One of the saddest chapters in the book. It's closing words groan in my head. I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. I have become a brother of jackals, a companion of owls. My skin grows black and peels; my body burns with fever. My lyre is tuned to mourning, and my pipe to the sound of wailing (28-31).
Weary, lonely words… I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. The inferred answer, none came and probably even worse… mocking, embarrassment, exclusion.
Job is an outcast, tossed to the debris pile by those who once honored him.
And why? Because of assumed sin. People had to impute to his tragedy some personal blame. If they didn't, why would they not simply help as they could?
I am wondering if I do that sometimes? If I refuse help because I have imputed some wrong, some 'they are getting their just desserts' to the pain and tragedy of the person-in-need's life? Do I construct these thoughts to exonerate myself from the need to offer brotherly help? Do I marinate these thoughts so that I feel better about myself?
I don't know… but I have to probe and look and examine. Because that is faithfulness, to be honest with oneself and see faults that need to be surrendered to the Lord.
Is there a seed of Job's friends in me? This really is the question the text presses upon me today. Is there a seed of Job's friends in me?
Oh, Lord, search me and know me, see if there is wickedness in me. Forgive me and restore me to the joy of Your salvation. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment