Difference between revisions of "Sermon for October 21st, 2012"

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Job 30:16-31

It Ain't Fair!

As you may have noticed, we are in the midst of a five-part sermon series on the book of Job. It's hard stuff, the book of Job, and today's passage perhaps more than any other. In fact, for the past two Sundays, Job has been on a downward spiral--emotionally, physically, and spiritually--and today he hits rock bottom. The first week we watched as Job lost his family, his wealth, and his physical health. Though stunned and anguished, he was still able to "bless the name of the Lord," and the bible tells us that up to that point he "did not sin with his lips." This is the famous "patience of Job" for which he is known and revered.

But then last Sunday, Job's patience went out the window. He can't take it anymore, and he begins to question God. This is the "Why?" phase that Lynette preached about. Things are beginning to unravel, but Job still hasn't made any judgments, and hasn't placed the blame anywhere yet. He just wants to understand what's wrong.

Job is a long book, and we're really condensing it here--the first Sunday we read chapters one and two, then last Sunday we jumped forward all the way to chapter twenty three, and this Sunday we jump forward again to chapter 30. And by the time we arrive at chapter 30, there is a definite shift in Job's tone, in his argument. Job is no longer questioning why--he has come up with an answer, he's ready to make his judgment, and here it is: God did this to me. Verse 18: "With violence he seizes my garment; he grasps me by the collar of my tunic. He has cast me into the mire." Then in verse 21, Job shifts from talking about God to speaking directly to God--and his tone is just as harsh: "You do not answer me...you have turned cruel to me...you persecute me...you will bring me to death." Not only does Job blame God, but he judges God too: "Surely one does not turn against the needy when in disaster they cry for help?" Job points to himself as an example: "Did I not weep for those whose day was hard? Was not my soul grieved for the poor?" In other words, "If even I can do those things, God, surely you can too. Or am I better than you?" Verse 26: When I looked for good, evil came; and when I waited for light, darkness came." It almost sounds here like Job is accusing God of evil. Pretty bold for a patient man who "did not sin with his lips."

Actually, Job has landed squarely in the middle of a dilemma that has tied theologians and philosophers in knots for ages, as well as just about any faithful Christian or Jewish person who has experienced a tragedy. It goes something like this:

We believe, on one hand, that God is omnipotent (all-powerful), in control of everything that happens, or at the very least, capable of accomplishing anything he wants to accomplish. On the other hand, we also believe that God is benevolent (perfectly good) and not capable of evil. After all, scripture tells us that God is love. These are two pillars of our faith in God.

It's easy to believe that God is both good and in control when things are going your way (like Job at the beginning of the book). But what about when bad things happen--when we are confronted with evil, violence, disaster, or tragedy? If God is both good and in control, why would he let things like that happen? There are all sorts of ways people have tried to resolve this problem, but most (and maybe all) of them end up somehow compromising one of these two pillars--God's goodness, or God's omnipotence.

When my grandmother died a few years ago at the age of 76, it was a sad and difficult time for my family, but I don't think I would call it a tragedy. My grandmother had lived an entirely full life; she did everything that she was supposed to do, everything she had wanted to do. She got to see her six children grow up and get married, her grandchildren, and even several great-grandchildren.

When my father died of a massive heart attack at the age of 48, three of his four children were still in high school, and one (me) had just graduated from college two weeks before. I'm grateful my dad got to be there at my graduation from college, but he wasn't at my wedding, and he never got to hold any of my three children. I think he would have been proud to see me standing here today preaching to you.

My dad knew of my sister's dream to someday become a pilot, but he wasn't there to celebrate the day she got accepted into the Air Force Academy, or the day she graduated from pilot training school. He didn't get to walk her down the aisle four years ago, when she got married to another young Air Force Pilot, Mark Jennings. And he wasn't there to hold her and comfort her just one year later when Mark was killed by a runaway car while doing yard work in his front yard. Nine months later, my sister gave birth to Katie, conceived the night before Mark died, and born into a world already minus a father and a grandfather.

The loss of my grandmother was sad, but something we could all wrap our minds around: she had come to the end of a reasonably long life. The loss of my father, and the loss of my brother-in-law, both in the prime of their lives...those were tragedies. Unreasonable tragedies. Inexplicable tragedies. Especially for my sister and her daughter, who lost more than anyone should have to lose in one lifetime.

"Should have to." We all know that tragedy can and does happen to anyone, rich or poor, young or old, Christian or not Christian. It doesn't matter. And yet we have certain expectations about what life "should" hold for us, especially if we feel that we have upheld our end of the deal, if we have been "good" citizens, good church members, and faithful to God. We believe (or want to believe) that God loves us perfectly and unconditionally. We believe (or want to believe) that God is all powerful, in control of everything that happens in the universe. And so when tragedy strikes, we tend to question one of those two pillars of our faith. "God, if you really love me and want what is best for me, how could you let this happen to me?" Maybe God is not as "good" as we thought. Or maybe God loves us, but something prevented Him from helping us in this situation...maybe, then, God is not as "powerful" as we thought.

When my father died, some well-intentioned person came up to me at the funeral service and said: "This is all part of God's plan. We can't see it now, but somehow this will all work out for the best." I wanted to punch that person in the face. You mean God wanted my Dad to die? What kind of God is that? And is it really all about me? God wanted my Dad to die so that somehow things could work out better for me? Well, that's great for me, but it sure stinks for my Dad! What I didn't realize at the time was that this person was trying desperately to hold onto God's sovereignty, or God's "all-powerful" nature. God is in control. And in the process, that well-meaning person let the other pillar (God's love or goodness) come into question some.

Well, about five minutes later, still at my Dad's funeral, yet another person came up to me and said "This wasn't supposed to happen. God didn't want this to happen -- it's an attack from the enemy!" I didn't want to punch this person in the face, but I was still pretty unimpressed with the answer. That must be a pretty powerful enemy if God's plans are so easily blocked. Or a pretty weak God. What's the point of following a God like that? This second person was trying desperately to hold onto God's benevolence, or perfect goodness and love. And in the process, this time, it was God's sovereignty that was compromised.

Here's a tip in case you ever find yourself on the comforting end of someone's tragedy: He or she may be looking desperately for answers, but unless you are the Creator of the universe and all things, you probably shouldn't try to offer any. It's better just to sit quietly in solidarity and let your presence be the best answer you've got. I don't understand either, but I'm here.

But now that I've thrown that advice out there, I'm going to do just the opposite. I'm going to disregard my own advice.