Job CLXXXIV

Our titles, positions, possessions, or fame do not justify us. Nothing the world values, as far as prominence is concerned, moves the needle when it comes to whether God sees us as a son or daughter He knows as one of His own, or someone He’s never known. We are justified by faith through Christ’s sacrifice, and His shed blood washes us and makes us clean in the sight of God.

How others see us, view us, or perceive us is irrelevant. How others judge us, whether for good or ill, should not affect our countenance in the least, because the opinions of men are wholly irrelevant, as long as God sees us as redeemed and reconciled to Him.

Many are quick to label themselves as good people because they think of themselves as such for some act of kindness they performed, a charity they gave to, or for adopting a cat from the shelter that one time. They assess themselves and decide on their goodness in a vacuum, using anecdotal acts of kindness and self-serving judgment to reach this conclusion. Even if they were to compare themselves to others, it’s never someone they deem more virtuous or noble than themselves, but always someone so far removed from humanity, kindness, empathy, or goodness that the contrast makes them out to be a saint of the highest order.

Because they deem it foolishness, they never come to understand that the Word is the standard by which all will be judged, and though in the eyes of men, be they few or many, they are deemed as virtuous and good, if held to the standard of the gospel, they fall short every time. We do not stand in our own righteousness, but are made righteous through the salvific work of Christ.  

The words of Job’s friends had gotten under his skin, and he didn’t like it. He’d been affected by something he knew full well ought not to have affected him. He realized it wasn’t productive, uplifting, or positive for his spiritual man to dwell on their words, when their words were akin to a battering ram, bruising his heart, insisting that not only should he abandon hope, but that any hope he still retained was illusory.

We all know that one person in our life who can’t say an encouraging word to save their life. Job happened to know three, and his wife didn’t do much to lift his spirits either. Whatever the situation may be, there’s always that one individual whom you love dearly but know in your heart that if you happen to run into them on a day when everything is falling apart, they’ll end up putting the final nail in the coffin. It’s not even that they’re intentionally cruel. Whether it’s their inability to read the room or sense the level of turmoil coming off you in waves, they always seem to say the wrong thing at the worst possible time, then continue the conversation as though they didn’t just metaphorically gut-punch you.

Somehow, they always tend to lean toward the letter of the law rather than the spirit thereof, and like Job’s friends, interpret what they see through the prism of intellect without allowing for the possibility that something different and heretofore unseen is taking place that would upend their conclusions in a heartbeat. Yes, more often than not, causality is a viable theory, as is the consequence of choice, but there are instances, as was the case with Job, where something bigger is at work, something that the human mind cannot properly rationalize.

You got the diabetes because all you eat day in and day out are candies, cookies, Twinkies, and cheesecakes. But I never touch the stuff. My diet consists of chicken breast and rice, you retort. Nope, that can’t be, and the fact that you have it proves that you aren’t being truthful!

Your suffering is a direct result of your sin! This was the conclusion all three of Job’s friends had come to, even though he insisted time and again that his prayer was pure, his hands were clean, and he had not done anything to displease the Lord. If you hadn’t sinned, you wouldn’t be suffering, and because you’re suffering, you’ve obviously sinned. Circular logic? Sure, but we can’t let that get in the way of winning an argument, can we?

My youngest has a notebook she brings home from school, and every morning, I have to sign off on whether she read for fifteen minutes the previous day as part of her curriculum. Serendipitously, she loves to read, so she’s always doing it for more than the required fifteen minutes. Sometimes I’ll grab the notebook from her backpack and sign it even before she asks. The other morning, I’d failed to sign her notebook, and after telling her as much, she went rummaging through her backpack to get me to sign it. After going through a couple of the pockets and coming up short, she came into the office with a sour look on her face and said, “Daddy, where’s my notebook?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, “I didn’t touch it.”

“Well, it’s not in my backpack, so you must have taken it.”

“Look again,” I said, “I promise I didn’t take it, so it must be where you last had it.”

With an incredulous look on her face as though it were some grand conspiracy, she went back to her backpack, and wouldn’t you know it, the notebook was on the bottom of her book bag, under piles of papers, books, and other sundries she carries as though she were training for some lifting competition. She’d made an assumption based on previous experiences, and it turned out to be wrong. It’s the same thing Job’s friends did, only on a much grander scale.   

Believing that he had sinned and not trusting their friend’s word wasn’t the worst of it. It was insisting that he relinquish the hope he clung to in the God he served that was the icing on the cake. They prescribed a remedy to a situation they’d concluded must be the truth as it lies, when it would have been the worst possible thing Job could have done.       

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.