I am continuing to teach on the Wisdom Literature of
the Old Testament, and this week in class we were looking at the fascinating
book of Job. The titular character is a righteous man — that is, he is
habitually committed to acting justly — who suffers great loss. He has some
amazing friends, who come and weep and sit in silence with him for seven days
and seven nights, before together they try to make sense of his experience. But
their perspective is limited. The one listening to the story, however, is aware
of noises off stage, in the wings. We are introduced to Yahweh and a host of heavenly beings, including the Satan, or Accuser. Whereas Yahweh is presented
as taking delight in his creation — from Job, to the ostrich flapping its wings
though it will never fly — the Satan is presented as a vindictive
trouble-maker. Why on earth does Yahweh even draw Satan’s attention back to
Job, a man Satan appears to have considered untouchable until now? Perhaps it
speaks of Yahweh’s love for both; a holding-out to the hope that even this
rebellious son might repent, with the help of a trustworthy role-model [1].
In chapter 3, Job gives voice to raw anguish, even
suicidal thoughts [2]. In the following chapter, his friend Eliphaz responds.
In the manner in which he responds, we get insight into his own fear of what
might befall without (the semblance of) order. Eliphaz falls for the temptation
to both blame the victim for their misfortune and to attempt to problem-solve
for his friend. The former takes a negative stance, and the latter a positive
stance; but both are misplaced. As he continues, Eliphaz recounts a night-time
visitation, from a spirit who calls into question the goodness of both mortals
and their Maker (Job 4:12-21). Eliphaz believes that he has seen, and heard,
and given voice to Yahweh; but these accusative words insinuated into his sleep
surely belong to the Satan?
In chapter 7, Job speaks again. He uses words David
will also use, in Psalm 8 (and others
in Psalm 139), but to opposite
effect. David is amazed and comforted that Yahweh should be so interested in
human beings; whereas Job is deeply discomforted by that same attention. What
accounts for the difference? Certainly, circumstance might. But one member of
the class brought this insight: if Eliphaz wrongly attributes the voice of
Satan to Yahweh in chapter 4, has Job not also wrongly attributed the
attentions of the Satan to Yahweh here — in contrast to David rightly
attributing good attention to Yahweh?
Throughout the Old Testament, good and evil are
attributed to God. Certainly, good and evil exist in the world. In Genesis chapter 2, God prohibits the
humans from eating of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil;
but in chapter 3, the serpent claims that this is because God does not want
them to be like him, experientially both good and evil. That is to say, God
recognises both good and evil in creation, but it is from the mouth of the
serpent that the idea originates that God is both good and evil. And in this
belief, the humans are deceived. Nonetheless, very consistently in the record
of Old Testament scripture, both good and evil are presented as coming from the
hand of God. There is, as yet, no clear distinction between Yahweh, from whose
hand comes good, and a rebellious element in creation from whose hand comes
evil. Therefore, it is no surprise that Eliphaz and Job alike should struggle
to differentiate Yahweh from Satan, even though as a story as a whole the book
of Job presents us with the Old Testament’s clearest differentiation, between a
violent Satan and a Yahweh who opposes him — but refuses to play by the same
rules, to overpower with a display of force.
But this changes with Jesus, and his followers.
First, Jesus makes a very clear differentiation between himself, as the Son of
the Father, who comes in order that humanity might experience life — and,
indeed, will lay down his own life, if need be, for this to happen — and the
Satan, who comes only and always to steal, kill, and destroy. Second, Jesus
moves from resisting the temptations of the Satan to actively driving the
unclean or demonic spirits back. They are forced to obey his exercising of
Yahweh’s sovereignty, which always operates to bring life and freedom. That is
to say, in the New Testament there is both fuller revelation that God is not
the One from whom evil comes, and fuller revelation that God is actively
opposed to evil in all of its manifestations.
This also ties in with how we understand ‘the fear of the Lord’. Jesus tells his disciples that, rather than fearing those people
who can kill them, they should fear him, or the one, who, having killed them,
can destroy both soul and body in hell (Matthew 10:28, Luke 12:5). The one of whom he
speaks is routinely assumed to be God. But Jesus does not say, ‘Fear God, who,
having killed you, can destroy both soul and body in hell.’ He says, ‘fear the
one who…’ Who kills and destroys? Not God, but the Satan. We are not to fear
God, but to fear with God, to fear that which God fears — evil and death, and
the carnage they create in God’s good creation — and to respond as God
responds.
This has significant implications for how we read
the Bible. Where destruction is attributed to God, we need to ask, in the light
of Jesus, whether in fact this is wrongly attributed? Asking such questions may
be deeply unsettling for some; but to do so is not to reject Scripture, or to
leave us without any confidence: rather, it is to recognise that we cannot
simply read Scripture at face-value. Jesus himself told his contemporaries that
they studied Scripture diligently, confident that by so doing they would be
saved, yet failed to recognise him and the God whom he represented. Moreover,
within minutes Jesus tells Peter that he has had a genuine revelation from the
Father and has embraced and given voice to the opposing kingdom of the ruler of
this world — and has not realised. If that is true of Peter, why not of others,
such as the psalmists who praise God and curse their neighbour with the very
next breath?
Over the past days, I have been wrestling with the concept
of fearing God. Certainly, we are presented with this idea in Scripture. Psalm 103, for example, repeatedly
states that God show mercy to those who fear him (103:11, 13, 17). Mary, told by the angel sent by God ‘Do not be afraid’, even takes up this theme
in her own song (Luke 1:50). The root
of this holding-on to Yahweh’s mercy is his own self-revelation to Moses in Exodus 34:6-7. God makes no condition
here of our needing to fear him. However, such fear accrues itself to God where
we are shaped by centuries of not being to differentiate between the voice of
God and the Satan; thus needing to be met, repeatedly, with the promise of mercy.
When Yahweh finally does speak (Job 38-42), having listened to Job and
his friends talk at great length, listening to understand their pain and ‘where
they are coming from’, it is not to answer their questions but to meet the
longing of the heart to know God more fully than before. Yahweh confesses to
love and care deeply for creation, to be captivated by it, to love even
rebellious creatures in the hope that they might come to know peace and return
that love. For perfect love drives out fear. And God is love. Little children,
do not be afraid of our loving Father.
[1] Certainly, from a Christian perspective, Job is
an archetype for Jesus, the innocent man whom God allows to experience
suffering, but then vindicates.
[2] This resonates deeply with our own context, and
how we respond matters greatly. For some, the problem of pain may be a factor
in keeping them from engaging with the church, but, I would contend that how we
respond to suffering is a far greater factor in people who have been actively involved
in our congregations leaving church. I am training ordinands, who, as clergy,
will be the public face of the church, and Readers, who will share
responsibility for how local congregations engage with the Bible. This is why I
am passionate about these texts.
