Job LIV

 Job 3:1-3, “After this Job opened his mouth and cursed the day of his birth. And Job spoke, and said: “May the day perish on which I was born, and the night in which it was said, ‘a male child is conceived.’ May that day be darkness; May God above not seek it, nor the light shine upon it. May darkness and the shadow of death claim it; may a cloud settle on it; may the blackness of the day terrify it.”

Although we do not know how much time passed between Job’s friends hearing of his travails and making their way to him, it was likely more than a couple of days. Considering that news of his hardship had to travel to them first, then they had to get together and decide to go to him, and then the journey itself, it was not something quick or instantaneous.

Once again, historical context matters. There were no phones, no e-mail, no air travel, no rail, no cars, and the three friends likely rode camels to come and see Job. It all took time, and enough time had passed that when they saw him, Job was unrecognizable.

I was in the United States when my mother went to her reward. She was hosting a group of friends in Romania and was in the process of making breakfast for them when her race was done, and she crossed the finish line. Within minutes, I got the call, and an hour later, I was on my way to the airport. Within twenty-four hours, I was on a different continent, and after an eight-hour drive from the airport, I was in Botosani. Although we take such conveniences for granted and rarely consider how easy traveling halfway across the world has become in our modern age, even fifty miles back in the day would have taken considerable time to traverse.

Throughout all this the only conversation we are privy to, the only words it is documented that Job uttered was the interaction with his wife. It wasn’t drawn out or protracted; it was just a handful of words followed by silence. A man alone with his grief, a man alone with his pain. Even after his friends arrived, there were another seven days of silence wherein they just sat on the ground with him, no one speaking to him or having a conversation.

Throughout all this time, the pressure was building. Just because he hadn’t said anything, it doesn’t mean Job had nothing to say. Silence doesn’t always translate to everything being okay. After almost twenty-five years of marriage, I can tell when my wife’s mood is off, even if no words are spoken. If you’re a married man, you know the insidiousness of the silent treatment, and if you are wise, you will brace yourself for the inevitable blow-off top pressure release.

During the first few years, whenever that sense that something wasn’t right would tickle the back of my neck, I’d just ignore it, only to have it spill over a few days later. Being older and wiser nowadays, the instant I feel something is off, I start the conversation because I know if I allow it to fester and don’t deal with it when it finally comes to a head, it will be far more dramatic than it would have earlier on.

It’s usually a small thing, something that hadn’t even registered, but something that stuck in her craw, and once we talk about it and discuss it like rational adults, it becomes a nonissue. Unless there is infidelity involved, marriages don’t crumble and fall apart overnight. Avoiding necessary conversations might delay uncomfortable situations, but it will not make them go away. The longer you wait, the longer you put it off, the more you ignore that sense of unease wafting off your wife or husband like steam off a hot kettle in the middle of winter, it will be all the worse when you finally deal with it. It doesn’t even have to be something big or a major issue, but a lot of small things that build up over time, and eventually, there’s always the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back, and the floodgates give way to hours of back and forth when it could have been dealt with in five minutes flat at the moment of inception.

Shortly after we got married, we were on our honeymoon, and I decided to splurge and rent a convertible for the few days we were away. I still remember it. It was a canary yellow Camaro, and since it was summer, the moment I got behind the wheel, I put the top down. A day or two into our trip, my wife asked if she could drive, and I said no, not because I don’t trust her driving, but because my name was the only one on the rental agreement, and if anything happened, insurance would not cover it.

I didn’t take the time to explain this; I just said no, and we went on with our day. I felt something was off, but didn’t know what, so I just ignored it. Six months later, as we were sitting down for dinner, out of nowhere, my wife asked, “Why didn’t you let me drive the car?” It had been six months. I had no clue what she was talking about or what she was referring to, but it was something that she’d held onto all this time.

I asked what car, which made it worse because I should have known exactly what she was referring to in her estimation. When she reminded me of our honeymoon, I informed her that her name was not on the rental agreement and so wasn’t covered by insurance, to which she replied, “Oh,” and that was the end of the conversation.

Job had spent a considerable amount of time in silence, even after his friends arrived, but this did not mean that he was not vexed or that his pain had lessened. After sitting in silence for seven days with his friends, and Lord knows how many days before that, Job finally spoke, and he had a lot to say. The lesson here is clear: don’t let issues fester in your relationships. Address them in a timely manner before they escalate and become more difficult to resolve. Once Job got started, if not for the dark undertones, his monologue could be seen as poetic. Everything he’d been thinking in silence came out in a rush, and for an entire chapter, he unburdens himself of all the pent-up emotions. 

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.