I will speak in the anguish of my spirit (Job 3:1-10; 4:1-9; 7:11-21)
3 After this Job opened his mouth and cursed the day of his birth. 2 Job said:
3 “Let the day perish in which I was born,
and the night that said,
‘A man-child is conceived.’
4 Let that day be darkness!
May God above not seek it,
or light shine on it.
5 Let gloom and deep darkness claim it.
Let clouds settle upon it;
let the blackness of the day terrify it.
6 That night—let thick darkness seize it!
let it not rejoice among the days of the year;
let it not come into the number of the months.
7 Yes, let that night be barren;
let no joyful cry be heard[a] in it.
8 Let those curse it who curse the Sea,[b]
those who are skilled to rouse up Leviathan.
9 Let the stars of its dawn be dark;
let it hope for light, but have none;
may it not see the eyelids of the morning—
10 because it did not shut the doors of my mother’s womb,
and hide trouble from my eyes.
4 Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered:
2 “If one ventures a word with you, will you be offended?
But who can keep from speaking?
3 See, you have instructed many;
you have strengthened the weak hands.
4 Your words have supported those who were stumbling,
and you have made firm the feeble knees.
5 But now it has come to you, and you are impatient;
it touches you, and you are dismayed.
6 Is not your fear of God your confidence,
and the integrity of your ways your hope?
7 “Think now, who that was innocent ever perished?
Or where were the upright cut off?
8 As I have seen, those who plow iniquity
and sow trouble reap the same.
9 By the breath of God they perish,
and by the blast of his anger they are consumed.
711 “Therefore I will not restrain my mouth;
I will speak in the anguish of my spirit;
I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.
12 Am I the Sea, or the Dragon,
that you set a guard over me?
13 When I say, ‘My bed will comfort me,
my couch will ease my complaint,’
14 then you scare me with dreams
and terrify me with visions,
15 so that I would choose strangling
and death rather than this body.
16 I loathe my life; I would not live forever.
Let me alone, for my days are a breath.
17 What are human beings, that you make so much of them,
that you set your mind on them,
18 visit them every morning,
test them every moment?
19 Will you not look away from me for a while,
let me alone until I swallow my spittle?
20 If I sin, what do I do to you, you watcher of humanity?
Why have you made me your target?
Why have I become a burden to you?
21 Why do you not pardon my transgression
and take away my iniquity?
For now I shall lie in the earth;
you will seek me, but I shall not be.”
–Job 3:1-10; 4:1-9; 7:11-21 (NRSV)
July 10, 2016 Sermon Notes
Three nights in a row of senseless violence in the headlines has left our entire nation reeling. Friday’s shooting of a police officer right here in St. Louis made it four days. I desperately wish that this were simply a terrible nationwide nightmare we could all just wake up from. Unfortunately, it seems to be reality.
This week our nation has joined Job in the ash heap. Our tears are real and our complaint is lengthy. Job had much to grieve. His lamentation took several chapters. Ours will too. Gallons of ink will be spilled before journalists, historians, poets, and preachers make sense of all that has transpired over the past few days.
One of the things that I have learned from re-reading the book of Job is that God is big enough and tough enough to handle our complaints. Job railed against his losses. He complained to God. He cried out at the top of his lungs. His petitions carried on day after day. He recognized the reality of his situation and brought it before God with the full expectation that God would do something about it.
Another thing that I have learned from re-reading the book of Job is that his friends never quite got it. After starting off well with a week of silent solidarity, they began to lose their way. They began to offer pithy explanations and tried to explain away Job’s grief. They tried to blame the victim and pretended that his frustrations were invalid. Job’s grief made them uncomfortable, and they did everything within their power to make it go away.
Much of the same thing has started to happen today. We have become disconcerted at being forced to grapple with the unpleasant realities of life in the present day United States. We don’t like to think about the fact that systemic racism might, in fact, be a reality. Like Job’s friends, we attempt to make ourselves feel better by blaming victims of oppression. We deny the validity of the experiences of those who are different than ourselves.
Like Job’s friends, we try to offer pity explanations for the troubles of the world. We are more comfortable with soundbites than we are our with nuance. Our political dialogue occurs in 140 characters or less. We seek out those who will reinforce our preconceived notions. Our conversations, our friendships, our country, and our world become ever more fractured as a result.
Re-reading the book of Job has reminded me that the world is complicated and messy. That complexity is part of the reason that Job is forty-two chapters long. Job tells us that the world is full of terror, grief, and frustration. As if confirmation were needed, the events of this week have provided proof of that reality.
In response to the violence of this week, the only thing that I can do is join Job in lamentation. I refuse to accept the pithy platitudes of Job’s friends. I refuse to accept that truth can be Tweeted.
I refuse to believe that the world is binary. I believe that it is possible to accept that racial injustice is real and that police officers are worthy of respect and admiration. I believe that black lives matter and that blue lives matter. It is my privilege to be chaplain of a unit that contains many individuals who fall into both of these categories at the same time. These are not mutually exclusive truths.
I believe that the issues our nation faces require dialogue and conversation. These issues require listening. It is hard to do, and requires gut-wrenching changes. However, it makes such a difference when it happens. The Dallas Police Department itself is a good example of what that openness looks like.
Under the leadership of Chief David Brown, a few years ago the department recognized that they had become detached from the community they served. They made a deliberate effort to reach out to the people of Dallas and slowly became a model of community policing best practices held up around the nation. Crime, as well as complaints of police brutality, decreased throughout the city. In the hours before the shooting, police officers and protesters had stood together in unity as people paid their respects to the black men who had been killed in Baton Rouge and Minneapolis.
That is why the attack on the Dallas Police Department was doubly egregious. It was a department who had recognized the very problem the protesters were raising and was going out of its way to address the problems at their source. The efforts at transparency and community engagement undertaken by that department were commendable and show just how far many other jurisdictions have yet to go.
Examples like the Dallas Police Department are why I am unwilling to go down the road of Job’s friends. I am unwilling to settle for platitudes and truisms. I am unwilling to explain away evil or pretend that it does not exist. I am unwilling to pretend that it is the victim’s fault. I am unwilling to choose between my African American or my law enforcement friends.
I can recognize the image of God in both of them and proclaim that the brokenness of the world binds us all in a web of injustice, anger, and hate. Fortunately, the book of Job reminds me that God is there with us and listens to our cries. Our God engages with us and reminds us of the amazing beauty, compassion, and love that is available to us even in the midst of our grief and frustration.
Today, I grieve for my African American sisters and brothers. In agony and frustration I ask God for a time where justice and racial equality might someday be a reality in our nation. Today, I grieve with my friends in the law enforcement community. I pray for the day when the peace that God intends for all human beings allows you to hang up your badge and enjoy an eternity of joy surrounded by the people you love. Today, I especially grieve for those who wear both hats and feel as if they are being forced to chose one identity over another.
In the meantime, I re-read the book of Job and remind myself that God listens to my complaints and will respond. God is bigger than the platitudes and truisms of the world. Job’s friends could not see that truth. They contented themselves with easy answers. They were wrong. Job’s complaints were real. His grief was valid. So is ours. So is our neighbors’. Unlike Job’s friends, let us be quiet enough to listen to what they have to say.
May God hear our grief, console us in our loss, and remind us of the promise that we have been given in Jesus Christ. Amen.
