Pentecost 19 October 11, 2009

Pentecost 19
October 11, 2009

When I was a teenager, the poet Archibald Macleish wrote a very popular play in which JB, a corporate executive in the course of a few weeks lost everything that mattered to him—his job, status, wife, children. A few weeks ago the Coen brothers who wrote and produced the movie Fargo, came out with their latest film, A Serious Man, about a Jewish college professor who struggles to cope with the collapse of his life and stay decent and upright at the same time
Both the play and movie were inspired by the Book of Job which we will be reading as our first lesson for the next few weeks. This ancient book, probably written about 500 BC, still has the power to move and challenge writers and readers.

Like a fairy tale the Book of Job begins, “once upon a time”: “There was once a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job.”
He was a good and righteous man, with a loving wife, ten healthy children, not a rich man but comfortably well off.
The story moves to a fantastical scene. At a gathering in heaven, the story goes, God brags about Job, how good and righteous he is. Satan, who strangely enough is sitting right there with God , says, “Of course he’s a good man. Why not?—he has everything a human being could want. But, God, what if we were to test him? What will happen if you take everything he possesses away from him? I’ll bet you that he won’t love you then!”
God agrees to the wager. Job’s troubles begin. First all Job’s beasts are killed, then his servants, then tragically, his children.
At first Job bears it. He refuses to complain. Then Satan says to God, “Ah, but what will happen if his body is stricken with disease? Will he still endure in silence?” Satan then inflicts loathsome sores on Job from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head.” Job’s response?—he still will not complain “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?”

Three friends come to console Job in his misery.
They don’t do a very good job.
Have you ever been in pain of some sort and the pastor or relative or friend drop in and you know they’re good people and they’re just trying to help, but they manage to say all the wrong things?
Job’s friends are like that. Specifically, the friends think they’ve got an explanation. “Job,” they say, “You must have sinned against God. Repent and God will return to you all that has been destroyed.”
Instead of consoling Job, their words prod him into defending himself. He knows himself, knows he has not sinned. “But you must have,” his friends argue.
Job refuses to give in. Almost in a frenzy, he cries out, “I am innocent!,” and he challenges God to listen to his case. He wants to bring God into court.
He’s sure he’ll win: “I would lay my case before him and fill my mouth with arguments. . . . he would give heed to me . . . and I should be acquitted forever by my judge.”

Strong words. But then Job’s defiance cracks and he seems to lose his nerve. Job admits that he’s terrified. Because now suddenly the worst thing happens—JJob can’t feel God, can’t hear God, can’t in any way sense God’s presence. When he calls out, God doesn’t answer. For Job—God is utterly hidden.
One of my favorite psalms is Psalm 139. “Where can I go then from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I climb up to heaven, you are there; if I make the grave my bed, you are there also . . . “ All places on earth and in heaven: “Even there your hand will lead me and your right hand hold me fast.” Such confidence in God’s constant presence, no matter what is happening.
But Job reverses those words of confidence and it’s chilling—: “If I go forward, God is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.”

Anyone who has lived to adulthood has walked through those terrifying times when nothing makes sense, when we are stripped of what we love. When someone we love is stricken with a terminal disease, or our wife or husband leaves us, or our adult child rejects us, or we suddenly take a clear eyed look at the world around us crawling with cruelty and injustice.
It’s then that we need to know that it is ok to pray like Job. “Where are you, God?” “I can’t bear this anymore,” “Why, why, why?” It is not only ok, it is Biblical to cry out our indignation, our anger, our sense of abandonment.
It is always ok to pray the truth of ourselves. What is not ok is to lie to God about who we are or what we are feeling.

This is what I most dread in my role as pastor: when I am called to a hospital room or a funeral home, and someone demands that I defend God.
A grieving wife asks me, for example, “Why did my good husband have to die so young when terrible criminals live long lives?”
The worse thing I can do is give her what she wants—an explanation.
If I did, I’d be like one of Job’s “friends,” trying to second guess God. Trying to make sense of what just doesn’t make sense.
The best thing I can do is to walk alongside her and help her to pray Job’s prayers: “Where are you, God?,” “I can’t bear this anymore,” “Why, why, why?”

When you go through a hard time in your life, don’t be afraid to pray with Job’s honesty. Lightening will not strike you, God’s hand will not rise up against you.
Remember that it is not only Job who prayed this way. On the cross, Jesus, God’s Son, bleeding, straining for each breath, cried out in pain and terror the Job-like words of Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Only once he’d cried out his despair, could he go on to utter words filled with trust: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”