+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I realize that one of the dead horses I continually strike is the lectionary’s unfortunate editing of biblical passages such that we can sometimes miss the point that I think we’re supposed to take from some particular part of scripture. I hate to do it again, but this morning’s Old Testament lesson from Job suffers so much from the editing process in this regard that I cannot ignore it.
Oh that my words were written! Oh that they were inscribed in a book! Oh that with an iron pen and lead they were graven in the rock for ever! For I know that my redeemer lives.
It seems simple enough. Job wants his realization of the General Resurrection and the victory of God recorded, right? Well no. In the twenty-two verses which precede our lesson, Job presents a litany of complaints. It’s a long passage, so I won’t read it to you in its entirety, but here are some examples of what comes right before the reading we heard a few minutes ago:
How long will you torment me, and break me in pieces with words? … Know that God has put me in the wrong, and closed his net about me. … He breaks me down on every side, and I am gone, and my hope has he pulled up like a tree. … My kinsfolk and my friends have failed me; the guests in my house have forgotten me. … I am repulsive to my wife, loathsome to the sons of my own mother. … All my intimate friends abhor me, and those whom I loved have turned against me. My bones cleave to my skin and to my flesh, and I have escaped by the skin of my teeth.
Job’s words at the beginning of this morning’s Old Testament lesson do not express a desire that the good news be recorded. Rather, they show Job’s desire that the depth of his suffering be recorded, that posterity might read it and learn how rotten his life had become and how angry he was at God for making it that way.
This makes the words which follow particularly striking:
For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then from my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another.
Why this sudden turnabout? Why the instant transition from despair to hope? There are a few possibilities. These are just three theories, and there may be others, but I think they’re the most likely, though you’ll see why I think two of them are unacceptable.
First theory- maybe Job was bipolar. This is not my favorite explanation, but let’s consider it. Perhaps he’s swinging from a depressive to a manic episode before our eyes and ears.
This might be a particularly comforting theory for those who struggle with mental health issues, but I think it’s a problematic theory. We can easily get into trouble by imposing modern categories on ancient people. One could take any of the prophets and view them through the lens of psychopathology- if Job was bipolar, maybe Jeremiah was depressed and Ezekiel was schizophrenic. It’s interesting to think about, but it either requires that we reject the biblical prophetic tradition or assume that God uses mental disorders as a means of communication. The former is not an option for a believer. The latter isn’t impossible, but then we’ve got all sorts of sticky questions about suffering and divine agency which are better avoided if we have an alternative to hand.
Second theory- the only way Job could get over the perceived injustice of his situation was to imagine a God who is ultimately just and who will set all things right in the end. This is a popular way for anthropologists and other social scientists to view the development and persistence of religion. The idea in a nutshell is that life is unfair (which I think is pretty self-evident), and that religious sentiment is an antidote to despair about this fact. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do some enjoy security and wealth and health and others don’t? Why is there so great a discrepancy between well-being and worthiness? Because, God’s gonna fix it all in the next life, so don’t get too upset about it.
On the one hand, we can see why this might be the genesis of religious commitment. Just looking at our own Judeo-Christian tradition, the most profound messages of hope we find in scripture were written in times of extreme difficulty- famine, war, and especially foreign rule and diaspora. It makes sense that in the midst of terrible situations, the only thing to do is to imagine that something greater is at work, that everything will get better, that there will be pie in the sky when we die, by and by.
But if that’s all there is to it, then Marx was right- religion is the opiate of the masses. It keeps us calm and prevents revolution, because it’s only a matter of time before we die and get to finally enjoy life. Maybe Job resorted to wishful thinking, because that’s all he had. That’s not a kind of religion I’m interested in, and I don’t believe it could possibly be the kind of religion professed by the saints who fought and died for the Lord they loved and knew. But it is a possibility. It is my least favorite of the three theories (I’d rather Job were mad than religion were just a pablum), but it’s a very popular way of thinking among the critics of religion. I think our response to those who espouse this theory is to admit the possibility that it’s true and then live our lives in a manner that disproves it- by living faithfully even when every potentially selfish end seems illusive.
Third theory- Job was neither mad nor deluded. God came to him precisely when he needed him the most. In his darkest hour, the Holy Spirit spoke his word of encouragement, literally inspiring him, filling him with the Truth to lift him out of despair. When all around is death and loss and malice, Job was given a vision of the life and joy and love that is the inheritance of God’s people. I’ve not got any empirical evidence for this claim. I cannot rely on psychology or anthropology or any other discipline in the modern intellectual tradition to prop up the third theory. I don’t think there is anything from those fields to help us here. They might prove faith and spirituality to be useful or maladaptive, but not whether or not it’s True. That’s where faith comes in.
That’s the starting point if you want to buy into this theory. You’ve got to have trust enough in those little experiences of grace and love that you experience from time to time that you can see the hand of God moving your heart and the hearts of your sisters and brothers. You’ve got to trust that a power greater than us can make sense of all this mess. I think this is how it happened, or rather I believe this is how it happened, for Job and how it can happen still for us. Even in our darkest moments, God can break in; God will break in if we’re open enough and trusting enough to hear the Spirit’s Word of peace.
+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.