I loathe my life; I would not live forever. Leave me alone, for my days are a breath. -- Job 7:16
I am always skittish of verses from Job because you have to
be very aware of the context. In this
case, though, it is Job himself speaking, and we pretty well know the context.
Perhaps it is only me, but there are days when I could say
this. Just let me die. Why does this have to go on and on? I shouldn’t complain because I don’t have
health issues. Everything in my life is
fairly stable. Yet, I cannot help feel
that I disappoint everyone. I don’t mind
screwing things up for myself. I don’t
like to fail other people, cause anguish to others, or cause other people more
work or to be burdened in some way. I
would just like for everyone around me to be happy.
You might look at my desire and think it’s noble or
self-sacrificing, but there’s something amiss with it. Obviously, no matter what I do, it’s not
going to make everybody happy. It’s kind
of like the political concept of utopia.
It’s unrealistic. There’s an
aspect of it that attributes more power and significance to my life than is
appropriate.
Job was a wealthy, powerful man. He was a man who took charge of things and
took care of his family. When Job spoke,
people listened. Surely such a
successful man must be wise, and he was.
Even the wisest of us, though, are fools compared to God.
It’s been my practice since I was a kid to take the heavy
end of the load. I have always taken the
hardest, dirtiest part of any task when I could. Part of that stems from the fact that I
worked so much with my father and that he was in his forties when I was born. He was tough and all for his age, but he was
also ready to take it a little easier by the time I was old enough to do
man-sized labor. He let me have those
rough jobs, not only because my main skills were brute force and awkwardness, but to
toughen me up and teach me. The older and
stronger and tougher I got, the more work I was able and expected to do. There was nothing wrong with that, but I did
get to thinking that I should be able to do about anything and handle it all
myself.
That was a pretty simple world on the old farm. I could have most of the answers most of the
time. The world I live in now is not so
simple. I feel a kinship with Job in
this, too. Job was doing what he knew to
do. Everything worked the way it was
supposed to work. Everything made
sense. Job’s world was straightforward: Do right and be blessed; do wrong and
suffer.
Except that’s not the way the world is.
I am not the center of things. There are billions of other humans alive at
this moment. Billions of others have
lived and died while creating, shaping, and shading all that we must face and
interact with today. Aside from
humanity, all of creation impinges upon us, from the deer that darts in front
of our car to the virus that makes our heads hurt and our noses run.
My job, the purpose and destiny of my existence it not to
fix all that. I am not a failure if I
can’t. God asks only that I do what I
can, that I play my part, and endure. We
really are in something bigger than us, and that’s what the Lord showed Job in
the end. He never answered all of Job’s
questions. He never explained the
reasons for his loss and suffering. He
just revealed Himself as the center of it.
It was not about Job. It’s not
about me, either.
