The Peripatetic Preacher The Tragic Loss of Job (2)

In the first essay of this six-part series on the loss of the book of Job in the church and synagogue I argued that in the exilic battle between the authors of Job and 2-Isaiah, the latter won, while Job was reduced at best to a footnote for the returning exiles, for the later Jewish nation, and for the emerging Christian church. And even with its status as footnote, Job quite literally never played much of a role in the church’s or the synagogue’s developing theologies, though I sincerely know that it could have played such a role and should have played one. The church and the synagogue are far the weaker for their avoidance and misapplications of this rich biblical story. In this essay I want to begin an analysis of Job that attempts to mine its wonders—ethically, theologically, and environmentally—for the 21st century religious communities that need it for a better understanding of what God may be about in the world now and for a better understanding of themselves as they face that increasingly complex and dangerous world.

“A man there was in the land of Uts whose name was Job. Now that man was perfectly righteous, fearing Elohim and shunning evil” (Job 1:1). The author begins the story with crucial information about the hero that will color every twist and turn that the tale will take. The narrator, our storyteller, announces that Job is among the most righteous and deeply religious people one is likely to meet. He is “tam w’yashar,” literally “complete/perfect/filled with integrity” and “straight/upright,” both nouns indicating moral perfection and complete integrity in the eyes of all. When read as hendiadys, that is two nouns joined by a simple conjunctive, one noun may serve as adjective to the other, hence my “perfectly righteous.” And this perfectly righteous Job displays his perfection by “fearing (or “standing in awe of”) Elohim” and by “shunning (or “avoiding/turning away from”) evil.” There is no doubt in the eye of the author that Job is perfection personified. Hence, all later attempts, especially on the part of the friends of Job, to tar him with an evil brush, are not based in any truth about him whatsoever. Thus, in the very first sentence of the book, the problem is joined; what if there were a wonderfully pious and righteous person who ended up with nothing save pain and rejection due to no fault of his own? Just what sort of universe would one be living in then? And ultimately, who may we say God is, the supposed creator of such a universe?

Scholars have long surmised that the prologue (Job 1-2) and the epilogue (Job 42:7-17) of the book were originally the beginning and ending of a rather different story than the one we now read. One could reconstruct such an ancient story as follows: Job is a superbly righteous man who loses everything he values (prologue), but due to his piety or his faithfulness in the face of these tragedies, he receives double from God what was originally lost (epilogue). The supposed “missing middle” of this old tale may have included attacks on Job, perhaps from friends and perhaps even from God, but in the face of it all, Job perseveres, never questioning the inscrutable mysteries of the world and of God, and is duly rewarded by that same God, living to a ripe old age, dandling his great- great-grandchildren on his knees. The prologue and epilogue are nearly all written in a straightforward prose, while the middle we now have is nearly all poetry, and a very complex and rich poetry, too. That theory may be correct, but it is only speculation. It is not what confronts us in our Bible now. What we have now is an infinitely more amazing tale than that rather simple one may have been. And that is what makes the Bible’s Job so special and so demanding.

The narrator goes on in his story to describe Job as amazingly righteous. He has even the correct number of children—10, an important whole number in the Bible— among whom are the right balance of genders, seven sons (a classic numeral of completeness) and three daughters, which in the patriarchal world would be seen as fitting for this pious man’s family. My, he even has the correct number of animals in his flocks: seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels (making ten thousand!), five hundred yoke of oxen and five hundred donkeys (making again ten thousand!). A glance at Job’s livestock announces again that he is perfection, a peerless fellow. And along with innumerable servants—such a fabulously wealthy man would of course have countless servants—he was quite rightly judged to be “the greatest of all the people of the east” (Job 1:3). Job lives in the east, because that is the location of many crucial biblical events, not the least of which is the very origins of the Israelites in the land between the rivers (so Gen.2:14, the wellspring of all the world’s waters, and Gen.12, the homeland of the prominent patriarch and matriarch, Abram and Sarai).

Reinforcing Job’s religious and moral grandeur is the fact that his sons, all seven, were fond of feasts and parties, and would hold them often, each in his turn at his house, inviting all of his brothers and all three sisters to each celebration. Job, ever watchful and vigilant for his children, would “sanctify them” (that is “bless them”) after each of these parties, but that is not all. The morning after each of these numerous feasts, Job “would rise early in the morning, rush to the place of sacrifice, and would offer there “whole burnt offerings,” according to the number of them all” (Job 1:5). Thus, he would drag to the altar ten screaming beasts, oxen, cow, or goat, and burn them to God, because he knew that was what God always asked of the people, but also because he knew that God needed to be assuaged somehow from divine anger against any supposed evil act or word. “It may be,” said Job, “that my children have sinned, and cursed God, even if only in their own hearts” (that is, “even silently to themselves”)” (Job 1:5). Job had learned that God was anxious to discover evil, and equally anxious to punish evil, but could be bought off with appropriate and costly sacrifices, “so that is what Job always did.”

While the fabulously righteous Job is demonstrating in every possible way just how righteous he is, a scene is unfolding in the skies above his head. YHWH invites the “heavenly beings” (literally “the children of the gods”) to assemble in the court of heaven, and among the assembled beings is one known as The Satan. This is decidedly not Mephistopheles, bearing horns and tail, carrying a flaming pitchfork in hand. Each time he is named, he is “The Satan,” the word meaning something like “the spy,” or perhaps the “prosecuting attorney.” Whatever the word means, this fellow is a regular member of YHWH’s court, not some sort of devilish adversary against God. His role is to observe the actions of human beings and to report those actions back to YHWH. YHWH asks where The Satan has been, and true to his calling he has been “going to and fro on the earth, walking up and down on it” (Job 1:7). Have you seen “my servant Job,” asks YHWH, who proceeds to repeat the description of the man given by the narrator in 1:1, reemphasizing the unimpeachable piety and righteousness of Job, a reality that we now have straight from the mouth of YHWH.

The Satan immediately asks a very important and crucial question: “Is Job in awe of Elohim for nothing” (Job 1:9)? In other words, is Job’s piety completely without desire, without expectation of reward, or does he expect goodies for being good? After all, he is comfortable and rich, revered and honored. So The Satan says, “Stretch out your hand now, touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face” (Job 1:11). And YHWH is apparently very interested in this case, and bids The Satan to do just that, “to stretch out his hand,” but commands that he not touch Job himself. The Satan goes to do just that.

In four hammer blows Job loses everything: oxen, donkeys, and servants, sheep and more servants, camels and the rest of his servants, and last and most horribly all ten of his children in a ferocious windstorm. Job responds to all this tragedy with a well-worn proverb: “’Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I shall return there; YHWH gave and YHWH has taken away; blessed be YHWH’s name.’ In all this Job did not sin or charge Elohim with wrongdoing” (Job 1:21-22). The vast piety of Job is reaffirmed in his refusal to curse God as The Satan had warned.

The heavenly scene is repeated, but this time The Satan is given permission by YHWH to attack Job’s body with a foul disease. Now alone, on a heap of ashes, scraping himself with a broken piece of cheap pottery, clothed in a stinking and shredded cloak, Job’s wife appears to him and urges him “to curse God and then finally die” (Job 2:9). She is a woman who has endured the loss of all she knew and loved, and now witnessing her husband as a diseased and wretched wreck, of course she hopes he will just get it all over with and force God, whom he continues to love but who clearly no longer loves him, to finish him off. She is not thereby evil in speaking thus; she has merely had enough, and can no longer bear the degradation of her life and the life of Job.

But Job refuses to knuckle under to her request or to God’s blows. He responds again with words he has learned, but it is important to see that now the words are spoken as a question: “Shall we receive good at the hand of God and not receive the bad” (Job 2:10)? Well, shall we? Is the question more than a rhetorical one? Is Job now quite so convinced that God is on his side, given his life of exemplary piety? Or has a crack formed in that supposedly solid wall of righteousness and piety?

Job’s three friends now appear, having heard of his troubles, and travel to see him, presumably to “console and comfort him” (Job 2:11). However, their immediate actions bear no whiff of consolation, no odor of comfort. Instead, “they saw him from a distance,” determining they will not approach him. “They did not recognize him,” so changed was he from his tragedies, so they “raised their voices, wept aloud, tore their robes, and threw dust into the air upon their heads” (Job 2:12). These friends exhibit the outward signs of traditional mourning—loud weeping, torn garments, dirt on the head— but the latter action is odd, occurring exactly like this only in one other place in the tradition. “Throwing dust in the air” is precisely the sixth plague of Egypt, performed by Moses (Ex.9:8), though instead of dust Moses employs soot as he tosses it into the air, where it becomes “dust,” whence it settles on Egyptian humans and animals, producing terrible boils. It is a magic act, designed to separate Egyptians from Israelites. I suggest that the action of the friends of Job is designed in the same way; throwing dust into the air is a magic act, separating them from him. Whatever Job has done, his location on the heap of ashes, and his deplorable physical condition, are clear signs that his evil is vast, and they want no part of it! As they will make plain ad nauseum in their speeches, Job has gotten from God what he deserves, for God always rewards the righteous, but punishes the wicked. Their silence here, along with their weeping, torn clothes, and loud cries are not indications of identity with the sufferer, but indications of their complete separation from the terrible sinner.

They hope only for Job’s early and painful demise, since their theology teaches them that that is the way and will of God. They are silent, hoping Job too will remain silent in his misery. Thus, their ways of thinking will be fully vindicated. But the joke is on them! Job is many things, but silent is not one of them. In the next chapter, he will begin a long and furious argument with them and with God, one that will not find any sort of end until God shows up. And even then, the end may be rather more like a beginning, as we will see.