Blameless and Upright, But...
Commentary
I heard a sad story today about a pastor whose church essentially had to close as a result of a scandal surrounding his associate. The pastor himself knew nothing about his associate’s behavior, he was as blindsided by it as the rest of the church family was. But it led to such disruption and division in the church, that they shuttered their doors. And now, a friend told me, that innocent pastor is looking for a new ministry, but he carries with him this black mark that he doesn’t deserve.
When I heard the story, it reminded me of another colleague who had salacious allegations made against him by a woman in his congregation. The whole matter was investigated, and he was found to be completely innocent. Indeed, it was eventually discovered that making such allegations was rather a pattern of hers. But recently that minister was filling out an application of some sort, and he came across a question which asked, “Have you ever been accused or convicted of sexual misconduct.” Convicted? No. But he was accused, and so he had to answer that question in an uncomfortable way that he didn’t deserve.
Those are just two examples, and they both come from the rather narrow scope of our clergy world. Each of us could likely add our own stories of unjust suffering or undeserved damage to our own reputations. And then, from what we have witnessed as pastors, we could combine to generate an almost infinite list of examples of people who have suffered and endured things they did not deserve. By reason of human malevolence, human carelessness, natural disasters, sickness, or sheer accident, you and I have watched so many people go through things that made everyone around them say, “That’s just not fair.”
When the child who loses out on some treat cries, “That’s not fair,” we can be tough-minded and matter-of-factly say, “Well, life isn’t fair.” But when it’s the young mother killed by a drunk driver, the small child diagnosed with a rare and incurable disease, the innocent man who was irrecoverably slandered — in such tragic circumstances we find it harder to be so matter-of-fact. Rather, something within us wants to stand up in heaven’s courtroom and cry out, “I object!”
And so we may. We will find many companions in scripture who echo that cry and express that objection. Jeremiah, the psalmist, Habakkuk, and the writer of Ecclesiastes all give voice to that sentiment. Moses, too. And Joseph might have, and Paul could have.
And then there is Job. And then there is Jesus.
Scripture does not shy away from the reality of unjust suffering and innocent victims. It does not pretend that life is roses and rainbows, nor does it try to apply insultingly pat answers to profound human pain. Scripture lets the voices of lament be heard, and it willingly leaves some chords unresolved.
In our assigned texts for this week, we are presented with the two paradigmatic innocent sufferers. In the Old Testament lection, we are introduced to the story and the suffering of Job. And in the passage from the New Testament book of Hebrews, we are reminded of the suffering of Christ. We may use this week, then, to let the stories of these two men speak to our own experiences of undeserved suffering.
Job 1:1, 2:1-10
The book of Job presents us with so many problems. It doesn’t invent the problems, mind you, but it unapologetically brings them to the fore. In Job, we face the problem of evil in the world, undeserved suffering, the presence and impact of Satan, the limitations of human understanding, and the justice of God. And the selected verses from early in Job’s book are sufficient to raise any or all of those issues for this Sunday morning.
The author presents us with the context for our problems right from the start. In his introduction of the central human character, we are told that Job was “blameless and upright, “one who feared God and turned away from evil.” And once we know that much about him, we are primed to be unsettled by all that happens to him.
As I have often noted to the people in the churches I have served, the story of Job is much briefer than the book of Job. The story — that is to say, the plot — is only about two chapters long at the beginning and one chapter long at the end. The book as a whole, however, is 42 chapters long. The bulk of the book, we discover, is devoted not to plot but to dialogue. And I think a proper understanding of the book and its purpose must be mindful of that uneven distribution of material. The author is arguably more interested in how Job goes through what he does than in what he goes through or why.
Our assigned passage for this week, however, confronts us with the what and the why. These verses give us only the tiniest glimpse of the how. And these verses give us none of the lengthy and often heated dialogue between Job and his friends, which makes up the majority of the book.
The story of Job — the plot — begins with an account of a thoroughly and carefully righteous man. But no sooner have we been introduced to the exemplary way that Job conducts his affairs on earth than the scene shifts to some heavenly realm. Scholars frequently understand the setting as a sort of heavenly council. The Lord God is sovereign, but he is not alone, as he presides over the world and its inhabitants.
Much is left to interpretation here, and not all Bible students come to the same conclusions about certain crucial matters. Are we to understand what follows as a literal recounting of something that actually took place, or is this a story composed for a purpose — much like Jesus parables? Does the Lord really preside over some council of supernatural beings, or is that a vestige of ancient near Eastern mythology? Who or what are “the sons of God”? And are we to understand the Satan of this episode as one and the same with the devil and Satan of the New Testament and of Christian theology?
Whatever the precise conclusions we reach about any of those particulars, I believe it is fair to make these important affirmations.
First, the Lord is proud of Job. Job’s righteousness is not unnoticed in an impersonal and random universe. Rather, there is a righteous God who sees, who knows, and who we might even say appreciates. Perhaps our attitude is best summarized as “we are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty” (Luke 17:20 ESV), yet that does not seem to be the Lord’s own attitude toward us. He does not dismiss Job as only having done what he ought to have done; he brags about his righteous servant.
Second, human beings — and perhaps especially the one in whose image they were made — have opposition in this universe. And, again, it is not portrayed as impersonal and random, but personal. We are not merely victims of something that is amiss in the universe, but are the targets of someone who is accusatory and antagonistic toward us.
Third, suffering takes a variety of forms. Not every experience of suffering is the same as every other. And while you or I might take this particular experience of suffering in stride, we discover that some other experience of a different sort of suffering nearly breaks us.
Fourth, the human beings around us are not always a help or comfort to us in our suffering. The hymn writers knew the truth of it. So Joseph Scriven sympathetically asks, “Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?” (Joseph Scriven, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” UMH #526) And Charles Albert Tindley cries out to the Lord, “When I’ve done the best I can, and my friends misunderstand, thou who knowest all about me, stand by me.” (Charles Albert Tindley, “Stand By Me,” UMH #512)
As the whole scene closes, at least so far as it is assigned to us this week, Job has experienced virtually everything that he will suffer — everything except the lecturing and condemnation of his soon-to-arrive friends. And, through it all, we read that he “holds fast his integrity.” The underlying Hebrew word that the ESV translates integrity only appears five times in the Old Testament, and four of those five occurrences are in Job. The other is found in Proverbs 11:3. It is a word, therefore, that is unique to the wisdom tradition within the corpus of the Old Testament.
As it is embodied by Job, what shall we make of this “integrity”? Clearly it is not a mood or emotion, for we see Job give expression to a wide variety of those. Neither does “integrity” seem to mean that he does not have any complaints or questions or doubts. Additionally, in some of the rawest passages of the book, we see that Job does not even always have a will to live. So what is the content of his “integrity”?
As it is portrayed in its two appearances in chapter 2, for Job to hold fast his integrity seems to mean that his suffering does not prompt him to sin. In his words and his actions, he remains faithful. Note that he does not put on a happy face, lest we sometimes confuse that sort of dishonest facade with faithfulness. No, he goes through all that he does, yet “did not sin with his lips.” And so, whether living in prosperity and surrounded by loved ones or living on an ash heap and surrounded by condemnation, we see that Job is exemplary. And God sees, too.
Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12
In reading our selected excerpt from Hebrews for this week, I am reminded of Paul’s visit to Athens. He acknowledged the Athenians’ religiosity, and then directed his attention especially to one particular altar among the many: an altar with an inscription that read, “To the unknown god.” Paul, then, declared to his audience that they were already worshiping in ignorance the One that he had come to proclaim to them.
Paul, thus, was saying that the God of the Bible was the Athenians’ “unknown God.” The God of Abraham and the exodus, the God of the law and the prophets, the God who so loved the world that he sent his son — that one is “the unknown god.” What an irony that he should be unknown for he has made himself so marvelously knowable!
So it is that the writer of Hebrews affirms that “at many times and in many ways” God had spoken in the past. That is a God who makes himself known, you see. He is not hidden and mute. In his holiness and his eternality, he is not naturally accessible to us, to be sure, but he has chosen to reveal himself and to make himself accessible. It’s an astonishing gospel.
But that gracious self-revelation and communication in the Old Testament to which the author refers is then overwhelmed by the graciousness of what he does in the New Testament. Now he has revealed himself and communicated to us by his own son. Surely this is a God who makes himself known!
The author then tells us about that son. In just a few verses, he effectively expresses great truths about the person and work of Christ. The author places Christ at the center of creation, while also affirming his divinity. He also declares Christ’s atoning death followed by his exaltation and glorification. No doubt Charles Wesley had Hebrews 1:3 in mind when he sang of Jesus, “When he had purged our stains, he took his seat above.” (Charles Wesley, “Rejoice, The Lord is King,” UMH #715)
Then the author turns to the superiority of Christ. This is a central theme throughout the book, and it is an essential — though oft-neglected — part of our Christology. In a relativistic and pluralistic culture where such a premium is put on not offending, the church may tend to shy away from proclaiming the truth of Christ’s superiority. But what an irony if, in an effort not to offend others, I insult him. Moreover, there is always and always the danger of underestimating the Lord. It is something of a pattern in scripture, and it never turns out well for the people who do it. For when we underestimate who and what he is, we inevitably end up shortchanging ourselves.
Finally, and significantly, we note that the great christological affirmations are not arm’s-length and detached. That is to say, our message about Christ is not merely that he is this and that — divine, eternal, glorious, and such. The message about Christ graciously involves us. He condescends and we are brought to glory. He suffers and we are sanctified. He is the only son, yet is not ashamed to call us his brothers.
Mark 10:2-16
Our selected verses from the Gospel of Mark might reasonably be labeled the family section. It may not be as well-known as family-oriented teaching as the ‘household codes’ that Paul includes in his letters to the Ephesians and Colossians. Yet here we have Jesus himself teaching about marriage and divorce, followed by an embodied teaching about children.
The question that the Pharisees asked Jesus, within its contemporary context, was a subject of much deliberation and debate. It still is, of course. Earnest people of good will disagreed then about appropriate grounds for divorce, and they still do today. Jesus’ answer to the question is instructive at several levels.
First, Jesus’ remark about Moses and the guidance he had provided reminds one of what theologians sometimes call “the permissive will of God.” Would there be war or capital punishment in Eden or in the New Jerusalem? No. But in a fallen world, these are permitted by God as ways of combating evil. So, too, when Jesus refers to “the hardness of your hearts,” it suggests a certain concession to fallenness. Divorce is not the perfect will of God, but Moses gave permission because of the people’s sinful condition.
Second, Jesus’ resort to the creation story invites consideration of that perfect will of God. When he taught his followers to pray for God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven, you see, he acknowledged that there is a delta between the way things are here and the way the Lord wants them to be. The appeal to Adam, Eve, and Eden in Jesus’ teaching was meant to remind them of the way the Lord wants things to be.
Design suggests will and intent. How something is designed should offer insight into the purpose of the thing and how it is to be used. And by referencing how God had created things in the beginning, Jesus was helping his audience to unpack divine design — God’s intent and purpose.
Third, Jesus’ way of answering the Pharisees’ question — even if it was not born out of genuine interest to be taught by him — is illustrative for us of how we should approach any right-or-wrong, good-or-bad, true-or-false question. Specifically, Jesus directs everyone’s attention immediately to scripture. He doesn’t say, “Well, here’s what I think” or “My experience tells me” or “How do you feel about it?” No, the first order of business was to refer them to scripture: “”What did Moses command you?” And even though Jesus’ own answer was a few degrees different from the law of Moses, he was not casually eschewing or ignoring the content of scripture; rather, he was letting scripture interpret scripture, and in the end the listeners were informed by the word of God to know the will of God.
It is noteworthy that, when Jesus recites a portion of the Genesis passage, he doubles down on the two-become-one principle. Lest we dismiss the language that appears in Genesis as merely poetic or picturesque, Jesus makes it emphatic. “They are no longer two but one.” The language prompts us to think about the nature of oneness in Scripture, especially with respect to the Trinity and the church.
The disciples’ follow-up with Jesus when away from the Pharisees expands the seriousness of the teaching. We are not left in the dark about the issue. Some parts of scripture may seem at times opaque to us, and we wonder about real-life application. Not here. Jesus’ view is unmistakable.
In the second part of the assigned passage, meanwhile, our attention is turned to children. In a scene that we have no doubt seen portrayed in a variety of artwork, children are brought to Jesus, only to be initially rebuffed by the disciples. We presume that the disciples had a paradigm about who is important and who is not, and they regarded children as unimportant. Jesus, however, flips the script entirely, for he does not merely assign the children equal value: he lifts them up as supremely important. The kingdom of heaven — which is central to the message and ministry of Jesus — he says belongs to children. And in case we are tempted to pass by that statement as merely sentimental, Jesus turns it into a challenge to the adults in his audience: “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”
And so the children half of our passage might be summarized in terms of two embraces. On the one hand, there is the lovely image of Jesus embracing the children. They are not shooed away as trivial interruptions; they are welcomed, held, and blessed. And then they themselves represent the second embrace: namely, the way that a person receives the kingdom of God. In this, let the adults, with all of their developed guile and skepticism, take their cue from the children, embracing the kingdom with simplicity, purity, trust, and love.
Application
People often categorize the book of Job as a story that wrestles with the question of why the righteous suffer. If that was the author's purpose, however, then we may find the results of his efforts unsatisfactory. Are we content to believe and to teach that undeserved suffering is the byproduct of some sort of cosmic waiter between Satan and the Lord?
No, but as noted above, the treatment of Job’s story seems to be less interested in why the righteous suffer than in how the righteous suffer. And in the passage that has been assigned to us for this week, we discover that Job is not only exemplary in how he lives in good times, but he is also exemplary in how he lives in bad times. He held fast his integrity.
This is something of a theme in scripture. We remember, for example, that the wise builder goes through precisely the same kind of storms as the foolish builder. The difference is not in what they go through but in how they go through it. Paul, likewise, gives expression to the types of troubles he endured, along with faith's counterpoint for each (see 2 Corinthians 4:8-10). And the Apostle Peter is explicit about this matter, reminding his congregation how Jesus went through suffering, and encouraging them to follow Christ's example in their own experiences of suffering.
And all of that, then, brings us to our assigned text from Hebrews. The suffering of Christ is central to the theology of Hebrews. Not that the book is at all a treatise on suffering, but it affirms the significance and essential role of Christ’s death. There is no such thing as Christianity without the cross for the author of Hebrews.
Yet, interestingly, the suffering of Christ is not a theological problem for Hebrews. Though it is the ultimate — the peerless — instance of the undeserved suffering of an innocent and righteous man, it is not an issue to be wrestled with or a question to be answered. Rather, as we see in our selected passage, Christ’s suffering is understood to be a part of the plan of God which served the purpose of God.
Hebrews does not shake its head at the injustice of it all. It does not look at the cross and wonder, “Where was God in all of that?” On the contrary, rather than being the cause of consternation, the suffering of Christ is the cause of praise and thanksgiving.
The suffering of Job and Jesus share a notable parallel in how they end. We might say that both righteous men are, in their own ways, vindicated and exalted at the end of their stories. For all of the tragedy in the middle, neither story ends in lament or defeat, but in restoration and even victory.
We are likely more at peace with Jesus’ suffering than with Job’s, of course, because we recognize in the cross a redemptive purpose. One of the worst things we say about certain human tragedies is that they are “senseless.” But Christ’s was not senseless, for it accomplished God’s saving will.
We would strain the point of the story, I think, if we tried very hard to reckon Job’s suffering as redemptive. Yet still it may be regarded as serving and glorifying God precisely to the extent that Job held fast his integrity. For if God’s servant is faithful, then God is vindicated. If the righteous sufferer is remains true, then the Lord is exalted.
I don’t believe that the Lord and Satan actually negotiated with each other over the fate of Job. I do believe, however, that God is pleased by the day-in-day-out conduct of his saints on earth. And I also believe that Satan is frustrated and defeated when he cannot make those people curse God and die. Athanasius, reflecting on Christ’s suffering, wrote: “Although verbally abused, he didn’t lash out in return. When he suffered, he didn’t speak threats but gave his back to the torturers and his cheeks to buffetings. He didn’t turn his face away from the spitting but was willingly led to his death so that we could see the image of righteousness in him. By following these examples, we can tread on serpents, scorpions, and all of the enemy’s power.” (Athanasius, from “Festal Letter,” as quoted in Day by Day with The Early Church Fathers, compiled and edited by Chrisopher D. Hudson, J. Alan Sharer, and Lindsay Vanker, Peabody MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1999, p. 242) Whether or not our suffering serves a redemptive purpose, therefore, we can redeem it: for the issue is not why we suffer, but how.
Alternative Application(s)
Mark 10:2-16 — “Moving Forward, Looking Backward
Modern human beings are quite fond of their own progress. I can’t speak for what they thought and felt in, say, medieval Europe, but since the Renaissance and Enlightenment, the west has had a love affair with its own progress. We have made tremendous advances in our understanding, in our ability to explore, in our knowledge, and in our power. We marvel at our buildings, our technology, our sciences, and our medicines. And, indeed, we have made mind-boggling strides in so many of these areas.
The risk, however, is that we have developed a kind of generational arrogance. Because we know more about some things than earlier generations did, we are tempted to suspect that we know more about all things than earlier generations. And so we tend to exalt our present perspective and understanding over that of whatever came before.
I suspect this is a problem for society in general. I know that it is a problem for the church. For we, after all, take our cue from a book that is not the latest journal but an ancient compendium. It does not have the sort of resume or profile that impresses our post-Enlightenment, scientifically-minded generation. On the contrary, the Bible seems to the modern mind to be precisely the sort of thing that should be grown out of and discarded.
Of course, there are some popular trends and academic disciplines that focus on looking back, cherishing that which is old. Antiques, collectibles, and throwback nostalgia all place a value on that which is older rather than newer. Archaeology, likewise, prizes the ancient. And in at least one area of science, there is an eagerness to look back even while moving forward: namely, the telescopic efforts to see back to the beginning of the universe.
In our Gospel lection, Jesus invites his audience to look back. He points his interlocutors all the way back to creation, encouraging them to let that old model inform their contemporary living and choices. Ignoring the present debate and bypassing Moses, Jesus goes all the way back and says, “From the beginning of creation,” employing Eden as the standard for understanding God’s design and his will for marriage and divorce.
Jesus becomes our model, then, when it comes to seeking and knowing the will of God. While the culture around us tends to be intoxicated by its own progress, and while the prevailing wind says that what is almost always superior to what was, the people of God courageously look and point back. Not because we are anti-progress. Not because every past thing is better than every present thing. But because we believe in the divine wisdom of the book. And while the modern world may think that humanity has outgrown the scriptures, the church knows that its challenge and aspiration is to grow into them.
When I heard the story, it reminded me of another colleague who had salacious allegations made against him by a woman in his congregation. The whole matter was investigated, and he was found to be completely innocent. Indeed, it was eventually discovered that making such allegations was rather a pattern of hers. But recently that minister was filling out an application of some sort, and he came across a question which asked, “Have you ever been accused or convicted of sexual misconduct.” Convicted? No. But he was accused, and so he had to answer that question in an uncomfortable way that he didn’t deserve.
Those are just two examples, and they both come from the rather narrow scope of our clergy world. Each of us could likely add our own stories of unjust suffering or undeserved damage to our own reputations. And then, from what we have witnessed as pastors, we could combine to generate an almost infinite list of examples of people who have suffered and endured things they did not deserve. By reason of human malevolence, human carelessness, natural disasters, sickness, or sheer accident, you and I have watched so many people go through things that made everyone around them say, “That’s just not fair.”
When the child who loses out on some treat cries, “That’s not fair,” we can be tough-minded and matter-of-factly say, “Well, life isn’t fair.” But when it’s the young mother killed by a drunk driver, the small child diagnosed with a rare and incurable disease, the innocent man who was irrecoverably slandered — in such tragic circumstances we find it harder to be so matter-of-fact. Rather, something within us wants to stand up in heaven’s courtroom and cry out, “I object!”
And so we may. We will find many companions in scripture who echo that cry and express that objection. Jeremiah, the psalmist, Habakkuk, and the writer of Ecclesiastes all give voice to that sentiment. Moses, too. And Joseph might have, and Paul could have.
And then there is Job. And then there is Jesus.
Scripture does not shy away from the reality of unjust suffering and innocent victims. It does not pretend that life is roses and rainbows, nor does it try to apply insultingly pat answers to profound human pain. Scripture lets the voices of lament be heard, and it willingly leaves some chords unresolved.
In our assigned texts for this week, we are presented with the two paradigmatic innocent sufferers. In the Old Testament lection, we are introduced to the story and the suffering of Job. And in the passage from the New Testament book of Hebrews, we are reminded of the suffering of Christ. We may use this week, then, to let the stories of these two men speak to our own experiences of undeserved suffering.
Job 1:1, 2:1-10
The book of Job presents us with so many problems. It doesn’t invent the problems, mind you, but it unapologetically brings them to the fore. In Job, we face the problem of evil in the world, undeserved suffering, the presence and impact of Satan, the limitations of human understanding, and the justice of God. And the selected verses from early in Job’s book are sufficient to raise any or all of those issues for this Sunday morning.
The author presents us with the context for our problems right from the start. In his introduction of the central human character, we are told that Job was “blameless and upright, “one who feared God and turned away from evil.” And once we know that much about him, we are primed to be unsettled by all that happens to him.
As I have often noted to the people in the churches I have served, the story of Job is much briefer than the book of Job. The story — that is to say, the plot — is only about two chapters long at the beginning and one chapter long at the end. The book as a whole, however, is 42 chapters long. The bulk of the book, we discover, is devoted not to plot but to dialogue. And I think a proper understanding of the book and its purpose must be mindful of that uneven distribution of material. The author is arguably more interested in how Job goes through what he does than in what he goes through or why.
Our assigned passage for this week, however, confronts us with the what and the why. These verses give us only the tiniest glimpse of the how. And these verses give us none of the lengthy and often heated dialogue between Job and his friends, which makes up the majority of the book.
The story of Job — the plot — begins with an account of a thoroughly and carefully righteous man. But no sooner have we been introduced to the exemplary way that Job conducts his affairs on earth than the scene shifts to some heavenly realm. Scholars frequently understand the setting as a sort of heavenly council. The Lord God is sovereign, but he is not alone, as he presides over the world and its inhabitants.
Much is left to interpretation here, and not all Bible students come to the same conclusions about certain crucial matters. Are we to understand what follows as a literal recounting of something that actually took place, or is this a story composed for a purpose — much like Jesus parables? Does the Lord really preside over some council of supernatural beings, or is that a vestige of ancient near Eastern mythology? Who or what are “the sons of God”? And are we to understand the Satan of this episode as one and the same with the devil and Satan of the New Testament and of Christian theology?
Whatever the precise conclusions we reach about any of those particulars, I believe it is fair to make these important affirmations.
First, the Lord is proud of Job. Job’s righteousness is not unnoticed in an impersonal and random universe. Rather, there is a righteous God who sees, who knows, and who we might even say appreciates. Perhaps our attitude is best summarized as “we are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty” (Luke 17:20 ESV), yet that does not seem to be the Lord’s own attitude toward us. He does not dismiss Job as only having done what he ought to have done; he brags about his righteous servant.
Second, human beings — and perhaps especially the one in whose image they were made — have opposition in this universe. And, again, it is not portrayed as impersonal and random, but personal. We are not merely victims of something that is amiss in the universe, but are the targets of someone who is accusatory and antagonistic toward us.
Third, suffering takes a variety of forms. Not every experience of suffering is the same as every other. And while you or I might take this particular experience of suffering in stride, we discover that some other experience of a different sort of suffering nearly breaks us.
Fourth, the human beings around us are not always a help or comfort to us in our suffering. The hymn writers knew the truth of it. So Joseph Scriven sympathetically asks, “Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?” (Joseph Scriven, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” UMH #526) And Charles Albert Tindley cries out to the Lord, “When I’ve done the best I can, and my friends misunderstand, thou who knowest all about me, stand by me.” (Charles Albert Tindley, “Stand By Me,” UMH #512)
As the whole scene closes, at least so far as it is assigned to us this week, Job has experienced virtually everything that he will suffer — everything except the lecturing and condemnation of his soon-to-arrive friends. And, through it all, we read that he “holds fast his integrity.” The underlying Hebrew word that the ESV translates integrity only appears five times in the Old Testament, and four of those five occurrences are in Job. The other is found in Proverbs 11:3. It is a word, therefore, that is unique to the wisdom tradition within the corpus of the Old Testament.
As it is embodied by Job, what shall we make of this “integrity”? Clearly it is not a mood or emotion, for we see Job give expression to a wide variety of those. Neither does “integrity” seem to mean that he does not have any complaints or questions or doubts. Additionally, in some of the rawest passages of the book, we see that Job does not even always have a will to live. So what is the content of his “integrity”?
As it is portrayed in its two appearances in chapter 2, for Job to hold fast his integrity seems to mean that his suffering does not prompt him to sin. In his words and his actions, he remains faithful. Note that he does not put on a happy face, lest we sometimes confuse that sort of dishonest facade with faithfulness. No, he goes through all that he does, yet “did not sin with his lips.” And so, whether living in prosperity and surrounded by loved ones or living on an ash heap and surrounded by condemnation, we see that Job is exemplary. And God sees, too.
Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12
In reading our selected excerpt from Hebrews for this week, I am reminded of Paul’s visit to Athens. He acknowledged the Athenians’ religiosity, and then directed his attention especially to one particular altar among the many: an altar with an inscription that read, “To the unknown god.” Paul, then, declared to his audience that they were already worshiping in ignorance the One that he had come to proclaim to them.
Paul, thus, was saying that the God of the Bible was the Athenians’ “unknown God.” The God of Abraham and the exodus, the God of the law and the prophets, the God who so loved the world that he sent his son — that one is “the unknown god.” What an irony that he should be unknown for he has made himself so marvelously knowable!
So it is that the writer of Hebrews affirms that “at many times and in many ways” God had spoken in the past. That is a God who makes himself known, you see. He is not hidden and mute. In his holiness and his eternality, he is not naturally accessible to us, to be sure, but he has chosen to reveal himself and to make himself accessible. It’s an astonishing gospel.
But that gracious self-revelation and communication in the Old Testament to which the author refers is then overwhelmed by the graciousness of what he does in the New Testament. Now he has revealed himself and communicated to us by his own son. Surely this is a God who makes himself known!
The author then tells us about that son. In just a few verses, he effectively expresses great truths about the person and work of Christ. The author places Christ at the center of creation, while also affirming his divinity. He also declares Christ’s atoning death followed by his exaltation and glorification. No doubt Charles Wesley had Hebrews 1:3 in mind when he sang of Jesus, “When he had purged our stains, he took his seat above.” (Charles Wesley, “Rejoice, The Lord is King,” UMH #715)
Then the author turns to the superiority of Christ. This is a central theme throughout the book, and it is an essential — though oft-neglected — part of our Christology. In a relativistic and pluralistic culture where such a premium is put on not offending, the church may tend to shy away from proclaiming the truth of Christ’s superiority. But what an irony if, in an effort not to offend others, I insult him. Moreover, there is always and always the danger of underestimating the Lord. It is something of a pattern in scripture, and it never turns out well for the people who do it. For when we underestimate who and what he is, we inevitably end up shortchanging ourselves.
Finally, and significantly, we note that the great christological affirmations are not arm’s-length and detached. That is to say, our message about Christ is not merely that he is this and that — divine, eternal, glorious, and such. The message about Christ graciously involves us. He condescends and we are brought to glory. He suffers and we are sanctified. He is the only son, yet is not ashamed to call us his brothers.
Mark 10:2-16
Our selected verses from the Gospel of Mark might reasonably be labeled the family section. It may not be as well-known as family-oriented teaching as the ‘household codes’ that Paul includes in his letters to the Ephesians and Colossians. Yet here we have Jesus himself teaching about marriage and divorce, followed by an embodied teaching about children.
The question that the Pharisees asked Jesus, within its contemporary context, was a subject of much deliberation and debate. It still is, of course. Earnest people of good will disagreed then about appropriate grounds for divorce, and they still do today. Jesus’ answer to the question is instructive at several levels.
First, Jesus’ remark about Moses and the guidance he had provided reminds one of what theologians sometimes call “the permissive will of God.” Would there be war or capital punishment in Eden or in the New Jerusalem? No. But in a fallen world, these are permitted by God as ways of combating evil. So, too, when Jesus refers to “the hardness of your hearts,” it suggests a certain concession to fallenness. Divorce is not the perfect will of God, but Moses gave permission because of the people’s sinful condition.
Second, Jesus’ resort to the creation story invites consideration of that perfect will of God. When he taught his followers to pray for God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven, you see, he acknowledged that there is a delta between the way things are here and the way the Lord wants them to be. The appeal to Adam, Eve, and Eden in Jesus’ teaching was meant to remind them of the way the Lord wants things to be.
Design suggests will and intent. How something is designed should offer insight into the purpose of the thing and how it is to be used. And by referencing how God had created things in the beginning, Jesus was helping his audience to unpack divine design — God’s intent and purpose.
Third, Jesus’ way of answering the Pharisees’ question — even if it was not born out of genuine interest to be taught by him — is illustrative for us of how we should approach any right-or-wrong, good-or-bad, true-or-false question. Specifically, Jesus directs everyone’s attention immediately to scripture. He doesn’t say, “Well, here’s what I think” or “My experience tells me” or “How do you feel about it?” No, the first order of business was to refer them to scripture: “”What did Moses command you?” And even though Jesus’ own answer was a few degrees different from the law of Moses, he was not casually eschewing or ignoring the content of scripture; rather, he was letting scripture interpret scripture, and in the end the listeners were informed by the word of God to know the will of God.
It is noteworthy that, when Jesus recites a portion of the Genesis passage, he doubles down on the two-become-one principle. Lest we dismiss the language that appears in Genesis as merely poetic or picturesque, Jesus makes it emphatic. “They are no longer two but one.” The language prompts us to think about the nature of oneness in Scripture, especially with respect to the Trinity and the church.
The disciples’ follow-up with Jesus when away from the Pharisees expands the seriousness of the teaching. We are not left in the dark about the issue. Some parts of scripture may seem at times opaque to us, and we wonder about real-life application. Not here. Jesus’ view is unmistakable.
In the second part of the assigned passage, meanwhile, our attention is turned to children. In a scene that we have no doubt seen portrayed in a variety of artwork, children are brought to Jesus, only to be initially rebuffed by the disciples. We presume that the disciples had a paradigm about who is important and who is not, and they regarded children as unimportant. Jesus, however, flips the script entirely, for he does not merely assign the children equal value: he lifts them up as supremely important. The kingdom of heaven — which is central to the message and ministry of Jesus — he says belongs to children. And in case we are tempted to pass by that statement as merely sentimental, Jesus turns it into a challenge to the adults in his audience: “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”
And so the children half of our passage might be summarized in terms of two embraces. On the one hand, there is the lovely image of Jesus embracing the children. They are not shooed away as trivial interruptions; they are welcomed, held, and blessed. And then they themselves represent the second embrace: namely, the way that a person receives the kingdom of God. In this, let the adults, with all of their developed guile and skepticism, take their cue from the children, embracing the kingdom with simplicity, purity, trust, and love.
Application
People often categorize the book of Job as a story that wrestles with the question of why the righteous suffer. If that was the author's purpose, however, then we may find the results of his efforts unsatisfactory. Are we content to believe and to teach that undeserved suffering is the byproduct of some sort of cosmic waiter between Satan and the Lord?
No, but as noted above, the treatment of Job’s story seems to be less interested in why the righteous suffer than in how the righteous suffer. And in the passage that has been assigned to us for this week, we discover that Job is not only exemplary in how he lives in good times, but he is also exemplary in how he lives in bad times. He held fast his integrity.
This is something of a theme in scripture. We remember, for example, that the wise builder goes through precisely the same kind of storms as the foolish builder. The difference is not in what they go through but in how they go through it. Paul, likewise, gives expression to the types of troubles he endured, along with faith's counterpoint for each (see 2 Corinthians 4:8-10). And the Apostle Peter is explicit about this matter, reminding his congregation how Jesus went through suffering, and encouraging them to follow Christ's example in their own experiences of suffering.
And all of that, then, brings us to our assigned text from Hebrews. The suffering of Christ is central to the theology of Hebrews. Not that the book is at all a treatise on suffering, but it affirms the significance and essential role of Christ’s death. There is no such thing as Christianity without the cross for the author of Hebrews.
Yet, interestingly, the suffering of Christ is not a theological problem for Hebrews. Though it is the ultimate — the peerless — instance of the undeserved suffering of an innocent and righteous man, it is not an issue to be wrestled with or a question to be answered. Rather, as we see in our selected passage, Christ’s suffering is understood to be a part of the plan of God which served the purpose of God.
Hebrews does not shake its head at the injustice of it all. It does not look at the cross and wonder, “Where was God in all of that?” On the contrary, rather than being the cause of consternation, the suffering of Christ is the cause of praise and thanksgiving.
The suffering of Job and Jesus share a notable parallel in how they end. We might say that both righteous men are, in their own ways, vindicated and exalted at the end of their stories. For all of the tragedy in the middle, neither story ends in lament or defeat, but in restoration and even victory.
We are likely more at peace with Jesus’ suffering than with Job’s, of course, because we recognize in the cross a redemptive purpose. One of the worst things we say about certain human tragedies is that they are “senseless.” But Christ’s was not senseless, for it accomplished God’s saving will.
We would strain the point of the story, I think, if we tried very hard to reckon Job’s suffering as redemptive. Yet still it may be regarded as serving and glorifying God precisely to the extent that Job held fast his integrity. For if God’s servant is faithful, then God is vindicated. If the righteous sufferer is remains true, then the Lord is exalted.
I don’t believe that the Lord and Satan actually negotiated with each other over the fate of Job. I do believe, however, that God is pleased by the day-in-day-out conduct of his saints on earth. And I also believe that Satan is frustrated and defeated when he cannot make those people curse God and die. Athanasius, reflecting on Christ’s suffering, wrote: “Although verbally abused, he didn’t lash out in return. When he suffered, he didn’t speak threats but gave his back to the torturers and his cheeks to buffetings. He didn’t turn his face away from the spitting but was willingly led to his death so that we could see the image of righteousness in him. By following these examples, we can tread on serpents, scorpions, and all of the enemy’s power.” (Athanasius, from “Festal Letter,” as quoted in Day by Day with The Early Church Fathers, compiled and edited by Chrisopher D. Hudson, J. Alan Sharer, and Lindsay Vanker, Peabody MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1999, p. 242) Whether or not our suffering serves a redemptive purpose, therefore, we can redeem it: for the issue is not why we suffer, but how.
Alternative Application(s)
Mark 10:2-16 — “Moving Forward, Looking Backward
Modern human beings are quite fond of their own progress. I can’t speak for what they thought and felt in, say, medieval Europe, but since the Renaissance and Enlightenment, the west has had a love affair with its own progress. We have made tremendous advances in our understanding, in our ability to explore, in our knowledge, and in our power. We marvel at our buildings, our technology, our sciences, and our medicines. And, indeed, we have made mind-boggling strides in so many of these areas.
The risk, however, is that we have developed a kind of generational arrogance. Because we know more about some things than earlier generations did, we are tempted to suspect that we know more about all things than earlier generations. And so we tend to exalt our present perspective and understanding over that of whatever came before.
I suspect this is a problem for society in general. I know that it is a problem for the church. For we, after all, take our cue from a book that is not the latest journal but an ancient compendium. It does not have the sort of resume or profile that impresses our post-Enlightenment, scientifically-minded generation. On the contrary, the Bible seems to the modern mind to be precisely the sort of thing that should be grown out of and discarded.
Of course, there are some popular trends and academic disciplines that focus on looking back, cherishing that which is old. Antiques, collectibles, and throwback nostalgia all place a value on that which is older rather than newer. Archaeology, likewise, prizes the ancient. And in at least one area of science, there is an eagerness to look back even while moving forward: namely, the telescopic efforts to see back to the beginning of the universe.
In our Gospel lection, Jesus invites his audience to look back. He points his interlocutors all the way back to creation, encouraging them to let that old model inform their contemporary living and choices. Ignoring the present debate and bypassing Moses, Jesus goes all the way back and says, “From the beginning of creation,” employing Eden as the standard for understanding God’s design and his will for marriage and divorce.
Jesus becomes our model, then, when it comes to seeking and knowing the will of God. While the culture around us tends to be intoxicated by its own progress, and while the prevailing wind says that what is almost always superior to what was, the people of God courageously look and point back. Not because we are anti-progress. Not because every past thing is better than every present thing. But because we believe in the divine wisdom of the book. And while the modern world may think that humanity has outgrown the scriptures, the church knows that its challenge and aspiration is to grow into them.
