Job's Final Defense
...lands on deaf ears.
This is the last we’ll hear from Job for a bit. And even when he does speak again and for the last time, his words are much shorter (and different).
I’m not sure he’s more defensive than ever, but he sure is very clear about his position, essentially, “Where I am wrong, show me.” The next several chapters will be the last and longest rebuke against him from Elihu and he must really think Job a liar if he’s able to say what he says after this definitive chapter.
Then again, sometimes those steeped in unrighteousness are just as deep in their own blindness toward it. Just look around today.
Nonetheless, we know that Job is indeed righteous. And perhaps that’s why what he says in today’s chapter is powerfully sad, a man who feels he has nowhere to turn, no one in his corner.
When we turn to Luke, we see righteousness is again on display, but received very differently. The woman who anoints Jesus is not seen as righteous by those in the room. In fact, she is dismissed outright. Yet Jesus sees what others cannot. He receives her, defends her, and names her actions for what they are: love, faith, and devotion. Job longs for someone to hear him, to believe him, to stand with him in his integrity. In Luke, we see that kind of acknowledgement embodied in Jesus. He is the one who recognizes righteousness where others reject it, who stands with the one cast aside, and who speaks a word that restores dignity. Often that is what people in situations like Job most long for, not simply to be right, but to be seen and heard with an attempt at understanding.
Luke 7:30-50
But the Pharisees and legal experts rejected God’s will for themselves because they hadn’t been baptized by John.
“To what will I compare the people of this generation?” Jesus asked. “What are they like? They are like children sitting in the marketplace calling out to each other, ‘We played the flute for you and you didn’t dance. We sang a funeral song and you didn’t cry.’ John the Baptist came neither eating bread nor drinking wine, and you say, ‘He has a demon.’ Yet the Human One came eating and drinking, and you say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunk, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved to be right by all her descendants.”
One of the Pharisees invited Jesus to eat with him. After he entered the Pharisee’s home, he took his place at the table. Meanwhile, a woman from the city, a sinner, discovered that Jesus was dining in the Pharisee’s house. She brought perfumed oil in a vase made of alabaster. Standing behind him at his feet and crying, she began to wet his feet with her tears. She wiped them with her hair, kissed them, and poured the oil on them. When the Pharisee who had invited Jesus saw what was happening, he said to himself, If this man were a prophet, he would know what kind of woman is touching him. He would know that she is a sinner.
Jesus replied, “Simon, I have something to say to you.”
“Teacher, speak,” he said.
“A certain lender had two debtors. One owed enough money to pay five hundred people for a day’s work. The other owed enough money for fifty. When they couldn’t pay, the lender forgave the debts of them both. Which of them will love him more?”
Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the largest debt canceled.”
Jesus said, “You have judged correctly.”
Jesus turned to the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? When I entered your home, you didn’t give me water for my feet, but she wet my feet with tears and wiped them with her hair. You didn’t greet me with a kiss, but she hasn’t stopped kissing my feet since I came in. You didn’t anoint my head with oil, but she has poured perfumed oil on my feet. This is why I tell you that her many sins have been forgiven; so she has shown great love. The one who is forgiven little loves little.”
Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
The other table guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this person that even forgives sins?”
Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”
Job 31
I’ve made a covenant with my eyes;
how could I look at a virgin?
What is God’s portion for me from above,
the Almighty’s inheritance from on high?
Isn’t it disaster for the wicked,
destruction for workers of iniquity?
Doesn’t he see my ways, count all my steps?
If I have walked with frauds or my feet have hurried to deceit,
let him weigh me on accurate scales; let God know my integrity.
If my step has turned from the way, if my heart has followed my eyes
or a blemish has clung to my hands, then let me sow and another reap;
let my offspring be uprooted.
If my heart has been drawn to a woman and I have lurked at my neighbor’s door,
then may my wife grind for another and others kneel over her;
for that’s a crime; it’s a punishable offense;
indeed, it’s a fire that consumes to the underworld,
uprooting all my harvest.
If I’ve rejected the just cause of my male or female servant
when they contended with me, what could I do when God rises;
when he requires an account, what could I answer?
Didn’t the one who made me in the belly make them;
didn’t the same one fashion us in the womb?
If I have denied what the poor wanted,
made a widow’s eyes tired, eaten my morsel alone,
and not shared any with an orphan
(for from my youth I raised the orphan as a father,
and from my mother’s womb I led the widow);
if I ever saw someone dying without clothes, the needy naked;
if they haven’t blessed me fervently,
or if they weren’t warmed by the wool from my sheep;
if I have lifted my hand against the orphans,
when I saw that I had help in the city gate—
may my arm fall from my shoulder,
my forearm be broken at the elbow—
for God’s calamity is terror to me;
I couldn’t endure his splendor.
If I’ve made gold my trust, said to fine gold: “My security!”
if I’ve rejoiced because my wealth was great,
when my hand found plenty;
if I’ve looked at the sun when it shone,
the moon, splendid as it moved;
and my mind has been secretly enticed,
and threw a kiss with my hand,
that also is a punishable offense,
because I would then be disloyal to God above.
If I have rejoiced over my foes’ ruin
or was excited when evil found them,
I didn’t let my mouth sin
by asking for their life with a curse.
Surely those in my tent never said:
“Who has been filled by Job’s food?”
A stranger didn’t spend the night in the street;
I opened my doors to the road.
If I have hidden my transgressions like Adam,
concealing my offenses inside me
because I feared the large crowd;
the clan’s contempt frightened me;
I was quiet and didn’t venture outside.
Oh, that I had someone to hear me!
Here’s my signature;
let the Almighty respond,
and let my accuser write an indictment.
Surely I would bear it on my shoulder,
tie it around me like a wreath.
I would give him an account of my steps,
approach him like a prince.
If my land has cried out against me,
its rows wept together;
if I have eaten its yield without payment
and caused its owners grief,
may briars grow instead of wheat,
poisonous weeds instead of barley.
Job’s words are complete.
Prayer
God,
The sun is rising. It’s pink this morning. Well, at least, the sky and clouds around it from this angle is pink. The sun is always rising, always pink somewhere, right?
This morning, after reading Job’s final defense, I’m reminded of that one who said, “Who am I? …that God should consider me?” I just looked it up and it’s not quite like that, but nonetheless, I feel the psalmist today: What is humanity that you think of us? Why do you care?
Time and again though, you demonstrate in Jesus’ story that you do indeed care. The woman at the well, Zacchaeus, the woman who was bleeding, this woman in Simon’s home…
Help me to receive such notice this morning. I feel guilty even asking. Who am I? Don’t I have enough? Aren’t 45 years of privilege enough?
So help me, God,
By your Spirit & in Christ,
Amen.