Out of the Whirlwind: Speaking Our Pain

We are in week three of the Book of Job. In the first week, we met Job. And learned of the wager between God and The Satan - an act intended to set up the rest of this thought experiment. And to raise questions. Hard questions. Questions of faith. Such as why innocent people suffer or even why we believe. Last week, we moved into the dialogue between Job and his friends - friends who had started so well by simply sitting beside the suffering Job in silence. But, then who opened their mouths to speak their truths - truths that Job, too, had believed. That if one does something wrong, they will be punished. Or, conversely, that if one suffers it is because they have done something wrong. Yet, we are, along with Job, beginning to see these constructs - these truths - challenged. By Job’s own experience. By his innocent suffering. 

Today, in this third week, we continue in these chapters of dialogue between Job and his friends. Thirty-five chapters. Thirty-five long chapters of back-and-forth between Job and his friends as Job struggles to make sense of his suffering and as his friends try to hold onto their truths, even in the midst of the evidence that is right in front of them. 

As we pick up this morning in chapter 14, we find Job in deep despair.

“For there is hope for a tree,

    if it is cut down, that it will sprout again,

    and that its shoots will not cease.

Though its root grows old in the earth,

    and its stump dies in the ground,

yet at the scent of water it will bud

    and put forth branches like a young plant.

But mortals die, and are laid low;

    humans expire, and where are they?

As waters fail from a lake,

    and a river wastes away and dries up,

so mortals lie down and do not rise again;

    until the heavens are no more, they will not awake

    or be roused out of their sleep.

O that you would hide me in Sheol,

    that you would conceal me until your wrath is past,

    that you would appoint me a set time, and remember me!

If mortals die, will they live again?

    All the days of my service I would wait

    until my release should come.

You would call, and I would answer you;

    you would long for the work of your hands. --Job 14:7-15 (NRSV)

In the chapters that precede this text, Job has been unpersuaded by the arguments of his friends. He responds to them, even attacks them. And rejects their claims and their assumption that this idea of retributive justice - that punishment or suffering is a result of one’s sin - is not valid. And that isn’t valid because it. Is. Not. His. Own. Experience.

But, what Job really wants is to speak to God. To see God face-to-face. And to sort out with God this misunderstanding that has somehow strained their relationship. Job seeks reconciliation.

And, so, he turns to God to argue his case. He is beginning to come to terms with his situation. He claims to God his innocence. Pleads that God might remove God’s hand. That God would tell him what he has done to deserve this. That God would speak. And God would not be silent anymore.

Then, Job moves onto the destiny of humanity. The struggle of humanity. He draws comparisons from nature. That even a tree stump has hope. That at the scent of water it will live, will bud and grow and sprout. But this, according to Job, is not the human destiny. The human destiny is one of death. And so Job pleads that God might grant him temporary asylum in Sheol - in this Jewish idea of the underworld. A place regarded as a place of no return. Job asks God to hide him in this place until God relents and finally allows Job to make his case before God.

In the next several chapters, Job continues a powerful and even deeper lament to God. With his own struggle, there is a deepening understanding by Job of the struggle of other innocent people. “If I cry ‘Violence!’ I’m not answered,” Job says. “I shout—but there is no justice.” “There. Is. No. Justice.” How familiar those words sound to us today. “No justice. No peace!” The cry - the protest chant - of those who suffer innocently.

Ellen Davis in her book, Getting Involved With God, suggests that we are not accustomed to challenging God. To blaming God. And so, when we find ourselves doing it, we feel guilty and religiously confused. For some of us, the solution is to give up on God altogether. For others of us, it is to cover our confusion about God with a false sense of piety, a fake holiness. Appearing to be holy on the outside, but evil underneath. Pretending to bow to God but grasping for power and control for ourselves as we oppress others.   

The witness of Job for us, particularly in these times, is that rage and even blame that are directed at God are valid. That to cry out to God, “Why?” is honest and true. And even more, Job’s lament that extends over so many chapters gives us permission in our lives of faith to stay in the moment of lament for a very long time. 

We continue in chapter 19.

“O that my words were written down!

    O that they were inscribed in a book!

O that with an iron pen and with lead

    they were engraved on a rock forever!

For I know that my Redeemer lives,

    and that at the last he will stand upon the earth;

and after my skin has been thus destroyed,

    then in my flesh I shall see God,

whom I shall see on my side,

    and my eyes shall behold, and not another.

    My heart faints within me! --Job 19:23-27 (NRSV)

Well, this is surprising! Even as he is in the midst of deep despair, Job suddenly expresses hope. Unexpectedly. Our New Testament lens immediately suggests that the Redeemer mentioned is Jesus. But, if we are to understand this from Job’s perspective, we must look more deeply at the Hebrew. The word in Hebrew for Redeemer is go-el. In Jewish tradition, a go-el was a person who was obligated under family expectation to care for a member in need. In his words here, Job is affirming his hope that he will be vindicated by a redeemer of his own kin, who will be a witness on his behalf before God. And who will declare Job’s innocence before God. Job accepts his human destiny - that he will die. But at the same time, three times in this passage, he states his confidence that he will see God. That he - and not some stranger - will see God. And that, with his redeemer, he will be vindicated. Acquitted. Exonerated. Freed.

There is a witness in Job that teaches us that, because God is in relationship with us, we can freely and honestly speak to God and trust that God hears us and the pain we are experiencing, whether it is personal or that of our broader world.  

This, ultimately, is the paradox of Job. That it is this full admission of pain that eventually opens the door.  To hope. And for us, in particular, even in the midst of chaotic and uncertain and even painful times, we, who know this Redeemer in Christ, have all the more reason to hope. 

Amen.

Preached Sunday, June 28, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 4.

Readings: Job 14:7-15, 19:23-27; Psalm 121.

The Life We Claim: The Creed - God, Our Creator

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.  Genesis 1:1-5 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Holy Trinity: Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.

How many of you begin your day with a kiss? Perhaps, in the morning, as you’re preparing to walk out the door and go to work - perhaps you stop briefly to give you husband or your wife a little kiss. Or perhaps, it happens when you drop your children or your grandchildren off at school during the school year. That sweet little face upturned and waiting for a kiss - their sendoff to school. Or maybe, your children or grandchildren are older and, if they are anything like my son was in high school, the last thing he wanted his friends to see was him giving a quick little kiss to his mother before heading into school. 

These small gestures that we share with those we love each day can often happen without much thought. They seem like such a natural part of our lives in relationship with others. Yet, it is these small gestures - those little perfunctory kisses - that bear witness to something that is very deep. And very large. And very profound.


Today, we’re beginning a series on the Creeds. Each week, we recite a creed in worship. Sometimes, it’s the Apostles’ Creed. Sometimes, it’s the Nicene Creed. Sometimes, it’s the Athanasian Creed (Do you even know that one?). And, sometimes, it’s even a new creed that your pastor sneaks into the liturgy. We say the words like we give those kisses. Almost without thinking. Without much thought about what we’re actually saying. 

So, beginning this Trinity Sunday, we are going to take a deeper dive into the Creed. Into the depth of what it is we believe and why we believe it. To find out if there really is anything of substance to hold onto in the church. To ask questions. To be asked questions. To test our minds and our souls. And, particularly, to continue to grow into a kind of spirituality and faith that is not just some free floating, nebulous belief, but a faith comes from someplace. And that is going someplace. Someplace significant.

John Howell in his book on the Creed shares this lovely legend that circulated in the early church. “...[A]fter the Holy Spirit descended on the disciples that first Pentecost, Peter spoke the words, 'I believe in God the Father Almighty…' And, then Andrew added, 'And in Jesus Christ God’s only Son, our Lord.' And so they went around the table, a dozen disciples, a dozen sentences forming the Apostles’ Creed."

Now, this likely not how it happened. We’re pretty certain that the Apostles’ Creed originated sometime around the end of the 2nd century perhaps in response to a heresy that was being spread. Or, perhaps, they wanted to capture the big story in just a few words. God’s big story. After all, if we look at the Creed, it’s a pretty good summary of the sixty-six books of the Bible, isn’t it? It gives us a bird’s eye view of a story that spans thousands of years - in just thirteen phrases.  It helps us get our arms around the story of God’s mighty acts. Or maybe, it helps God get God’s arms around us.

The word, “creed,” comes from the Latin word, credo. It means “I believe.” This isn’t, though, the same as saying, “I feel,” or “I want,” or “I think.” Instead, it’s saying “God is.” That this is who our God is. And what our God has done. And continues to do. (One of the reasons I particularly like the New Creed, which we spoke throughout the Easter season is that, unlike the Apostles’ and the Nicene creeds, the New Creed, developed by the United Church of Canada, is in the present tense. It’s a reminder for us that this God and this story of God is not only in the past. But it is in our present. And will be in our future.)

So, as Howell writes, "when we say the words 'I believe,' we are, in effect, flinging ourselves upon God. Attaching ourselves to God. It’s the equivalent of 'I promise.' It’s not an opinion we’re expressing. It’s a promise that our lives and our love, our minds and our hearts, and everything we do, are steadfastly set now and in the future on God. And God alone.”

When you say the Creed each week, do you realize the promise you’re making?

The Creed, though, isn’t only about believing. It’s also about remembering. In ancient times, hundreds of Christians under interrogation by the Roman empire, refused to bow down to their gods. They would stand their ground. And declare, “I believe in God the Father almighty maker of heaven and earth…” And on and on through the Creed. Until they were executed.

Long before these moments, they had left their old lives behind. Risking everything by choosing Christianity. Not in the very posh way we choose Christianity today. But, knowingly choosing, and knowing that they could lose everything: families, homes, livelihood. Even lives. New converts were instructed in the faith for months, instruction that included fasting, abstaining from all entertainment and sex, and being prayed over diligently by elders in the church. And then, at an all-night prayer vigil beginning on the eve of Easter (Can you imagine worshiping all night long?), they would wade into a pool of water. And would be questioned: “Do you believe in God the Father almighty? Do you believe in Jesus Christ, God’s Son? Do you believe in the power of the Holy Spirit?”  Do you? Do you?

Then, after their confession of faith, they would be anointed with oil, dressed in white robes, and given a drink of milk and honey - a powerful reminder of the Promised Land and a symbol of their new life in Christ.

Every time we say the Apostles’ Creed, we step into this long, long, flowing river. A two thousand year story of believers, missionaries, and martyrs. 

The word “creed” originally meant “to give my heart to.” When we say the words of the creed - “I believe” we are claiming this life. Not only with the faith that lies within us, but a faith that is also outside of us. A faith that is part of something far bigger than we are. That we can’t even begin to imagine. 

Now, this has been a long introduction to the Creeds - to this life we claim. Before we go this morning, I’d like to briefly look at the First Article. I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.

Do you ever wonder why we use Father instead of Mother? We know God is not male. That God has both male and female characteristics. The Bible itself is full of feminine images for God. So, why do we open the Creed by confessing our faith in “God the Father?” Anyone?

We call God “father” for one reason only. Because when Jesus spoke to God, he called God “Abba” - an Aramaic word that a little child would use when curling up on his or her father’s lap. And a word that the same child would use into adulthood as a term of endearment and affection. It’s a word that reflects an intimate relationship. A word that, when Jesus used it, the disciples noticed it. And marveled at his use. Jesus’ whole mission was to invite them to curl up on the lap of almighty God, to look up, and simply say, “Abba.” 

It’s why the prayer Jesus taught them begins with “Our Father.” Because, he wanted them to understand that they didn’t have to go it alone. To believe alone. Not only did they have a loving God - a loving Father - to love and protect them, but they also were saved to be part of a community. Part of a family. Part of the body of Christ. It meant, in the words of Tom Wright, that they, like we today, were signing on for the kingdom of God.

The second part of this article looks at the work of God. Creating. It’s the profound work and the profound theological claim that we heard in our reading from Matthew 6. That God is a creator who cares for all that God creates. All of creation. Every creature. A God who clothes the grass (and the lilies) and who will clothe and care for us, too. Because God loves God’s creation. And God loves God’s creatures. And God loves us. As Luther writes in the Large Catechism: “To say “I believe in God the Father’ is to say, ‘I hold and believe that I am a creature of God; that is, that God has given and constantly sustains my body, soul, and life.’”

This is the beauty and the promise we hear in the First Article and throughout the Creed. A promise of a God who loves us deeply. Who desires to be in relationship with us. Who constantly seeks to pull us back into relationship with godself and back into community with others who also seek to believe and to understand this mystery that is the Holy Trinity. This is mystery and this life we claim whenever we speak the words, “I believe.” 


May God help you to live fully into this promise. And this life we claim. Amen.

Preached June 16, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
The Holy Trinity (Pentecost 2)
Readings: Matthew 6:30-34, Genesis 1:1-5.