Feeling the Pain (Job 23:1-9, 16-17)

Then Job answered:

“Today also my complaint is bitter;
    his hand is heavy despite my groaning.
Oh, that I knew where I might find him,
    that I might come even to his dwelling!
I would lay my case before him
    and fill my mouth with arguments.
I would learn what he would answer me
    and understand what he would say to me.
Would he contend with me in the greatness of his power?
    No, but he would give heed to me.
There the upright could reason with him,
    and I should be acquitted forever by my judge.

“If I go forward, he 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….

God has made my heart faint;
    the Almighty has terrified me.
If only I could vanish in darkness,
    and thick darkness would cover my face. (New Revised Standard Version)

Here is Job, sitting on an ash heap, of all things, and feeling like an ash. His children are gone, all killed by tragic circumstances. His wealth is no more. And now he is lamenting, because he can do nothing else; he has painful nasty sores covering his body that won’t let him do anything.

Job and his friends, by Ilya Repin (1844-1930)

And if that isn’t enough, Job’s “friends” come and end up giving him unhelpful speeches about how all this suffering is really his fault. They reasoned (wrongly) that there must be loads of sin in Job’s life for him to be going through such horror. God is punishing him, they insist.

Job’s companions had initially started out well. For seven days they sat with him in silence (Job 2:13). But then, after a week had passed, they just couldn’t take it anymore. They had the compulsion to speak. And when they opened their mouths, it was merely a bunch of ignorant gobbledygook.  

The friends, the companions, were themselves having an existential theological crisis. Their worldview was being challenged and threatened. So, rather than be open-minded and consider that their views may need to be altered, the friends acted like enemies, accusing Job of sin.

At issue was their clear and clean theology of believing that good guys are blessed with wealth, health, and happiness; and bad guys are cursed with poverty, illness, and misery – like Job.

They could not imagine or entertain the thought that God would let a good person suffer like Job was suffering. Therefore, Job must be bad, and they tried to find that hidden sin within him  to which he must repent of.

Yet, in truth, not all suffering – even terrible grinding suffering – is the result of personal sin or bad decision-making. Sometimes, good people suffer horribly, too.

Times may change, but people throughout the ages don’t. Today, we still think along the same lines as the companions of Job. There is far too much blaming of victims for their victimization; and way too many flippant beliefs which say to others in a terrible situation things like, “You reap what you sow.”

Job, through all of the loss, tragedy, and then suffering from his friends, held onto his integrity. Even though Job knew his situation was undeserved, he did not curse God, nor his friends.

Job made the incredible claim that suffering is not always the result of one’s personal sin – something he himself might not have said before his tragic experiences.

But just because Job did not curse, does not mean he was nice and okay with what unfolded in his life. He wished he was never born. He felt like death would be preferable to living. He contended with God, and longed for justice. His ultimate wish was that God would just speak and say something, anything.

Job was hurting so terribly, that he had bitter words of despair for God. He could make absolutely no sense of what was happening. He could not understand why he was the brunt of so much suffering. It felt like God was attacking him, and he said so.

The silence and absence of God were palpable for Job. He longed to speak with God. And his greatest lament – out of all the reasons to lament – was the horrible feeling of being alone without God’s presence and consolation.

It is interesting that we have no mention in the story about Job’s friends speaking directly to God, or praying to God, or addressing God in any way.

They certainly felt free to tell Job who God is, and how God operates in the world. But there was never any intercession for their friend, and no words of crying out to God on behalf of Job. There was only words of rebuke and chastisement, words of hurt that were as painful as the physical sores on his body

The phrase I hear most often from people speaking to the person in grief and pain is, “You just need to be strong.” And a close second is, “Everything happens for a reason.” The latter phrase is simply unhelpful, and the former phrase is actually hurtful.

It is not a sin to be weak. Just in case you read that sentence too quickly, I will say it again: It. Is. Not. A. Sin. To. Be. Weak!

We understand that when someone breaks a bone, they’ll be limited with weakness for a while. And we make helpful accommodations to that effect. But when someone’s heart is broken, and their life emotionally shredded, we expect them to be strong for everyone else around them.

It may be true that everything happens for a reason, yet most of the time, none of us knows the reason why we’re going through what we’re going through. And we probably won’t, this side of heaven.

If we try to have explanations for everything, then we join the company of Job’s companions who had to try and understand what was happening. And their conclusions were very wrong.

However, there is nothing wrong with weeping with those who weep; and expressing pain, grief, and even anger – both for the one who laments, and those who lament with them.

Pain cannot be relieved unless it is acknowledged, affirmed, and addressed by both the one who suffers and the community who surrounds them.

Where there is lament, there are loud words and expressions of grief. When lament is said to God, then God can hold that person, and rock them in the arms of mercy.

But silence is agonizing. We need friends who will listen and grieve with us. It is vital to have companions who voice to God what we cannot voice in our weakness. All of us, together, must hold onto God, and trust that the Lord hears, and will answer.

As Jesus cried out on the cross, I cry out to you in pain, O God my Creator. Do not forsake me. Grant me relief from this suffering and preserve me in peace; through Jesus Christ my Savior, in the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Holy Saturday (Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16)

In you, O Lord, I seek refuge;
    do not let me ever be put to shame;
    in your righteousness deliver me.
Incline your ear to me;
    rescue me speedily.
Be a rock of refuge for me,
    a strong fortress to save me.

You are indeed my rock and my fortress;
    for your name’s sake lead me and guide me;
take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
    for you are my refuge….

My times are in your hand;
    deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors.
Let your face shine upon your servant;
    save me in your steadfast love. (New Revised Standard Version)

Holy Saturday is a quiet place sandwiched between the ignominy of the Cross and the celebration of Resurrection – a day of solitude, silence, and stillness. 

This isn’t a particularly popular day. People don’t rave about Holy Saturday. Many Christians haven’t even a thought that this day could have any significance. Yet, this very day has its place in the scheme of the Christian life.

Whenever Christians quickly jump to triumphal language about victory, and speak little-to-nothing about suffering, then we are left with a cheap grace which has been purchased with the counterfeit currency of velocity. 

Today is meant for us to get of our heads and wrap our hearts around the important reality that Jesus Christ was truly and bodily dead in the grave. 

It was real suffering on Good Friday, and it’s a real death on Holy Saturday. There’s no movement. All is silent and still. Jesus is in the solitude of a dark graveyard tomb. 

There’s no getting around this: If we want Resurrection Day with all its celebration and glory, then we cannot circumvent Holy Saturday with its quiet silence and somber sadness. 

Holy Saturday must be observed if we are to experience real and practical freedom from the bondage of shame. And shame is powerful. It keeps a person locked within themselves, alone with their secrets hidden far from others.

Far too often we may try and cope with our shameful words or actions through promising to work harder, pledging to have greater willpower, or complaining that life is unfair. None of this gets to the root of our shame.

Unlike guilt, which our conscience identifies as specific behaviors to repent of, shame is the message of our inner critic who obnoxiously decries that we are somehow flawed, not enough, and inherently lacking intelligence, courage, or volition.

Shame is the insidious mechanism which interprets bad events we experience as the result of our own badness. In other words, we didn’t just do something bad – we ourselves are bad. We reason (wrongly) that if we were good, bad things wouldn’t happen to us.

If that were true, we would need a serious re-interpretation of Jesus, who suffered terribly and was killed. In actuality, he’s lying in a cold grave because of the power of evil in the world, and not because he was personally culpable.

Shame is the vampire who lives in the shadows and feeds on secrets – which is why the posture of shame is to hide our face in our hands. If shame persists, we withdraw from others and experience grinding loneliness. 

Therefore, the path out of shame is to openly name our shame and tell our stories, that is, nailing the stake of vulnerability into the heart of shame, and exposing it to the light, causes it to disintegrate and vaporize.

In contrast to the unhealthy hiding of ourselves within prison walls of shame is seeking refuge and hiding ourselves in God. Even a cursory look at today’s psalm evidences an open and vulnerable person who wants nothing to do with shame. The psalmist unabashedly and without shame is quite forward in presenting his wants to God.

The psalms are meant for repeated use, to be voiced aloud again and again. In doing this simple activity, we shame-proof our lives. God’s face shines upon us and takes away the shadows of shame. It is no coincidence that Jesus forsook the shame of the cross through publicly uttering the words of this psalm: “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” (Luke 23:46)

Unchecked verbal violence will eventually lead to physical violence.

If wordy persecution comes from others, the primary tactic will most likely be shaming the people such persons want to control. Such enemies will frame a justification for violence because the people for whom they are leveling shame are “bad,” even “monsters.” If verbal persecution comes from within, the shame can reach a critical mass of suicidal ideation and perhaps outright attempts at ending one’s life.

We cannot long co-exist with the living death of shame. But the good news is that we don’t have to. Instead, we can live in the strong fortress and the rock of refuge which is God.

The Lord traffics in redeeming mercy and steadfast love, not in the demeaning judgment of shame. We can flee to God and find grace to help us in our time of need. There is no shame in reaching out for help. We all need deliverance from something. It’s a matter of whether we are open to ask for it, or not.

Holy Saturday is here for you to know that Jesus Christ absorbed all of the world’s massive shame, yesterday, on Good Friday. Christ died. And the shame he took on, died with him. It’s no more and will rise no more.

But someone will rise….

Father God, into your hands I commit my spirit – everything I am and all that I hope to be – so that Jesus Christ might be exalted in me through the power of your Holy Spirit. I choose to leave shame where it belongs – nailed to the cross. With your divine enablement, I shall walk in the newness of life through expressing my needs and wants with courage, confidence, and candor. May it be so according to your steadfast love. Amen.

Job 7:1-21 – Why God?

Why is life so hard?
    Why do we suffer?
We are slaves in search of shade;
we are laborers longing
    for our wages.
God has made my days drag on
    and my nights miserable.
I pray for night to end,
but it stretches out
    while I toss and turn.
My parched skin is covered
    with worms, dirt, and sores,
and my days are running out
quicker than the thread
    of a fast-moving needle.

I beg you, God, don’t forget!
My life is just a breath,
    and trouble lies ahead.
I will vanish from sight,
and no one, including you,
    will ever see me again.
I will disappear in the grave
or vanish from sight
    like a passing cloud.
Never will I return home;
    soon I will be forgotten.

And so, I cry out to you
    in agony and distress.
Am I the sea or a sea monster?
    Is that why you imprison me?
I go to bed, hoping for rest,
but you torture me
    with terrible dreams.
I’d rather choke to death
    than live in this body.
Leave me alone and let me die;
    my life has no meaning.
What makes you so concerned
    about us humans?
Why do you test us
    from sunrise to sunset?
Won’t you look away
just long enough
    for me to swallow?
Why do you watch us so closely?
    What’s it to you, if I sin?
Why am I your target
    and such a heavy burden?
Why do you refuse to forgive?
Soon you won’t find me,
    because I’ll be dead. (Contemporary English Version)

Few people have ever suffered such agonizing loss as the Old Testament character of Job. He literally lost everything but his life. All his children were killed in one horrific event. He was so racked with physical pain and ill health that even his closest friends barely recognized him. 

Yet the most severe suffering of all came from the grinding silence of God about the whole affair. Job acutely experienced the spiritual pain of a seemingly distant God. He felt like God’s target, being pierced with sharp arrows, one after the other. It seemed to Job as if God was burdened with his very presence on the earth.

Indeed, when one is in the throes of grief, and there is no response from God, the suffering seems pathetically senseless. 

We are currently living in a world of pandemic. There is social and political unrest everywhere. Hurricanes and natural disasters wreak havoc. Religious persecution is on the rise. It may cause one to wonder where God is, in all this human suffering.

As families grieve the loss of home and property, as mothers lament the loss of sons and daughters, and as communities reel in shock over neighborhood violence, how can the loss of life and safety square with a God who is supposed to be sovereign over all creation?

And then there is the very real psychological suffering of mental illness, brain disorders, and unfeeling friends and family who fail to understand the biology and pathology around it – not to mention the extreme trauma of complicated grief.

“Does God understand? Is God even seeing any of this? Why doesn’t God seem to give a @#$!? Am I so odious to God that he’s left the room?” we might say, either out loud or in the deep hurt of our hearts.

It’s the silence that can hurt so badly. Groans, laments, and anguish seem to fly up and away with no easy answers and no immediate relief. 

Yet, God hears. God sees. And God knows. 

We, as readers, have a big picture perspective of Job’s life. We know the end of the story. We even know why Job suffered, even when he himself never knew. However, even with the understanding we have, there is still a large mystery to the ways and the silence of God.

It is a great temptation for many people to give neatly wrapped answers to life’s most difficult realities. But the book of Job does not allow for it. What we have is a man who never understood all that happened in his life yet held onto his integrity and his faith in the God he never fully understood. 

After all, if we understood all there is to understand about God, God would not be God at all.

Invisible God, you are not only unseen physically, but many times spiritually and emotionally unseen, as well.  Open the eyes of my heart so that I might catch but a glimpse of your working. Even though I am but a child and know so little, yet I trust in your steadfast love even in the most difficult experiences of life. Amen.

Matthew 15:21-31 – Sense the Urgency

Woman of Canaan by Sadao Watanabe, 1965

Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.”

Jesus did not answer a word. So, his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”

He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.

He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

“Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.

Jesus left there and went along the Sea of Galilee. Then he went up on a mountainside and sat down. Great crowds came to him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others, and laid them at his feet; and he healed them. The people were amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the crippled made well, the lame walking and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel. (New International Version)

Not much happens until something becomes urgent.

A doctor, a financial planner, or a preacher can tell us something until they are blue in the face, but it usually doesn’t mean much without a sense of urgency that a change must occur – that the way things are isn’t going to cut it any longer. 

We can say eating healthy is of value, yet unless there is a sense of urgency to it, it is difficult to do. Someone can proclaim that retirement savings is important, yet unless there is a sense of desperate action, it likely won’t happen. 

Christians say prayer is important, lost people matter to God, and ministry to youth is the hope of the world. Yet without a sense of urgency, there is procrastination and talking, resulting in zero change.

It’s the difference between law and gospel, or between duty and grace. The law and duty are important elements of the Christian life. The law shows us our sin and gives us direction how to live. However, law and duty can only take us so far – it cannot effect real and lasting change. Only the gospel of grace can do that. 

Law and duty alone won’t do it. And when we figure out it doesn’t work, we try and hide our struggle by keeping up the appearance of being a good Christian. Then, we boil down the rules of the Christian life to merely being nice and attending church (law). Our deep hurts and damaged emotions are handled by burying them in layers of law in order to protect ourselves from any more disappointment.

Nothing could be further from today’s Gospel lesson. We have a Gentile Canaanite woman, who is as far from God as one can get in the ancient world. She is neither concerned about appearances nor hiding to mask her pain. The woman cares about her daughter’s terrible suffering from demonization. She recognizes Jesus as the Promised One and seeks him out.

Only grace, not law-keeping, will save, deliver, or heal anyone.

Grace is bestowed to the humble who recognize the great urgency of needing Jesus – in God’s good timing, not ours. Faith is exemplified by a willingness to beg. It’s demonstrated with dogged persistence in the face of the slimmest of odds.

The Canaanite woman screams for help.

Her daughter is suffering. The region of Tyre and Sidon is demon territory – the home region of the Old Testament character, Jezebel – a place far from the covenant people of Israel’s ways. 

The woman has no leverage, no ground of appeal, and no spiritual pedigree. There is no way to approach Jesus by any other means than crying out to him with her deeply felt need. In her sense of urgency, noise and humility is all she has.

Jesus is silent.

Have you ever felt like God is silent, as though your prayers were doing nothing but bouncing off the ceiling? 

God is often silent. Yet, let’s not misinterpret this lack of response as thinking God didn’t hear, or doesn’t care, or something is wrong with me. Silence from God is just that – agonizing divine silence….

A superficial reading of the story may lead us to believe Jesus is aloof, or elitist, that maybe he isn’t interested in certain people. It seems to me, a better way of interpreting the silence is through the lens of our patience and perseverance, a sort of faith testing.

There is some mystery to this story we may never fully grasp. However, the story lets us know Jesus is not a coin machine where we can slip in a dollar and get immediate change. Jesus is a person, not a mechanism to figure out, to get what we want from him. This is not the way of grace.

The disciples want Jesus speaking to get rid of the screaming obnoxious woman.

“Holy cow, Jesus, just give her what she wants so she’ll go away!”  They wanted a healing, but it wasn’t out of a sense of compassion or grace. “After all, we’ve got important Jesus-work to do here, and we don’t need this woman upsetting the peace, rocking the boat, challenging the status quo, making waves, and ruining our sanctified party.” 

The disciples labeled the woman as loud and undeserving. Frankly, they may have been right. But they were operating out of law, not grace.

Jesus and the Canaanite woman, from Saint Germain-l’Auxerrois church in Paris, France

Sometimes the most compassionate thing we can do is not give everybody what they want, right away. 

Jesus did not come to this earth to ensure everybody gets their way and stays happy so that no one is upset. In fact, Christ did quite the opposite. Jesus sought to do his father’s will by establishing the kingdom of God on this earth – teaching values that weren’t part of the religious culture, telling the most “godly” people of the time they were a brood of vipers, and generally offending a lot of people who claimed to know God.

Jesus cared enough about the woman to not immediately give her what she wanted. She had to go hard after Jesus, to keep going after him, to exercise her faith muscle. 

Jesus doesn’t give the disciples what they want, either.

Two different petitions were given to Jesus, and his response doesn’t really address either one of those asking’s.  He just says he was sent to the lost sheep of Israel. Yet the woman responds as if she doesn’t even hear what Jesus just said.

The chosen nation of Israel was meant by God to be a missionary people. All nations on earth are blessed through Abraham, through the Jewish people. It has always been God’s design to have the Gentiles come to faith, and the way that was to happen was through Israel being a great missionary people proclaiming God and being a light to the nations. 

I tell you that Christ became a servant of the Jews to show that God has done what he promised their great ancestors. Christ also did this so that the non-Jewish people could praise God for the mercy he gives to them. The Scriptures say,

“So, I will give thanks to you among the people of other nations;
    I will sing praise to your name.” (Romans 15:8-9, ERV)

And that is exactly what happened. I am a Gentile Christian today because a small group of Jewish persons took the gospel of grace given them by Jesus and fulfilled their role as a missionary people.

The woman worships and tries Jesus again.

Jesus never said “no” to the woman. This was the basis for her asking again. She reasons much like an infatuated teenager who asks the girl of his affections, “so, what kind of chance do I have going out with you?”  The girl responds to the teenage boy, “a million to one.”  And the boy responds to her, “so, what you’re saying to me is that there’s a chance!”

Slim as the woman’s chances seem, she saw an opening where others might not. This is precisely the nature of true faith – it sees possibilities where none seem to exist.

This is raw, real, and persistent faith. If we don’t resonate with this kind of faith and persistence, there is not a sufficient level of urgency in our lives. The bald fact is: If we don’t pray, it’s because there is no desperation. We are still more fixed on law than gospel. Duty only goes so far.

Jesus still doesn’t answer the woman’s request, but gives her a metaphor about dogs, instead.

Jesus is restating what he said about the Jews: Salvation is through the Jews, not around them. We cannot ignore or get rid of the Old Testament because the gospel comes through it.

The woman still doesn’t give up but works with the metaphor.

She doesn’t argue with Jesus about being a dog; doesn’t insist she ought to be an exception; doesn’t say she has a right to be like the Jews; and doesn’t claim Jesus is being unfair or uncaring.

The woman simply accepts Christ’s words. Then, replies that even as a dog she would be allowed to receive a few crumbs from the table of the children. She might be a dog, but she’s still in the house, even if it’s under the highchair. The woman is looking for mercy as expectantly as my own dog looks at me with those sad brown eyes while I’m eating.

Jesus honors her faith.

Why? Because she humbly looked for grace. We need not write an essay to God about why our requests should be answered, as if Jesus needs convincing. We just need to seek the mercy of God.

Faith, coupled with urgency, doggedly persists. It believes Jesus will deliver. Great faith overcomes discouragement, despite the odds. It doesn’t listen to naysayers who want us to shut up and quit bothering them.  Urgent prayers are an unabashed begging before Jesus because only he can help. Begging isn’t sexy. It isn’t comfortable. But it’s needed.

So, pray. Pray like it’s the only thing that will make a difference. Pray with a sense of urgency.