Job 23:1-9, 16-17
11 October 2009
“Let’s Blame the Victim”
Today’s reading in the book of Job is presented as though it were a court case. We have Job wanting to get some time on the heavenly Judge’s docket. He wants to plead his case! And as we saw last week and will see later on, we also have Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar playing the role of the jurors who already have their minds made up. Please, don’t confuse us with the evidence!
We’re now into the main part of the book; this is the long section of poetry. Theories abound as to the identity of the author. It is very possibly a poet who places his work, as I noted last week, within an ancient story about an innocent man from the distant past who suffers almost unspeakable tragedy. This is a man who holds fast to his faith and to his integrity.
With chapter 3, and the beginning of the poetry, we’re transported far ahead in time. In the centuries after the exile to Babylon, the Jewish faith is exposed to many different cultures, philosophies, and theologies. We can see some of that evolution in the books of the prophets.
And we can see it
here in Job. Some of the older ways and
ideas begin to come under attack, among them, the one I spoke of last
week: the adamant insistence that the
righteous prosper and the wicked suffer.
As Eliphaz puts it in chapter 4, “Think now, who that was innocent ever
perished? Or where were the upright cut
off?” (v. 7). In the Good News Bible, it reads, “Think back now. Name a single
case where someone righteous met with disaster.”
Thinking of the poet’s rejection of that theology—it’s very hard for us to grasp how dramatically the exile affected the faith. Consider: the temple has been destroyed by the Babylonians. The system of sacrifices has come to an abrupt end. And for those sent into exile, even the land itself—the promised land—has been taken away from them. Their entire way of life has been changed. It can’t help but have an immense impact.
Our poet portrays a man in whom the phrase “the patience of Job” doesn’t seem to apply. That phrase is taken from a line in the epistle of James (5:11). No, this is far from the kind of piety that takes a punch in the gut and says, “Thank you, sir. May I have another?” Not quite.
In the poetry, as opposed to the section of prose we looked at last week, we see a Job who is anything but patient. Our scripture text begins with his howling, “I still rebel and complain against God; I cannot keep from groaning. How I wish I knew where to find him, and knew how to go where he is. I would state my case before him and present all the arguments in my favor” (vv. 1-4). If the Job of the legend, of the ancient story, is an icon of patience and self-control, then the Job of the poetry is one who thunders at the heavens.
The book of Job has been called “the central parable of our post-Holocaust age.” It’s been proclaimed “the great poem of moral outrage.”[1] It is the cry of all who have been falsely accused and viciously treated. Thinking of the genocide and terror of the twentieth century, I would say that Job probably is a good model for all that. Unfortunately, the twenty-first century is already putting in its bid!
We see the impatient Job right away at the start of chapter 3, where the poet has him cursing the day of his birth. In his paraphrase of the book, Stephen Mitchell apparently feels that our Bible translations are a bit too timid; they don’t really capture the power of Job’s fury and anguish. He feels the Hebrew is more like: “G__ d___ the day I was born and the night that forced me from the womb.”[2]
From there on, Job angrily protests his innocence, something that gets his friends more and more upset the longer he goes on. They turn the tables on Job. They say to him, “You want to know why all this has happened to you? Do you want to know the source of your troubles? My friend, it is you!” Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar engage in an all-too-familiar activity. They blame the victim.
Look at the picture on the cover of our worship bulletin. It’s a work by William Blake, the English poet and artist, of Job being rebuked by his friends. With his friends on one side and his wife on the other, he’s getting it from all directions. The one to whom he appeals—God—is nowhere to be found.
October, among other things, is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. If there is one sin…if there is one crime…if there is one violation of human rights in which we more frequently blame the victim than in the case of domestic violence, I’m not sure what it would be. Like Job’s thickheaded friends, people say stuff like: I wonder what she did to set him off. Why does she stick around?
It’s not always easy to just pick up and leave. Maybe there’s nowhere to go; maybe children are involved. Some health insurance companies even deny coverage to victims of domestic violence, saying they have a “pre-existing condition.”[3]
The church has a pretty lousy track record on domestic violence. Women have been told to be submissive to their husbands. They’ve been told to forgive the abuse just as Christ forgave from the cross—and, in the immortal words of Tammy Wynette: “stand by your man.” (Okay, maybe we can’t pin that one on the church!)
It’s easier to blame the victim than to recognize our own complicity. It’s easier to project our responsibility onto another—especially if that other is the beaten down, the poor, or some group that a lot of people hate. Doing so shows an unwillingness to take steps for growth in our own souls, in our own lives. It can also be a sign of refusing to question our own assumptions.
That’s how it is with Job’s friends. They start off with good intentions. As I said last week, they have the courage to go and just be with him. That isn’t easy; it isn’t fun. Then, when Job rejects their clumsily offered advice, their courage is replaced by something else. Mitchell says of Eliphaz and the others, “In fact, they don’t speak to Job at all, they speak to their own terror at the thought of Job’s innocence.”[4]
For their belief system to function, the one thing Job cannot be is innocent. Remember, they know their friend. They know what kind of man he is! Despite all their protests to the contrary, deep down in their hearts, surely they suspect that Job’s done nothing wrong.
But if that’s right, then their concept of God collapses like a house of cards. And that’s really it. They have a concept of God; Job knows God. There’s a vast difference in the two. His friends can’t understand Job’s inappropriate questions, his blasphemous accusations.
But if one has more than a concept of, but a relationship with God, then one has the knowledge of not only being loved, but also of being liked. To me, it seems easy to say and believe that God loves us. But have we ever thought that God actually likes us? Because he acts from that awareness, Job responds to the pain that exists only in love. He confronts God on those terms.
Job feels abandoned by his divine friend. Verses 8 and 9 read, “If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.” Job has journeyed with God to places his friends know nothing about, and they don’t understand the true source of his pain. They don’t understand, and they lash out. They lay blame.
As with Job, there may be plenty of times in our lives when we feel abandoned by God. We journey with God to places that others know nothing about. We feel alone and vulnerable because we don’t know how to reach out and make others understand.
What’s more, we often fear dealing with those around us. We may expect them to do an imitation of Job’s buddies—to lash out at us. We expect them to point the finger of blame. That’s one reason why women who are abused often choose to live in the silence of their suffering.
Something to consider: we have to remember to look at Job and his story through the lens of Jesus Christ. Through his life, death, and resurrection, he has given us an opportunity for new life in a new community. In the community which we call the church, we are given permission to speak out about our pain and suffering without fear, without any prejudgment, because we know we are loved and accepted by God without condition.
Well, at least, that’s how it’s supposed to be!
Last week, I suggested seeing Job as a story of conversion. In the next couple of weeks, we’ll see how his story turns out. Job isn’t able to see that now. What about us? Can we open ourselves to a new kind of communion in which we patiently bear the burdens of one another without blaming or shaming?
There’s a world of both pain and joy right outside our door. How willing are we to listen, without imposing our own rules and regulations of blame and shame? To the extent that we resemble the friends of Job, it’s to that same extent we have work to do.
This is the challenge of Job! This is the challenge Jesus puts before us as a community.