Job CCXXXI

  Job 21:14-16, “Yet they say to God, ‘Depart from us, for we do not desire the knowledge of Your ways. Who is the Almighty, that we should serve Him? And what profit do we have if we pray to Him?’ Indeed their prosperity is not in their hand; the counsel of the wicked is far from me.”

It’s easy to fall into the snare of envying the wicked who prosper. As was the case in Job’s day, it’s easy to look upon those who want nothing to do with God, who say to God depart from us, for we do not desire the knowledge of your ways, yet they nevertheless prosper, and to conclude that it’s unfair, or that the deck is stacked against the righteous.

If wealth, riches, or prosperity were the pinnacle of what God could offer to His children, we would all be doing backflips into swimming pools filled with cash. If opulence were the best God could offer those who are His, we would all be living in it. When we shift our perspective from seeing the world through the eyes of flesh to seeing it through spiritual eyes, we come to understand that the things men boast in, the wealth they flaunt and revel in, are the leavings, the trash, the detritus, rather than God’s best.

I realize it may not feel like it, or even seem like it at times, but it is nevertheless true. What God offers His children is superior to what the wicked enjoy in every way. Yes, you can be a child of God and have wealth, but you cannot be a child of Satan and feel God’s presence, Spirit, peace, joy, and love.

The defining question is whether we want what the world offers or what God offers. Do we look upon the wicked with envy or with pity? Does the desire of our heart extend to those things exclusive to God’s children, or are we satisfied with earthly scraps and useless trinkets that do nothing to strengthen our spiritual man?

It’s both telling and revelatory that much of what calls itself the church today focuses on the things of this world as though they were the apex of what God can give to His beloved, while dismissing the things that truly matter, that hold eternal weight, and that cannot be bottled, packaged, traded, sold, or bartered for.

No matter the amount of wealth he possesses, a rich man cannot buy eternal life, spiritual gifting, or the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. It’s not as though if they offer a million and God says no, He’ll change His mind if they offer ten. You cannot put a price on intimacy with God. You cannot put a price on the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. No dollar amount will get God’s attention and make Him reconsider. These things are reserved exclusively, unequivocally, and unapologetically for His sons and daughters alone.

The mindset that if you have enough money, you can buy anything is pervasive but false. Perhaps you can buy most things, but not everything, especially when it comes to what truly matters. You can’t buy happiness, you can’t buy contentment, you can’t buy salvation, you can’t buy fulfilment, you can’t buy peace, joy, or true purpose for that matter. When you think about it, there’s a lot that money can’t buy, and some of the most miserably unhappy people I’ve ever met happened to have overflowing coffers. Between acquiring it and figuring out how to keep it, many affluent individuals find themselves in the twilight of their existence with nothing to show for the life they’ve lived but a few zeros on a screen, which is cold comfort indeed.

God is not a salesman. He is not in the business of selling His children’s inheritance for baubles or things that will eventually be burned up. There was a man who tried, early on, when the church was barely getting off the ground and could have used an injection of capital. If everything revolves around money as some would have us believe, and the only reason we give is to get more of it, then Peter should have tried to work out a deal, maybe bargain a bit, or at least see what Simon’s opening gambit was. There were, after all, widows to feed, the poor to tend to, and I’m sure the kitchen could have used an upgrade.

Acts 8:18-20, “And when Simon saw that through the laying on of the apostles’ hands the Holy Spirit was given, he offered them money, saying, ‘Give me this power also, that anyone on whom I lay hands may receive the Holy Spirit.’ But Peter said to him, ‘Your money perish with you, because you thought that the gift of God could be purchased with money! You have neither part nor portion in this matter, for your heart is not right in the sight of God.”’

It never crossed Peter’s mind to entertain the offer. His interest was not piqued; he did not ask what number Simon was thinking of, but in his brutally honest fashion, Peter shut down the possibility of Simon’s request ever being considered. We’ve seen far too many spiritual leaders compromise and prostitute themselves for the sake of clout or the promise of a hefty tithe check. We see the preferential treatment certain people get, and it’s not the poor or downtrodden, but usually someone with prominence, name recognition, and influence.

By all accounts, Simon was a man of influence in Samaria, with some being convinced that he was the great power of God. He was a sorcerer and had been astonishing the people for a long time. Why didn’t Peter consider a collaboration? Why didn’t he ride Simon’s coattails and stand on the stage hand in hand with him, smiling broadly as Simon vouched for him? He was, after all, a known commodity in Samaria, and the people would have responded more positively to Peter had he included Simon in his evangelistic outreach.

The simple answer is that light and darkness do not mix. It is a lesson many pastors, evangelists, bishops, or preachers should have taken to heart, and it would have saved them from having to wipe egg off their faces time after time.

Peter’s answer wasn’t a simple no, or I don’t think so, but he drove the point home to such an extent as to open Simon’s eyes to his sin, his need for repentance, and expose his heart as being poisoned by bitterness and bound by iniquity. There was no glad-handing to be had, no shout-outs from the pulpit, just a rebuke and a call to repentance. Radical, I know, but maybe, just maybe, we should reintroduce the call for repentance to our sermons and insist upon its need resolutely and unapologetically, no matter who’s sitting in the front row, rather than coddling them into hell.

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.