Chuck Larsen

It was in November of 1965 that my ship, the USS WRIGHT (CC-2), pulled into the docks at Newport, Rhode Island. It was snowing flakes as big as golf balls, and the world was pretty much quiet. The snow had absorbed the sounds. As the line handlers tied the ship to the dock, the radio on the ship picked up a local radio station, and it played throughout the ship. It was the first time I heard Simon and Garfunkel sing “The Sounds of Silence.” For some reason, this combination of events and sounds made a lasting impression on me. Every time I hear that song, I remember it. Every time it snows like that, I remember it. Silence can be loud sometimes. I always think that this is what the duet was trying to say. Only when the clamor and distractions of the world around us are silenced do we hear God.

As Job was undergoing the greatest sufferings in life that one can imagine, one of his friends, Elihu, urges him to remember all of God’s work in the world and to let sounds bring to mind the power of God. Throughout chapter 36 of the book of Job, Elihu extols God’s greatness. He is the source of all the sounds of nature.  He refers to a full range of audio images: thunder, cracking, lightning, rain, snowstorms, etc. In Verse 33, he says that the “crashing” of the lightning and thunder “declare God’s presence.” It’s almost as if God stops the world and creates an environment where he makes Himself known on earth. Yet, we are so often obsessed with all the natural things around us that we are unaware of His presence. God wants us to hear Him. C. S. Lewis said that God gets our attention through our pain. He whispers to us in our pleasures but shouts at us in our pain. We could not hear the wonderful blessings in his whispered promises if he didn’t first get our attention.

The Daily Bread told a relevant story from a Pastor named James H. Brookes. He spoke of visiting a friend’s house and hearing the music of a bird singing. It was not the ordinary sound of chirping; instead, it resembled the strains of a lovely melody. At first, Brookes didn’t know where it was coming from, but when he glanced around the room, he saw a beautiful bullfinch in a birdcage. The lady of the house explained that it had been taught to sing that way at night. The teacher would repeat the notes time and again until the bird was able to mimic them. But this was possible only because it was dark, and the bird’s attention would not be diverted. Back in Chapter 35, verse 10, Elihu said that God, “our maker,” gives “songs in the night.” It is often true that when the darkness of pain and suffering surrounds us, we can finally let go of our hold on all the things on earth and give God our undivided attention. Brookes concludes, “How often we learn our sweetest songs when the blackness of trial closes in around us…. let’s not despair when the darkness of trouble descends upon us. God is with us; God will help us and give us a song.”

Job is hard to look at. If Dr. Mayhew is correct, Job is suffering from an extremely advanced form of Leprosy, which distorts one’s appearance so that they become grotesque and often unrecognizable, as was the case with Job. He’s repulsive, and it’s difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Being unable to do that, Job’s friends resort to an intellectual debate over the cause of his situation rather than ministering to Job amid his suffering. Job answers, “Do you think your words are convincing when you disregard my cry of desperation?”  Job is crying out for help, comfort, and support in chapter three from the pit of despair. His friends stand around the edge of the pit and talk about how Job got into the pit in the first place when what he needs is help at the moment. It’s like the blind man who cried out for Jesus. The disciples told him to be quiet. He was making a scene. They were unconcerned about his plight. There was no compassion.

Finally, Job shouts, “Look at me!” But they don’t want to. He’s too repulsive. He’s too hard to look at. He wanted them to see his suffering, acknowledge his pain, and empathize with his situation. He knew if they would open their hearts and then their eyes, they would recognize his need is not intellectual debate but compassion and comfort. But he gets none!

We know that Job was “righteous” in God’s estimation because we are told that at the beginning of the book. We sympathize with Job because we are convinced of his innocence. But it’s not only the innocent that need compassion and comfort. Israel as a nation was suffering in unimaginably repulsive ways. Unlike Job, they brought suffering to themselves because of their rebellion and disobedience to God. But Isaiah doesn’t focus on cause-effect reasoning but tells them that there will come a great comforter who will be their Messiah. Isaiah writes what this Messiah will do and say. “Comfort, comfort ye, my people. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and tell her that her iniquity is pardoned.” (Isaiah 40:1-2) In his innocent suffering, Job needed comfort. In Israel’s guilty suffering, they needed compassion and comfort. We sometimes suffer for no rational reason. Sometimes, we suffer because we’ve brought it on ourselves. In both cases, we need the deliverer.  Jesus is our deliverer and Messiah. He will come and sit next to us in the pit of despair. The “man of sorrows” who is “well acquainted with grief” will take our hand in his own nail-pierced hands and comfort us in our pain, and He will lift us out of the pit of despair.

In Job’s reply to his friends, he continues to assert his righteousness despite his suffering and the accusations from his friends. Job realizes he cannot argue with God. God is too wise. He cannot wrestle with God; God is too strong. He cannot even plead with God; God is too aloof in this time of suffering. Through it all, the pain does not stop. Job laments that God “…will not let me get my breath, but fills me with bitterness.”

It doesn’t take near the depth of pain in my life to make me bitter. Sometimes, it comes when I don’t get what I want, or I get less than I expect, or I feel slighted, or any number of less significant hurts than those Job experienced. Loss, disappointment, pain, and suffering are just part of life. People hurt people. Sometimes we are hurt intentionally, and sometimes it’s unintentional. All of us have experienced it. We are all tempted to respond with bitterness. And sometimes, it clamps down on our lives like shackles on our legs and won’t let us go. I’ve noticed that bitterness can be more painful than the hurt I allowed to cause it.  I allow my stomach to churn, my mind to storm, and my soul to turn dark. Bitterness is one of the most dangerous plagues a Christian might catch. It will eat away at the vitality of our spiritual as well as our physical lives. It is indeed a “cancer of the soul.” As far as cancer is concerned, one website reports, “While there currently isn’t a cure for cancer, researchers are exploring several new treatments, including vaccines and gene editing, that could eventually change the face of cancer treatment.”

But, the Bible suggests that there is a cure for cancer of the soul. One of the most beautiful words in any language is the word “forgive.” The word is a common one, but the essence of the word is in the last part, “give. ” We must “give” a release to the one we’ve perceived as having harmed us. I expect that we often perceive that God has wronged us, as Job did. When inexplicable pain enters our lives, we find no object of our bitterness but God. I’d argue that God is never wrong, yet sometimes we even need to forgive God, let go of a perceived hurt, and release God as the source of our pain. The ultimate definition of faith is believing that God has my best interest foremost in mind regardless of the things I’ve suffered or am suffering at the moment. God tells us that he only allows pain in our lives for our benefit and will work it out in the end. He did this for Job, and I believe this is what God will do for me. Faith is not just believing that God exists. Even the demons do that. It’s believing that God loves us and will always bring about good in our lives.

The singing group, Kansas, told us we are “dust in the wind.” We are nothing more than “a drop of water in an endless sea.” Job’s so-called friend, Bildad, had a similar thought when he spoke with Job. The language is difficult to understand, but Hebrew poetry is often used that way. It sometimes takes reflection to make modern sense out of ancient poetry. For example, what did Bildad mean when he said to Job, “If he is destroyed from his place, then it will deny him, saying, ‘I have never seen you.’?” What came to my mind was what happens when I put my hand in a bucket of water and then remove it. My hand is removed (destroyed) from its place (i.e., the water), and when it’s gone, the water denies the hand has ever been there. When the hand is gone, its place appears to have been left with no impression of it ever being there.  This is your fate, Job, Bildad says.  I sometimes feel that way about my life, don’t you? We live in a world in which only the rich, famous, and highly talented leave any mark on the world. That’s not me!

Bildad has asserted that Job’s children have been destroyed because they have sinned.  There will be no record of Job’s ever being on the earth. Job has expressed his uselessness and hopelessness with similar comments but has maintained his innocence throughout the ordeal. Bildad turns his misery back on him by explaining that this is the expected outcome for the wicked. It is your own suffering that condemns you, Job. You lie in this vile dust, Job, having lost everything because you are a wretched sinner. And the fate of all wretched sinners is the same. Sir Walter Scott describes the fate of the wretched. He writes, “The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.” That’s you, Job. That about sums it up for me, too.

But even if this is an accurate assessment of Job or me and you, the story does not end here. In the book of Job, We are introduced to a “redeemer” who will intercede for Job. The Psalmist captures the redeemer’s role very well. Psalm 113:7-8 says, “He picks up the poor from out of the dirt, rescues the wretched who’ve been thrown out with the trash, Seats them among the honored guests, a place of honor among the brightest and best.” In Romans 7, Paul exclaims, “Oh, wretched man that I am, who can deliver me from this body of death?” He goes on, “But thanks be to God through Jesus Christ Our Lord…”

Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!

I frequently meet people who have rejected God because of evil in the world. Usually, it’s more an emotional response to personal pain and suffering than an intellectual, rational position chosen because it makes more sense. Instead, the existence of God and the non-existence of God are both steps of faith, not reason.

Satan’s attack on Job was intended to bring him to personally “curse God” to his face. There are many facets of the idea of “cursing,” but one of them isn’t to deny God’s existence. The actual “cursing” God suggests that He does indeed exist. Although it often includes the emotional rejection of the existence of God, it usually focuses on God’s nature. He is not “good.” The New Testament teaches us that it’s by faith that we please God. Faith is not merely believing that God exists but that he is good regardless of our perceived circumstances. God exists, and His intentions towards us are always good. To curse God would be to deny one or both of these aspects of faith.

Job’s pain and suffering caused much consternation as he attempted to reconcile his suffering with his Faith in God and God’s goodness. He did not deny them. Job was puzzled over how the God he knew existed and was a good God could allow such catastrophe in his life for no apparent reason. It’s the same struggle we all have. The challenge for us, like Job, is whether we will continue to have faith and affirm His existence and goodness when we pass through life’s trials. Satan seeks to destroy that faith.

Many of Job’s comments to God affirm his faith in God and His goodness despite his suffering. He says, “Your hands fashioned and made me…Remember that you have made me like clay…You clothed me with skin and flesh and knit me with bones and sinews. You have granted me life and steadfast love, and your care has preserved my spirit.”

Our prayer in a similar vein might be, “Father, though I am suffering right now, I know you are there. I know you are good. I know you made me and will never desert me because you love me with everlasting love. You preserve me in bad times as well as the good times. I praise your name.”

I’m sure you heard the childhood chorus, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!” The Bible teaches us that this is not true. It might be true that words won’t cut or bruise my body, but words can hurt us deeply. The pain of words can be just as real and sometimes more profound and more complex to heal than the physical pains we suffer. An early Davidic psalm reads: “They sharpen their tongues like swords and aim their words like deadly arrows. They shoot from ambush at the innocent man; they shoot at him suddenly, without fear” (Ps 64:3, 4). Words can heal. Words can wound. Words can inspire, and words can devastate.

Zophar’s words must devastate Job. He said harsh, painful things in response to Job’s cry of pain. First, he calls Job’s struggle reconciling God’s goodness and his pain “Babble.” In other words, Job is simply stupid and needs to be rebuked. He also tells Job, “…God exacts of you less than your guilt deserves.” You are so wicked, Job, that all you have suffered isn’t enough. God should give you more!  Job, you don’t even have the sense to see that. Then he says, “But a stupid man will get understanding when a wild donkey’s colt is born a man!” In other words, you are a Jackass, Job. And there is no hope for you ever-changing.

We know that Satan is behind Job’s suffering. It must include the words of Job’s friends here. I can’t imagine anything more painful than to be so profoundly surrounded by personal misery and have so-called friends attempt to rationalize with me and call me stupid. An old preaching cliché is “afflict the comfortable but comfort the afflicted.” Zophar afflicts the afflicted. I suppose I’ve done my share of that. The lesson from this text is to be careful not to use words that hurt others, especially when they are already hurting.

Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar beat Job with their words rather than comfort him in his pain. Job cried while they rationalized. He moaned, they explained. He wept, and they discussed. He mourned, they accused. When the three had finished their first round of their verbal assault, Job replied, “worthless physicians are you all. Oh, that you would keep silent, and it would be your wisdom!”

When people are in despair, like Job, silence is golden. We cannot deal with pain intellectually while we’re in the middle of it. It’s not a rational subject, and in the throes of suffering, we are anything but rational beings. One Christian Psychologist says despair “tends to be characterized by tears, negative and hopeless/helpless thoughts, and a feeling of total emptiness and loss. Sleep and eating disturbances are common as the “reality” of the situation sets in.” This certainly describes Job’s condition. He says, “Relationships with other people can become more difficult at this time, but understanding and compassion must be given and accepted to move beyond this stage (i.e., despair).”

In March of 1979, I was at a bible study when Kathy called the church for me. She talked to one of the Elders, David Reid, and told him that my father had just passed away. After he told me, he rested his head beside mine and stood there. He didn’t say a thing. It was awkward because I was not accustomed to such behavior, but I’ve never forgotten that gesture of compassion. He added his strength to battle my loss.

When confronted with the suffering of others, we are all tempted to resolve it somehow. But usually, there is nothing we can do or say. But we can be compassionate. “Sympathy is two hearts tugging at one load,” said Charles A. Parkhurst. “The world hunger for compassion or sympathy. Often, we can do nothing but sympathize—suffer with the distressed—but, oh, how it helps!”