The Dragon's Grave

Sitting in the extraordinary. Sitting in humility.

These two chapters are the first parts of Job I ever read, or at least remember reading. It was the summer between 8th and 9th grade. I went to Wyoming for a dinosaur excavation at a site they called, The Dragon’s Grave. Those leading it were fiercely defensive of a seven 24-hour week of creation. I’m not here at the moment to talk much about the timing of creation.

…except that these people used Job 40-41 as evident proof that dinosaurs co-existed with humans. To their reading eyes, the behemoth and the leviathan were obviously dinosaurs.

I’m not mad at these people (they were actually quite kind and compassionate). But I sure do wish that my first interaction with Job was not so distracted by such misinterpretation and false directives.

Neither the book’s point nor God’s hope is that we would walk away from reading Job determined that dinosaurs and human coexisted. Rather, the presence of the behemoth and the leviathan in these chapters serve to expand Job’s vision of a world that is far bigger, stranger, and less controllable than he imagined. These creatures are presented as symbols of untamable reality. They are forces of creation that exist beyond human mastery. God’s point is not, “Look what I made, now explain it,” but rather, “Look at what exists beyond you. Can you control it?” The answer, of course, is no. And that is the point. Job is being invited not into explanation, but into humility.

Maybe that seems unfair to our modern, scientific desires. I used to wrestle with such things. And I love what science does for us - the discovery, the development of understanding to be able to develop technologies that help, like medicine, psychology, or chemotherapy.

But I’m most impressed with Jesus. He loves creation. Talked about it all the time. But his character was one of humility and submission.

This movement happens in Luke, though in a very different way. On the mountain, the disciples catch a glimpse of Jesus in glory - radiant, otherworldly, clearly beyond their categorical understanding. It is a moment that, like Job’s encounter with God, stretches their understanding of who they are dealing with. But almost immediately, they descend into confusion, misunderstanding, and the very human realities of fear and doubt. Even after seeing something so extraordinary, they cannot fully grasp it. And perhaps they are not meant to, at least not yet.

And no, Peter, you cannot just pitch a tent and try to remain in it to study and understand it all.

Both passages remind us that encountering God does not resolve mystery; it deepens it. Whether through the overwhelming imagery of creation or the transfigured presence of Christ, we are brought face to face with a reality we cannot contain. And yet, we are still called to follow, to listen, and to trust. Not because we understand everything, but because we have seen enough to know that we are not in control. That is where faith begins.

Luke 9:28-45

About eight days after Jesus said these things, he took Peter, John, and James, and went up on a mountain to pray. As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes flashed white like lightning. Two men, Moses and Elijah, were talking with him. They were clothed with heavenly splendor and spoke about Jesus’ departure, which he would achieve in Jerusalem. Peter and those with him were almost overcome by sleep, but they managed to stay awake and saw his glory as well as the two men with him.

As the two men were about to leave Jesus, Peter said to him, “Master, it’s good that we’re here. We should construct three shrines: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”—but he didn’t know what he was saying. Peter was still speaking when a cloud overshadowed them. As they entered the cloud, they were overcome with awe.

Then a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, my chosen one. Listen to him!” Even as the voice spoke, Jesus was found alone. They were speechless and at the time told no one what they had seen.

The next day, when Jesus, Peter, John, and James had come down from the mountain, a large crowd met Jesus. A man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to take a look at my son, my only child. Look, a spirit seizes him and, without any warning, he screams. It shakes him and causes him to foam at the mouth. It tortures him and rarely leaves him alone. I begged your disciples to throw it out, but they couldn’t.”

Jesus answered, “You faithless and crooked generation, how long will I be with you and put up with you? Bring your son here.” While he was coming, the demon threw him down and shook him violently. Jesus spoke harshly to the unclean spirit, healed the child, and gave him back to his father. Everyone was overwhelmed by God’s greatness.

While everyone was marveling at everything he was doing, Jesus said to his disciples, “Take these words to heart: the Human One is about to be delivered into human hands.” They didn’t understand this statement. Its meaning was hidden from them so they couldn’t grasp it. And they were afraid to ask him about it.

Job 40-41

The Lord continued to respond to Job:

Will the one who disputes with the Almighty correct him?
God’s instructor must answer him.
Job responded to the Lord:
Look, I’m of little worth. What can I answer you?
I’ll put my hand over my mouth.
I have spoken once, I won’t answer;
twice, I won’t do it again.

The Lord answered Job from the whirlwind:
Prepare yourself like a man;
I will interrogate you, and you will respond to me.
Would you question my justice,
deem me guilty so you can be innocent?
Or do you have an arm like God;
can you thunder with a voice like him?
Adorn yourself with splendor and majesty;
clothe yourself with honor and esteem.
Unleash your raging anger;
look on all the proud and humble them.
Look on all the proud and debase them;
trample the wicked in their place.
Hide them together in the dust;
bind their faces in a hidden place.
Then I, even I, will praise you,
for your strong hand has delivered you.

Look at Behemoth, whom I made along with you;
he eats grass like cattle.
Look, his strength is in his thighs,
his power in stomach muscles.
He stiffens his tail like a cedar;
the tendons in his thighs are tightly woven.
His bones are like bronze tubes,
his limbs like iron bars.
He is the first of God’s acts;
only his maker can come near him with a sword.
Indeed, the hills bring him tribute,
places where all the wild animals play.
He lies under the lotuses,
under the cover of reed and marsh.
The lotuses screen him with shade;
poplars of the stream surround him.
If the river surges, he doesn’t hurry;
he is confident even though the Jordan gushes into his mouth.
Can he be seized by his eyes?
Can anyone pierce his nose by hooks?

Can you draw out Leviathan with a hook,
restrain his tongue with a rope?
Can you put a cord through his nose,
pierce his jaw with a barb?
Will he beg you at length
or speak gentle words to you?
Will he make a pact with you
so that you will take him as a permanent slave?
Can you play with him like a bird,
put a leash on him for your girls?
Will merchants sell him;
will they divide him among traders?
Can you fill his hide with darts,
his head with a fishing spear?
Should you lay your hand on him,
you would never remember the battle.
Such hopes would be delusional;
surely the sight of him makes one stumble.
Nobody is fierce enough to rouse him;
who then can stand before me?
Who opposes me that I must repay?
Everything under heaven is mine.
I’m not awed by his limbs,
his strength, and impressive form.
Who can remove his outer garment;
who can come with a bridle for him?
Who can open the doors of his mouth,
surrounded by frightening teeth?
His matching scales are his pride,
closely locked and sealed.
One touches another;
even air can’t come between them.
Each clings to its pair;
joined, they can’t be separated.
His sneezes emit flashes of light;
his eyes are like dawn’s rays.
Shafts of fire shoot from his mouth;
like fiery sparks they fly out.
Smoke pours from his nostrils
like a boiling pot over reeds.
His breath lights coals;
a flame shoots from his mouth.
Power resides in his neck;
violence dances before him.
The folds of his flesh stick together;
on him they are tough and unyielding.
His heart is solid like a rock,
hard like a lower millstone.
The divine beings dread his rising;
they withdraw before his thrashing.
The sword that touches him won’t prevail;
neither will the dart, spear, nor javelin.
He treats iron as straw,
bronze as rotten wood.
Arrows can’t make him flee;
slingstones he turns to straw.
He treats a club like straw;
he laughs at the lance’s rattle.
His abdomen is like jagged pottery shards;
its sharp edges leave a trail in the mud.
He causes the depths to churn like a boiling pot,
stirs up the sea like a pot of scented oils,
leaves a bright wake behind him;
the frothy deep seems white-haired.
None on earth can compare to him;
he is made to be without fear.
He looks on all the proud;
he is king over all proud beasts.

Prayer

God,

You are greater than I can grasp and deeper than I can explain. Your world is full of things beyond my control, beyond my categories, beyond my understanding.

So teach me humility. When I am tempted to figure everything out, to master what cannot be mastered, remind me that you are God and I am not.

Give me the grace to trust what I cannot fully understand. And like the disciples, when I catch even a glimpse of your glory, keep me from trying to contain it or box it up like a hobby. Instead, help me to follow you down the mountain, into the confusion and need of everyday life.

Form in me a faith that listens, trusts, and walks with you, even in the mystery.

By your Spirit & in Christ,
Amen.