The tension in the text of Job is that he suffers pain and suffering like you or I have probably never known for no reason springing forth from his own soul. The text itself attests to this when God says to Satan: “[Job] still holds fast his integrity, although you incited me against him to destroy him without reason” (2:3b, emphasis mine). Indeed, the very first verse of the book calls Job a man that “was blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil” (1:1). The reader is to know from the get go that Job doesn’t suffer because he sinned. He suffers because God sovereignly allows him to do so. And that is a bitter pill to swallow.
Seems a lot of senseless suffering is happening today. I have more friends than I care to count with various cancers, some not expected to enjoy the blessing of long lives and seeing their their beautiful children grow, to never hold their grandchildren here in this life. Other friends are on hard financial times, seeing hopes and dreams, homes and careers dissipate like smoke in the air. Still others have lost love ones, spouses snatched away far too early in the game.
And the thing is these are all good men and women. All God-fearing, Jesus-serving men and women.
Yet, they suffer. And they do so under the sovereignty of God.
The theology of my youth has no answer for this kind of sovereignty. The prosperity gospel has no hope for those who suffer though they do good. It, like Job’s friends, must resort to hallow promises and formulaic advice.
- “Stop sinning, and things will be better for you.”
- “You have not because you ask not. More faith will heal your situation or your health.”
- “If you give more, God will make you rich.”
The reality is that our existence is not so simple. As Job says, “Your maxims are proverbs of ashes; your defenses are defenses of clay” (13:12).
The very same advice you offer me, Job says, to turn to God, to renounce my sin, to not question God, to have more faith and then I will “feel secure, because there is hope,”–that same advice condemns you. Are you more righteous than me? Do you have some formula that courts God’s favor for you but pours out God’s wrath on me? “Will it be well with you when he searches you out?” (Job13:9).
The answer is no.
The prosperity gospel is not new. It’s as old as the hills. It creates distinctions between men. It turns God into a cosmic coin-op. Put your money in, pull the lever and,bing!, you’re rich. Put your faith in, pull the lever and, bing!, you’re healthy.
The lie of the prosperity gospel is that the measure of God’s goodness to you is inversely proportioned to your measure of goodness to God.
Job testifies to us from thousands of years ago that this is not true.
God says that Job suffers for no reason. What He means, I think, is that their is no fault in Job that induces suffering. But that doesn’t mean God doesn’t have His reasons. And that is the paradox of pain.
Annie Dillard writes wryly on this topic in her memoir, An American Childhood, as she recounts her struggle with God and quitting the church in her teen years (she later returned):
The assistant minister of Shadyside Presbyterian Church, Dr. Blackwood, and I had a cordial meeting in his office. He was an experienced, calm man in a three-piece suit; he had a mustache and wore glasses. After he asked me why I had quit the church, he loaned me four volumes of C.S. Lewis’s broadcast talks, for a paper I was writing. Among the volumes proved to be The Problem of Pain, which I would find fascinating, not quite serious enough, and too short. I had already written a paper on the Book of Job. The subject scarcely seemed to be closed. If the all-powerful creator directs the world, then why all this suffering? Why did innocents die in the camps, and why do they starve in the cities and farms? Addressing this question, I found thirty pages written thousands of years ago, and forty pages written in 1955. They offered a choice of fancy language saying, “Forget it,” or serenely worded, logical-sounding answers that so strained credibility (pain is God’s megaphone) that “Forget it” seemed in comparison a fine answer. I liked, however, C.S. Lewis’s effort to defuse the question. The sum of human suffering we needn’t worry about: There is plenty of suffering, but no one ever suffers the sum of it.
Dr. Blackwood and I shook hands as I left his office with his books.
“This is rather early of you, to be quitting the church,” he said as if to himself, looking off, and went on mildly, almost inaudibly, “I suppose you’ll be back soon.”
Humph, I thought. Pshaw.
No one I know on this earth has suffered the sum of pain. For that we should all be grateful. If we think we are the most miserable, we are deceived. And if we search for answers we will despair. It is so hard to do, but we must approach life as Job, saying, “Though [God] slay me, I will hope in him…” without saying the in the same breath, “…yet I will argue my ways to his face” (13:15).
And while I know of no one in this life who has suffered the sum of pain, I do know one who has. Jesus. On him was the full wrath of God poured, and in Him is my hope of salvation from the pain and suffering of this life.
[Photo by The Doctr]
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