[Please note: Once again, these are words written to myself. They are not meant to be paradigmatic. They are simply an errant exploration of one man, and a sinner.]
There was a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job, and that man was blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil. There were born to him seven sons and three daughters. He possessed 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 yoke of oxen, and 500 female donkeys, and very many servants, so that this man was the greatest of all the people of the east. His sons used to go and hold a feast in the house of each one on his day, and they would send and invite their three sisters to eat and drink with them. And when the days of the feast had run their course, Job would send and consecrate them, and he would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all. For Job said, "It may be that my children have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts." Thus Job did continually. (Job 1:1-5)
So begins the Book of Job. A life of faith, of love and care for his family. An intercessor.
In one verse the scene changes and an horrific and bizarre bartering for a soul takes place:
Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came among them. (Job 1:6)
Through successive pleadings, the Accuser gains access to Job's life, to desolate it, to prove that Job's faith is weak, and to incite Job himself to curse God. So one by one, all that Job has is taken from him. Sabaens take his oxen and donkeys and slaughter the servants. The fire of God falls from heaven and consumes the sheep and the servants. Chaldeans take away his camels and strike down the servants. And a great wind collapses the house where his children are feasting, killing them all. One after another, each on the other's heels, messengers bring the news of desolation.
One can imagine the painful peeling off of the layers of Job's soul, the internal flaying of heart, that these events wrought. One by one, in succession, the blows hit, pummeling not just his emotions but his faith. Can he continue to believe in a God who permits, indeed, as Job will say, who brings such sorrows? All his experience of this God is brought to a single point of wrenching interrogation. He is split between faith and the massive "evidence" supporting whatever doubts he has.
At this point the invocation of a theodicy is begged. It is here that calls are made for a defense of God's goodness and omnipotence in view of the existence of evil.
And it is here that such a defense is given.
Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. (Job 1:20)
I cannot but find this remarkable. Whether or not it is within me to refrain from cursing God, I cannot find in me this response of adoration. I know that all I can do is stand before the icons in mute, tearful incomprehension. If I fall to my knees it is not to worship but to plead, to beg for this God to stop, crying out for an end.
B