Job 38:1-11,
34-41 NRSV
Then
the Lord answered Job
out of the whirlwind:
“Who
is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Gird
up your loins like a man, I will question you,
and
you shall declare to me.
“Where
were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell
me, if you have understanding.
Who
determined its measurements—surely you know!
Or
who stretched the line upon it?
On
what were its bases sunk,
or
who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together
and
all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?
“Or
who shut in the sea with doors when it burst out from the womb? — when I
made the clouds its garment,
and thick darkness its swaddling band,
and
prescribed bounds for it, and set bars and doors, and said, ‘
Thus
far shall you come, and no farther,
and
here shall your proud waves be stopped’?
“Can you lift up your voice to the clouds,
so that a flood of waters may cover you?
Can you send forth lightnings, so that they may go and say to
you,
‘Here we are’?
Who has put wisdom in the inward parts,
or given understanding to the mind?
Who has the wisdom to number the clouds?
Or who can tilt the waterskins of the heavens,
when the dust runs into a mass and the clods cling
together?
“Can you hunt the prey for the lion, or satisfy the appetite
of the young lions, when they crouch in their dens, or lie in wait in their
covert?
Who provides for the raven its prey, when its young ones cry
to God,
and wander about for lack of food?
***
I
can’t tell you why. I can’t tell you why Job suffered. I can’t tell you why you
or I suffer. I can’t tell you why creation suffers. But I can tell you there
will be seasons. I can tell you that for years gone by, and years to come,
leaves will change again just as they have changed this day. This colored
confetti of trees will trickle down, just like snow in winter, rain in spring,
and sunshine in summer. I can tell you that just as leaves golden flecks crown
the trees, so too; wildflowers will bathe the land come spring. I can’t tell
you why we suffer, but I can tell you the earth continues to rejoice.
I
can’t tell you why our lives cycle in and out of autumns, where everything
seems to be dying; but I can tell you in those autumns also come harvest. When
the world seems to be getting colder, and humanity colder still, the warmth of
a smile, or a shared meal, can heat you to the point where the ice melts and
tears come, because the kindness of others overflows. In these winters, fires
are lit from unexpected places, and through them God’s grace abounds. I can’t
tell you why we suffer, but I can tell you love still exists despite our
suffering.
I
can’t tell you why we suffer, but I can promise God is still at work. I can’t
tell you why God allows suffering, or if God has any choice in the matter, but
I can tell you God is at work all around us still.
In
the story of Job, God doesn’t answer Job’s question, but God answers. God
answers Job by asking a different type of question. God asks for a different
type of wisdom. God asks, “Who are you? Who are you that darkens counsel by
words without knowledge? Where were you? Where were you when I laid the
foundation of the earth? What do you know? Do you know the measurements of the
earth? Can you?” Can you lift your voice to the clouds? They are questions Job
cannot answer without feeling very small. How could Job not feel small when
asked about the stars in the heavens? How could Job not feel small when asked
about measurements of the earth? How could Job’s season of suffering not feel
small when matched against the timeless foundation of the earth?
I
don’t think God is saying Job’s suffering is inconsequential. God really
doesn’t say anything about Job’s suffering. God just points to greater things,
and perhaps healing things.
When
I was in seminary I went through the hardest time in my life. It was an autumn
followed by a long cold winter. I questioned the goodness of God. I questioned
the power of God. I questioned the presence of God. How could you allow? Why
didn’t you? Where were you? I was a Job, and like Job, I didn’t stop talking to
God. My faith was boiled down to two remnants a belief in the existence of God,
and the realization hope was all I had to hope in. In this loneliness I
gardened alone.
Just
as desolate as I felt, was my knowledge of gardening. I took packs of Cosmos
seeds and scattered them to the wind in a little plot land. I watered, and
forgot to water, and would wander down to the quiet edge of campus to my square
of dirt. As the weather turned warm, sprouts began to emerge. I was in awe.
Now, I know seed + dirt + water + sunlight, theoretically =s flower, but the
wonder of it all isn’t so simple. I was so, so broken; yet life was sprouting,
and growing, and ultimately blooming. Wispy, whimsical, flowers were floating
in a sea of feathery leaves and skinny stalks. I would pick the thin pink
flowers and all summer I had budvases of Cosmos in my tiny dorm room. God
didn’t answer my questions, but God answered my suffering. In the majesty of
creation there was healing. Alone in the garden I was surrounded by wonder and
life anew.
I
can’t tell you why there is suffering. I can’t tell you why people are hurting.
I can’t tell you why Job had to bear so much pain and I can’t pin down God’s
role in suffering. What I can tell you is that in the midst of our suffering
God is sowing seeds.
God
may not answer our questions, but God will answer our suffering with healing.
In the death of winter stars shine steady in the sky, shifting with the
seasons. There is ebb and flow, a tide rolling in and out, and a river snaking
along. There are seasons responding to our suffering in ways reasons can’t
replace. I can’t tell you why, but I can tell you God’s answer silences our
questions with healing wonder.
