Continued Suffering and Sufferable Certainty
If I cry “Violence!” I’m not answered; I shout, but there is no justice. - Job
Job’s suffering has now dragged on long enough that whatever patience his friends may have had (if any) has completely evaporated. Bildad’s second speech today is brutal. Gone are any attempts at pastoral sensitivity. Instead, he delivers a long poetic description of what he believes happens to the wicked: their light goes out, terror hunts them down, and their memory disappears from the earth. The message is unmistakable: this must be what is happening to you, Job.
Job continues to refuse to accept it. He cries out in anguish, accusing his friends of tormenting him and insisting again that their explanation is wrong. His suffering is real, but the moral system they keep applying to him does not fit. Job’s pain has become something deeper than physical loss; it is worsened by the experience of being misjudged by those who believe they understand exactly how God works.
Perhaps something similar is happening in the passage from Luke. The Pharisees believe they know precisely how righteousness works, particularly when it comes to the Sabbath. But Jesus interrupts that certainty, first by allowing his hungry disciples to pluck grain, and then by healing a man whose hand has withered. While the religious leaders carefully guard their understanding of holiness, Jesus quietly restores life right in front of them.
In both passages, the real question becomes clear: what happens when our explanations of God leave no room for his love and compassion? Job’s friends defend their system and wound him further. Jesus refuses such systems and instead heals, feeds, and restores. Perhaps this is one small path for Job’s suffering. It’s not a philosophical solution, but a living example of the kind of kingdom God is bringing into the world.
Luke 6:1-16
One Sabbath, as Jesus was going through the wheat fields, his disciples were picking the heads of wheat, rubbing them in their hands, and eating them. Some Pharisees said, “Why are you breaking the Sabbath law?”
Jesus replied, “Haven’t you read what David and his companions did when they were hungry? He broke the Law by going into God’s house and eating the bread of the presence, which only the priests can eat. He also gave some of the bread to his companions.” Then he said to them, “The Human One is Lord of the Sabbath.”
On another Sabbath, Jesus entered a synagogue to teach. A man was there whose right hand was withered. The legal experts and the Pharisees were watching him closely to see if he would heal on the Sabbath. They were looking for a reason to bring charges against him. Jesus knew their thoughts, so he said to the man with the withered hand, “Get up and stand in front of everyone.” He got up and stood there. Jesus said to the legal experts and Pharisees, “Here’s a question for you: Is it legal on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save life or to destroy it?” Looking around at them all, he said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” So he did and his hand was made healthy. They were furious and began talking with each other about what to do to Jesus.
During that time, Jesus went out to the mountain to pray, and he prayed to God all night long. At daybreak, he called together his disciples. He chose twelve of them whom he called apostles: Simon, whom he named Peter; his brother Andrew; James; John; Philip; Bartholomew; Matthew; Thomas; James the son of Alphaeus; Simon, who was called a zealot; Judas the son of James; and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor.
Job 18-19
Bildad from Shuah answered:
How long? Would you all stop talking.
Try to understand and then we can speak.
Why are we considered beasts,
ignorant in your sight?
To you who tear yourself in rage—
will earth be forsaken for your sake,
a rock be dislodged from its place?
To be sure, the light of the wicked goes out;
the blaze of their fire doesn’t shine.
The light in their tent becomes dark,
and their lamp above doesn’t shine.
Their strong strides slow down;
their plans trip themselves.
They are caught by their feet in a net;
they walk on mesh.
A trap grabs them by the heel;
a snare tightens on them.
A rope is hidden on the ground for them;
a trap for them along the path.
Terrors round about scare them;
they follow their steps.
Their offspring hunger;
calamity is ready for their spouses.
It eats some of their skin.
Death’s firstborn consumes their limbs.
They are snatched from the safety of their tent;
it parades them before the king of terrors.
Nothing they own remains in their tent;
sulfur is scattered over their home.
Their roots dry out below;
their branches wither above.
The memory of them will perish from the earth;
they will achieve no recognition abroad.
They are thrust from light into darkness,
banished from the world.
They have no offspring or descendants among their people,
no survivor in their dwelling place.
Their successors are appalled at what happens to them;
their predecessors pull their hair.
These are surely the dwelling places of the evil;
this is the place of the one who doesn’t know God.
Then Job responded:
How long will you harass me
and crush me with words?
These ten times you’ve humiliated me;
shamelessly you insult me.
Have I really gone astray?
If so, my error remains hidden inside me.
If you look down on me
and use my disgrace to criticize me,
know then that God has wronged me
and enclosed his net over me.
If I cry “Violence!” I’m not answered;
I shout—but there is no justice.
He walled up my path so I can’t pass
and put darkness on my trail,
stripped my honor from me,
removed the crown from my head,
tore me down completely so that I’ll die, and uprooted my hope like a tree.
His anger burns against me;
he considers me his enemy.
His troops come as one
and construct their siege ramp against me;
they camp around my tent.
He has distanced my family from me;
my acquaintances are also alienated from me.
My visitors have ceased;
those who know me have forgotten me.
My guests and female servants think me a stranger;
I’m a foreigner in their sight.
I call my servant, and he doesn’t answer;
I myself must beg him.
My breath stinks to my wife;
I am odious to my children.
Even the young despise me;
I get up, and they rail against me.
All my closest friends despise me;
the ones I have loved turn against me.
My bones cling to my skin and flesh;
I have escaped by the skin of my teeth.
Pity me. Pity me. You’re my friends.
God’s hand has truly struck me.
Why do you pursue me like God does,
always hungry for my flesh?
Oh, that my words were written down,
inscribed on a scroll
with an iron instrument and lead,
forever engraved on stone.
But I know that my redeemer is alive
and afterward he’ll rise upon the dust.
After my skin has been torn apart this way—
then from my flesh I’ll see God,
whom I’ll see myself—
my eyes see, and not a stranger’s.
I am utterly dejected.
You say, “How will we pursue him
so that the root of the matter can be found in him?”
You ought to fear the sword yourselves,
for wrath brings punishment by the sword.
You should know that there is judgment.
Prayer
God,
Give us eyes for justice wrapped in compassion. Is that possible? Are they really at odds? People seem to think justice and compassion are at odds. But you definitely do not demonstrate this in Jesus. Give us that same character, person, and vision.
By your Spirit & in Christ,
Amen.