Happy Are Those Who Weep

Jesus speaks to Job.

The conversation between Zophar and Job in our reading today could be considered a bit more measured. Maybe they’re even hearing each other. It might be said that what Zophar declares is not exactly wrong (my mind felt like it resonated with Mary’s song in Luke 1). But Zophar’s lack of understanding of timing is what is off. And that’s how Job responds, something like, “Yes, Zophar, but why do the wicked die old?”

And it’s a good question.

Jesus steps into a world that often asks the same thing: Why do the wicked seem to thrive while the innocent suffer? In today’s beatitudes from Luke, Jesus addresses those who are poor, hungry, weeping, and hated. And he does so not with platitudes or distant promises that “one day it will all make sense,” but with a startling declaration: you are blessed, and the kingdom of God is yours.

Job, sitting in his suffering, would have heard something very different from Jesus than from his friends. Where Zophar tries to force justice into a predictable timeline - prosperity for the righteous, ruin for the wicked - Jesus acknowledges the reality that, right now, these things don’t always align.

Yet Jesus also upends the idea that present circumstances determine ultimate worth. The beatitudes do not dismiss suffering; instead, they insist that God’s kingdom breaks in precisely where the world least expects it. Job, wrestling with why suffering exists, might not get all the answers he longs for, but in Jesus’ words, we glimpse a God who draws near to those in the depths and declares that they are not forgotten. In other words, where Zophar sees a neat moral equation, Jesus offers a hope that turns the world’s assumptions upside down.

Luke 6:17-23

Jesus came down from the mountain with them and stood on a large area of level ground. A great company of his disciples and a huge crowd of people from all around Judea and Jerusalem and the area around Tyre and Sidon joined him there. They came to hear him and to be healed from their diseases, and those bothered by unclean spirits were healed. The whole crowd wanted to touch him, because power was going out from him and he was healing everyone.

Jesus raised his eyes to his disciples and said:

“Happy are you who are poor, because God’s kingdom is yours.
Happy are you who hunger now, because you will be satisfied.
Happy are you who weep now, because you will laugh.

Happy are you when people hate you, reject you, insult you, and condemn your name as evil because of the Human One. Rejoice when that happens! Leap for joy because you have a great reward in heaven. Their ancestors did the same things to the prophets.

Job 19-20

Zophar from Naamah said:

Therefore, my troubled thoughts make me turn back—
because of my inner turmoil.
I hear teaching that insults me,
but I am forced to answer based on my own understanding.
Do you know this from long ago—
from when humans were placed on earth—
that the rejoicing of the wicked is short,
the joy of the godless, brief?
Though their height reaches heaven
and their heads touch the clouds,
they will perish forever like their dung;
those who saw them will say, “Where are they?”
They will disappear like a dream,
and none will find them,
carried away like a nighttime vision.
The eye that saw them will do so no more;
they won’t be seen again at home.
Their children will repay the poor;
their hands will give back their wealth.
Vigor filled their bones
and now sleeps with them in the dust.
Though wickedness is sweet in their mouths,
they hide it under their tongues;
they like it, won’t let it go;
they hold it in their cheeks.
Food turns their stomachs,
becoming a cobra’s poison inside.
They swallow wealth and vomit it;
God dislodges it from their belly.
They suck cobra’s poison;
a viper’s tongue kills them.
They won’t experience streams,
rivers of honey, and brooks of cream.
They won’t receive the reward for their labor;
they won’t enjoy the wealth from their business.
They crushed and abandoned the poor;
stole a house they didn’t build;
didn’t know contentment in their belly;
couldn’t escape with their treasure.
Nothing remained of their food,
so their riches will not endure.
Even in their plenty, they are hard-pressed;
all sorts of trouble come on them.
Let God fill their belly,
unleash his burning anger on them,
rain punishing blows on them.
If they flee an iron weapon,
a bronze bow pierces them.
They pull it out, but it sticks out from their backs;
its shaft in their liver brings terror.
Complete darkness waits for their treasured possessions;
fire that no one stoked consumes them;
what’s left in their tent is ruined.
Heaven exposes their guilt;
earth opposes them.
Their household wealth will be carried off
by rushing streams on the day of his anger.
This is a wicked person’s lot from God,
their heritage decreed by God.

Then Job answered:

Listen carefully to my remarks
and let that comfort you.
Bear with me so I can speak, I myself;
and after my reply you can mock.
Are my complaints against another human;
why is my patience short?
Turn to me and be appalled; lay your hand over your mouth.
If I recall it, I’m scared; shaking seizes my body.

Why do the wicked live, grow old, and even become strong?
Their children are always with them,
their offspring in their sight,
their houses safe from dread,
God’s punishing stick not upon them.
Their bull always breeds successfully;
their cows give birth and never miscarry.
They send forth their little ones like sheep;
their infants bounce around.
They raise drum and lyre,
rejoice at the sound of a flute.
They spend their days contentedly,
go down to the grave peacefully.
They say to God, “Turn away from us;
we take no pleasure in knowing your ways;
who is the Almighty that we should serve him,
and what can we gain if we meet him?”
Look, isn’t their well-being the work of their own hands?
A sinner’s logic is beyond me.

How often does the lamp of the wicked flicker
or disaster come upon them,
with its fury inflicting pain on them?
Let them be like straw in the wind,
like dry grass stolen by a storm.
God stores up his punishment for his children.
Let him destroy them so they know.
Let their own eyes witness their doom.
Let them drink from the Almighty’s wrath.
What do they care about their household after they die,
when their numbered days are cut off?

Will they instruct God—
he who judges the most powerful?
Someone dies in wonderful health,
completely comfortable and well,
their buckets full of milk,
their bones marrow-filled and sound.
Another dies in bitter spirit,
never having tasted the good things.
They lie together in the dust
and worms cover them.

Look, I know your thoughts;
your plans harm me.
You say, “Where is the official’s house?
Where is the tent, the dwelling of the wicked?”
Haven’t you asked travelers
or paid attention to their reports?
On the day of disaster the wicked are spared;
on the day of fury they are rescued.
Who can criticize their behavior to their faces;
they act, and who can avenge them?
They are carried to their graves;
someone keeps guard over their tombs.
The soil near the desert streambed is sweet to them;
everyone marches after them—
those before them, beyond counting.
How empty is your comfort to me;
only deceit remains in your responses.

Prayer

God,

Thank you for a new day. I’m grateful for the wrestlings of Job and his friends, that I can read such ancient honesty and wisdom. But I’m also grateful for the simplicity of a new day. A sun rising. Oxygen flowing. Food soon ready to eat.

I don’t have anything on my agenda today that will change the world. I certainly cannot stop war. I can’t feed every hungry person. I can’t solve all the problems, even those of my children as much as I want to. But I can - and I choose to - do what is right in front of me. Little things, one-by-one…decisions to do what is right within the best of my ability.

So help me, God.

By your Spirit & in Christ,
Amen.