not to be unmoved by sorrow, not to be removed from the world, but to be willing to stand up and stand in the midst of suffering, to demand that injustice be answered for. Even—apparently—when it feels like God is the one responsible.
I think too often, Christians get stuck on being “nice.”
Don’t get me wrong, it comes from a good place. We want to be kind, encouraging, and gentle. We want to be like Jesus, right? And all of these are good things to aspire to.
But too often, we forget sometimes that Jesus was not afraid of conflict, either. He was not afraid of standing up and speaking out. Of pointing out where the world still isn’t what God hopes it would be, and of turning the tables so that God’s beloved community has more room to form.
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A renowned Latin-American theologian named Gustavo Gutierrez died this week in his 90s.
Gutierrez spent his life preaching the gospel that does threaten the status quo and the God who sees injustice for what it is and demands change.
Over and over in the scriptures, we see what Gutierrez called God’s “preferential option for the poor,” the way that God again and again stands with the disenfranchised and the silenced and the hurting, and joins with their voices in crying for a better world.
Often, Job’s closing speech, that we heard today, is interpreted as the humble apology of someone who has been soundly put in their place. But the Hebrew’s not so clear that that’s what we’re meant to read.
Some translations put it “I repent in dust and ashes.” This morning’s said “I find comfort on dust and ashes.” But my favourite reading is, “I repent of dust and ashes.” In other words, “I am done performing the faith that is expected of me instead of the faith that is true.”
Job never learned the answer to his sorrows. But he did hear God’s voice, and he did see God’s story. And in the midst of it all, he learned that God does show up, no matter how we ask. He learned that demanding a better world is part of the life of faith, not separate from it. And most of all, he learned that you don’t have to be done with grieving in order to be able to live on.
That’s the story of Easter in a nutshell. It’d be so much easier—wouldn’t it?—if the cross had fixed every problem in human life in an instant. But it didn’t.
There is still injustice, still pain, still sorrow. There are still things about this world that make God grieve. And. Easter morning still happens. God still lives on.
Every week that we come here, we speak of wonders beyond our comprehension, and God meets us, gladly, in the questions.
May we leave here every week demanding a better world, and may we meet God, gladly, in the streets, already at work.
There may not be an answer every time we hope for one. But God is the answer, and the reason to live on.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.