JOB, Part 2: "Quit hiding your face"
Sermon Preached by
The Rev. Dr. Andrew Stirling
Sunday, February 11th, 2001
Text: Job XX: 1-5
This sermon is the second of a four part series on the book of Job, and my scripture reading is from Job XX, reading from verses 1 through to 5: "Is there any man, even the wisest, who could ever be of use to God? Does your doing right benefit God, or does your being good help him at all? It is not because you stand in awe of God that he reprimands you and brings you to trial. No, it's because you have sinned so much; it's because of all the evil you do."
I was feeling a little uncomfortable, for it was not a room that I had had the opportunity to visit before. In fact, it was the big room at the Press Club, which is situated right across Wellington Street from the Houses of Parliament in Ottawa. I had been invited to attend by a Member of Parliament who felt that it would be good for me to go and hear the reports of all the Canadian High Commissioners and Ambassadors who were serving in Africa. All of them were returning to Canada on furlough for a while to give their reports to the Department of Foreign Affairs. But after they had done so, they gave this briefing to the Press. I was there because the Member of Parliament had thought that I might wish to write an article on the basis of what they had given, maybe for a Christian magazine. Well, we sat; and I listened to reports from Sierra Leone, from Nairobi, from Cape Town, from Guinea-Bissau and from Dar es Salaam and all the others. But just as the presentation was finished, I looked across the table and I recognized a face. It was a young man with whom I had gone to University some twenty years before, and I haven't seen him since then. I must say that he seemed to have aged a great deal. There was less hair on his head, but more lines on his face, and he looked at me with a similar expression of dismay. We looked, we silently winked at one another as we recognized each other and when it was over, we gathered in the middle of the room. I found out that for the last five years he had been serving the Department of Foreign Affairs in Africa. When he had heard of my story and the places that I had been, he was determined to tell me what was on his heart and his soul and his mind. And he said: "Andrew, I have just come back from southern Africa." And he said: "It seems to me as if there is a huge cloud that is hanging over the subcontinent. People don't realize it at the moment" (because this was 1996) "but there is a coming pandemic. I am seeing, with mine own eyes, the spread of AIDS, the likes of which the rest of the world has never seen." He told me that in 1996, when there were some two million people diagnosed with AIDS in southern Africa.
I picked up my United Church Observer this month, and found that the number has now grown to 4.2 million, one in every ten people. I have been told, whether or not this is true, that if things continue, by the year 2010, in that country alone, there will be twenty million AIDS sufferers - one in every four people. He said: "Andrew, it's as if there is this cloud between God in Heaven and the people here on earth. I wonder whether or not God sees what is happening. I wonder if you could tell me, Andrew, does God see through the clouds?"
The great François Mauriac, in his book Night, felt exactly the same way. He was writing after having met a young Israeli who had been in the concentration camps in World War II. He wrote these poetic words: "It was then I understood what had first drawn me to this young Israeli, that look, as of a Lazarus risen from the dead, yet still a prisoner within the grim confines where he had strayed, stumbling among the shameful corpses. For him Nietsche's cry expressed an almost physical reality: God is dead. The God of Love, of Gentleness, of Comfort, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob has vanished forevermore beneath the gaze of this child in the smoke of human holocaust exacted by race. The most voracious of all idols. And how many pious Jews have experienced this death? Have we ever thought about the consequences of a horror that, though less apparent, less striking than the other outrages, is yet the worst of those of all of us who have faith: the death of God in the soul of a child who suddenly discovers absolute evil." It appeared to Mauriac as if again there was a cloud that was separating God and his people.
And many people feel that same way in their own lives. It doesn't have to be the extremities of the twentieth century and all the hatred and violence and guile that was there that causes us to wonder whether or not there is in fact a cloud that exists between God and ourselves; whether God actually sees the point of our suffering; whether God really cares at the point of our suffering. Where is this God? Why does this God hide his face in the midst of such atrocities and pain. Many of us have felt that way. Many others have felt that way; and, if you know anyone who has been that way, if you yourself have felt that way, then the Book of Job again is a book to which you should turn and turn vigorously, for it addresses as much the absence of God as the presence.
Right now, we turn in the Book of Job to Chapter XXIII. For those of you who were not with us last week, Job is someone who has lost everything in his life: his home, his family; he has lost his health and his strength; he has lost his own sense of being a person. Everything has been stripped away from Job and he feels he has nothing. Three of his friends, Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, come to him and they give him some ridiculous stories about what he might have done wrong.
Now, we encounter a third discourse, and this is like a trial, and it's a trial where Eliphaz, one of the friends, comes to Job in the midst of his suffering and he makes a case against Job. He says, and I quote, and I read it a few moments ago: "Job, it is not because you stand in awe of God that he reprimands you and brings you to trial. No, it's because you have sinned so much." Then Eliphaz goes on to give a blow by blow description of all the things that Job had done wrong. He accuses him, for example, of finding his brother and not clothing him. He accuses him of not giving water to thirsty people. He accuses him of using power to get to the top and trampling on those below, and, the really big one is, he accuses him of not taking care of widows and orphans. According to the Law of Moses, this was one of the greatest sins of all, for they were the most vulnerable. And so he lists these sins, and he says: "Job, I tell you what you have to do. Now you are suffering because you have done all these things wrong. You have to find peace with God. You have to make a conscious decision to turn away from where you have been and make sure that you turn to God in prayer."
Now, this all sounds rather feasible. There is only one problem with Eliphaz's argument: Job had done none of the things that he mentioned. He lists all these sins, but Eliphaz makes them up to make Job feel bad. Job hasn't done anything wrong. We know that at the beginning of the book. We know that Job is in fact a man who did not do these terrible things, but Eliphaz tries to make him feel guilty. He wants to use a religious argument to try and turn Job around and make sense of what happens. For Eliphaz, there can only be one argument: If people are suffering, they must have done something wrong. That was the case against Job.
But now in this third discourse, Job gives a defence of himself. And there's a preamble to this defense which is, that Job does not recognize in any way, shape or form, the arguments that Eliphaz has made. He doesn't try and refute them; he doesn't try and deal with them on the basis that false evidence has been given. He just dismisses them, as if they are irrelevant.
But through this he changes profoundly. Up until now in the Book of Job, Job had been moaning and groaning and complaining: everything has been taken away from me; life is hell; isn't it just dreadful; Oh My God, what am I going to do; wail, wail, wail. But now, he changes. No longer is he mourning and moaning. He goes on the offensive. And he doesn't go on the offensive against Eliphaz, he goes on the offensive against God. He says: "God, you are the one who is doing this to me. You are the one. Even though I am innocent, you are the one who is causing me this grief. You are taking away everything from me, God." He gets angry. He gets abusive. I can understand how Job feels, I really can. There are moments in my life, even just recently, when I really felt the sense, maybe not anger so much as what Philip Yansey called Disappointed with God. This feeling that somehow, this divine being has let me down.
I was listening to the radio yesterday. There was a commentary on a cricket match between Australia and the West Indies. The Australians clobbered the West Indies and I felt sad. Then my mind went back to something about which my Uncle Ray had talked to me last Summer. He said: "Andrew, next summer, the summer of 2001, why don't you and I go and watch a test match between England and Australia in London, at the Oval." I had been excited about that. Oh to think maybe the English could beat the Australians. Wouldn't that be marvelous? Now that's worth praying for! My Uncle Ray and I would have gone together, and we would have sat in the sun, and we would have drunk our tea and eaten our sandwiches and politely applauded the victory of the English. There is only one problem: My Uncle Ray died in October. And it just hit me, out of the blue. I felt, just for a moment, like Job. Why should I be robbed of this moment? Why am I not getting what is my due? He had done nothing wrong; I've done nothing wrong. Why?
Job then goes on. He starts to give a three-point defence of himself. The first is, he starts with the silence of God, the silence of God. He writes: "How I wish I knew where to find God, and knew how to go where He is. I would state my case before Him. I am honest; I could reason with God; He would declare me innocent once and for all." Job, you see, had looked at himself. His anger towards God was born of the fact that he believed that he was innocent and God was out to get him.
Just recently, I have been re-reading the story, Moby Dick. I had read it at school, and, I must admit, had found it a little boring. Melville doesn't turn on teenagers. But, by George, when I read him now, as a Christian, he takes on a whole new light. I read it through the eyes of someone with faith. Here is Moby Dick, the great, white, omnipotent beast. Here is Moby Dick, the one who disappears and appears again. Here is Moby Dick who challenges Captain Ahab. Here is the beast that is God. Ahab, it seems to me, is like Adam in the Bible. Ahab was out, in a sense, to challenge God. Here he was trying to subdue the beast, subordinate the beast, be self-assertive with the beast, but the beast kept appearing and then disappearing. So Ahab gets his crew, and the crew tries to take on Moby Dick in a battle that lasts for three days, notice the imagery, for three days. Moby Dick finally gets Ahab. Ahab and the crew die. But why? Why? - Because Ahab wanted to subdue God; because Ahab wanted to control God; because Ahab was not willing to live with the mystery of God. Ahab wanted to make sure that the beast did what God would do for him. Ahab wanted to make sure that the beast was subordinate to him. He wanted to make God do what he wanted God to do.
This is what I call, in the Book of Job, Job's great a priori. Job himself wants to make God, in a sense, accountable to him. He goes to the north, to the south, the east and the west to find him. He says when I meet God, God will sit down and I will tell God exactly what God should do. Job, therefore, is creating a false God to knock down. He is looking for a vengeful God. He is looking for a God who, he thinks, is out to get him. As he does so, he finds that this God is actually silent. And he gets angry. He says: "If only this God would just answer the charges that I have against him." - just like Ahab had with Moby Dick.
In fact, Job reminds me of a painter who goes to a house and knocks on the door looking for part-time employment. A woman comes to the door and says to the painter: "Well, what would you like to do?" And the painter says: "Well, I'm willing to paint anything, absolutely anything to make a few dollars." And so the woman looks at him and says: "Okay. I have got something for you to do. It won't take very long, but I'll let you do it." And she says: "Here is some green paint. I would like you to go to the porch out back and I would like you to paint it." "Oh, no problem at all," he says, "I'll be glad to do that." So the young man goes out and the woman leaves him to it for the day. She comes back at the end of the day and says to the young man: "Well, how did you get along?" The young man replies: "Well, very well." She says: "You didn't have any problems?" He says: "No, there was only one thing, though, that's not quite right. It's actually not a Porsche but a black Mercedes that you have out back."
Well, Job is like that painter. He's not only got the wrong car and the wrong item, he's created the wrong God! No wonder God does not listen to him. He believes that God is vengeful, and God is not. He believes that God is unjust, and God is holy and just. He believes that God is silent, when, in fact, God is not. Job has set up a false God that he wants to knock down.
We find a similar moment in the Old Testament in I Kings XVIII, when Elijah meets the prophets of Baal. The prophets of Baal challenge Elijah and Elijah challenges them to burn the bull that is there. The prophets of Baal pray, and they march around and they make a great kerfuffle. They really hope that their god will burn this bull. They cry out to this god: "God, would you come down and burn up this bull." Nothing happens. There is a wonderful moment in the text when, in fact, Elijah reminds the prophets of Baal that their god is silent. This God is silent, because they are looking for a god who doesn't exist.
My friends, many times when we get angry with God, when we try and give a defense, when we feel that God is silent, we are in fact attacking a false god. Which brings me to the second line of his defense: namely his own innocence. Job said: "I am honest, I can therefore reason with God and God will declare me to be innocent. This is known in the Hebrew as his misphati, his acquittal. He has, in fact, already determined that he has done nothing wrong, and he is right. He is doing it in the face of God. He is saying I have done nothing wrong; I am not guilty; there is no possible way that you should or could be able to punish me for what I have done wrong.
Some years ago, in a former congregation, there was a young man who was a lineman, and, as many of you know, being a lineman is a very dangerous occupation. This young lineman, who had just had his children baptized and had just recently joined our church, one day climbed up a pole and one of the great transmitter boxes exploded in front of him. He had burns from the top of his head to the tip of his toe. I remember going in to see him in the burn unit in the Halifax hospital, one of the saddest and most difficult places in all the world, I think, to visit. Here he was suspended in a bath and I could barely recognize him. He looked up at me, and I remember his look and his eyes to this very day. He said: "Well, I would like to know, Reverend, what in God's name have I done wrong?" For days, nay weeks, years after that, I visited him on a regular basis. He returned to health and strength remarkably well, not well enough to do his job anymore, but certainly to continue to work. I have thought of that gaze many times, and when I read Job, I understand him. I understand why people say: "You know, I must have done something wrong, and yet, deep down in my heart, I believe I am innocent. Why should I get this?" The only problem is, as with Job: God hadn't done it at all.
This brings me to my third case. Job here is torn. He is torn between the fear of God on the one hand and, on the other hand, the beneficence of God. On the one hand, he thinks now, at the end of it all, that God is a fearful God. He says, and I quote him at the end of Chapter XXIII: "Almighty God has destroyed my courage. It is God, not the dark that makes me afraid, even though the darkness has made me blind." There is a sense, you see, in which, after Job has gone through all of this, he still is frightened of God. And there are many people who are frightened of God, but it is a god that is of their own making. It is the god of darkness that they are frightened of. It is a god, a false god, who hides from people. It is a god who is pernicious. When they think of that god, they become guilty, and they become frightened and they become angry. Then there is a wonderful moment, a moment when I think finally Job starts to see the light. He says: "If I made my case before this God, I know one thing: This God would listen to me."
Throughout the whole of the Old Testament, there is a sense in which, in moments of greatest danger and difficulty, the true God, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is the God who listens. When Moses makes his case before God, after the oppression of His people, just before the exodus, there is a wonderful line. It says: "I have heard the cries of My people and I will answer them." Job finally realizes at this very moment, a moment of epiphany, a moment of self-discovery, a moment when he realizes that for all his moaning and complaining for all his pain and loss, for all his anger and aggression and fear, that the real God, the true God, is one that actually will give him a hearing. The God who has already heard the pain and the cries of his soul is a God who in the end, at the very conclusion, will be there for him.
Last Sunday, those of us who were at the 11 o'clock service, heard a most magnificent solo by Jesse. I went home and I thought about that, about the person who wrote the piece that Jesse sang. It was a man of whom some of us may have heard, called Horatio Spafford who was a lawyer in Chicago in 1873. In that year, he decided to send his wife and four children on a cruise on the Ville de Havre from New York to France. And so as a treat for his family, he placed his wife and four children on the ship. As the ship was sailing, it collided with another ship, and the other ship caused the Ville de Havre to sink. As it was sinking, three of the children that were with Mrs. Spafford were drowned. The fourth child, a little boy, was left in her arms. As she was floating on the sea, a huge wave came along and drove the child from her arms. The child drowned and sank to the bottom of the sea. Mrs. Spafford was finally saved, and taken to Cardiff where she sent a message back to her husband. It simply said: "Saved alone." Horatio Spafford was so angry, so furious with God that he got on his knees and for day after day he prayed to God. He wondered how on earth God could bring this atrocity on him. What had he done wrong? What had he done wrong to cause him to lose the children in his life? Then in a moment of great prayer, a word sort of came to his heart. As he was in conversation with one of his friends, he said the following: "I am glad to be able at this very moment to trust the Lord when it costs me something." Horatio Spafford then went on in a few day's time to write these words (I will not sing them for I could never copy Jesse's voice, but I will read them, and you will know what I mean.):
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this bless'd assurance control:
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed his own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought,
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more.
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, oh my soul.
And Lord haste the day when the clouds shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll.
The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend.
Even so, it is well with my soul."
Job needed to hear those words. He had blamed a false god, a god who did not exist. He needed to listen, because God, as you will hear next week, was listening to Job. Amen.
This is a verbatim transcription of the original sermon.