Sermon for March 7th, 2021

Job 39:1-12 (OT p.485)

1 “Do you know when the mountain goats give birth?
    Do you observe the calving of the deer?
2 Can you number the months that they fulfill,
    and do you know the time when they give birth,
3 when they crouch to give birth to their offspring,
    and are delivered of their young?
4 Their young ones become strong, they grow up in the open;
    they go forth, and do not return to them.

5 “Who has let the wild ass go free?
    Who has loosed the bonds of the swift ass,
6 to which I have given the steppe for its home,
    the salt land for its dwelling place?
7 It scorns the tumult of the city;
    it does not hear the shouts of the driver.
8 It ranges the mountains as its pasture,
    and it searches after every green thing.

9 “Is the wild ox willing to serve you?
    Will it spend the night at your crib?
10 Can you tie it in the furrow with ropes,
    or will it harrow the valleys after you?
11 Will you depend on it because its strength is great,
    and will you hand over your labor to it?
12 Do you have faith in it that it will return,
    and bring your grain to your threshing floor?

Mountain Goat, Deer, Wild Ass, Wild Ox

It's been awhile since I shared with you the story of how I found out the meaning of my name. Apologies if you've heard this story before, but it pertains to our scripture passage today, and in any case, telling the story keeps me humble.

Most of you know me as Neal, or "Pastor Neal" but Neal is actually my middle name. My first name is Ira. I was named after my great-grandfather, Ira Ashley. I actually like my first name quite a bit, but for as long as I can remember, my parents and pretty much everyone I know has called me by my middle name, Neal. The only time I really get to hear my first name is on the first day of a class (in high school, college, seminary) when the professor would take attendance, call out "Ira Locke?" and I would politely respond, "Actually, I go by Neal." And that would be the end of it.

Until about 11 years ago, on my first day of Hebrew class in Seminary. You see, Ira is a Hebrew name. And the professor of this class just happened to write the Hebrew textbook that most seminaries in the country use today. And he also happened to be enthusiastic about the study of biblical names, their meanings and origins. I'm sure there were plenty of Hebrew names on his roster that day--names like Michael, Daniel, Rebecca, Sarah, David, etc. But when he got to mine, he stopped, looked up, and when I started to respond, he said "Do you know what your name means?"

Of course I did. I had a fancy little card hanging in my bedroom with my name meaning on it, and I had seen my name in countless "baby name books" through the years. Proudly, I told him, Ira means "watchful." He just shook his head and firmly said, "No." I was perplexed, but I remembered another meaning I'd come across somewhere in another baby name book, and said (more cautiously this time) "does it mean descendant?" Again, "No." At this point I realized I wasn't going to win this argument, so (with a slight touch of annoyance) I said, "Ok, what does Ira mean?"

My professor walked out from behind his lectern, down the classroom aisle right next to my seat, and then he leaned over as if to whisper to me (but he spoke loud enough for the entire class to hear), "Ira means...Ass."

And there it was. That was my first day of Hebrew class, etched forever in my mind (and probably the mind of all my classmates, too). It was a humbling experience. Later that night, a quick search in the Hebrew dictionary (which is a bit more reliable than those baby name books) revealed that my professor was, in fact, quite correct. Ira means Ass. As in "donkey" but also with some of the same additional connotations it has today--stubborn, a little bit pompous, arrogant (no wonder the baby name books felt a need to just fabricate meanings from thin air on this one!).

The ass, or donkey, shows up in today's scripture passage in verse five -- first as פֶּ֣רֶא (pereh - literally a wild donkey) and then again in the same verse as an עָ֝ר֗וֹד (arowd) which is semantically related to ira, possibly meaning a runaway donkey, but still something that is not domesticated, not tamed--again, a wild ass.

God gives to the wild, untamed donkey the barren desert as its dwelling place, and notes its scorn for the city, for the shouts of the driver, or the human taskmaster.

There's a similarity between the wild donkey and the other animals mentioned in this passage: They're all wild. Verse one begins with the mountain goat and the deer--asking Job if he has watched them give birth to their young. The answer, of course (as with all the rhetorical questions God asks Job in this passage) is no--all of the thousands of animals that Job used to take care of were domesticated animals: Cows, sheep, camels, and Job would have been quite familiar with their reproduction cycles, the human care required to make them grow and multiply (and be profitable).

But God calls Job's attention instead to the animals over which no human has any control. And then God says, in verse four, that "their young ones become strong, they grow up in the open; they go forth, and do not return to them."

In other words, they are just fine without any help. They are independent, with only God's watchful care.

Last week, we talked about wisdom literature in the Bible and in the ancient Middle East, and how the ancient sages--the writers of wisdom literature--looked to the natural world for understanding about how the world works, and how we can use these examples in our own spiritual journeys.

I'll come back to that, but first there's one more animal in today's list: Verse nine speaks of the "wild ox," but the King James bible famously (or infamously?) translated the word רֵּ֣ים (rim) here as "unicorn." Most modern biblical scholars think that's a bunch of bull ;-)

There's an interesting possibility that the animal described in verses 9-12 is related to one known to the ancient Romans, called the Uri, which Julius Caesar wrote about, describing it this way:

"These uri," he says, "are scarcely less than elephants in size, but in their nature, color, and form are bulls. Great is their strength, and great their speed; nor do they spare man nor beast, when once they have caught sight of him. ... Even when they are young, they cannot be habituated to man and made tractable. The size and shape of their horns are very different from those of our own oxen."

Regardless of whether it's an elephant-sized ox or a unicorn, I think the important takeaway here is that, again, it's a wild beast, that in God's words (verse 9) is not going to "spend the night at your crib," and despite its great strength, will certainly not be a dependable source of labor for human purposes.

So what's the message? What's the point? What is the wisdom we gain from observing these wild creatures over which humans have no control?

Remember that Job, in his encounter with God, is grieving over the loss of his "domesticated" animals...and his wealth, and his health, and his children. I think God is (subtly) reminding Job that there are some things in this world (as with some animals) over which we have a measure of control. But there are also some things (as with some animals) which are unpredictable, uncontrollable, wild, dangerous, deadly, and yet still very much part of God's creation and plan.

Like Job, we say, "How could a good and loving God allow bad things--dangerous things, seemingly random things--to happen to us? But God says, "Do you really want to live in a world that is completely tame, predictable, and safe?" Maybe your first answer to that question is, "Why yes, yes I do!" But think about that for awhile.

Some of the most beautiful and most moving things in this world--art, literature, poetry, and music--are born out of tragedy, sorrow, and the unpredictability of this world. Some of the very things that have made us stronger, better, and more resilient as human beings, are the very same things that have surprised us, wounded us, or otherwise forced us to come to terms with the fleeting and fragile nature of our existence.

There's a famous prayer that was written by Reformed theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. You've probably heard it:

God grant me the serenity to accept what cannot be changed,
The courage to change what should be changed,
and the Wisdom to know the difference.

The wisdom of the mountain goat, the deer, the wild ass, and the wild ox is much older, but similar:

It is to recognize and appreciate those things which God has given to us: "Domesticated" things; things within our control. We do our best to take care of all that God has entrusted to us.

It is also to recognize and appreciate those things which God has retained for himself: "Wild" things; things outside of our control. We don't get to "take care" of these things, but we can let them go, we can place them in God's capable hands, and in due time, we can even learn to love and embrace all that we did not anticipate, did not choose, or did not want to happen.

May the wisdom of God's "wild things" be yours and mine today.