Read this if you don’t know Job.
Now that’s settled, and we can commence to begin.
From a young age, I’ve loved love.
My mother likes to tell a story about my earliest attempts at flirting. At a kindergarten parent-teacher conference, the teacher said I was a bright, sweet kid but that it would behoove my parents to teach me how to tie my shoelaces. My mother responded, “Aaron has known how to tie his shoes for a year!” The teacher responded, “Huh. He’s always asking the little girls in class to do it for him.”
Flash-forward to the age of eleven; I had a little girlfriend living next door, but despite our close proximity we spoke on the phone. Real phones, you know? The kind with a rotary dial, an extra long extension cord like Lloyd Dobbler used when he called Diane Court; the kind of phone you could use as a murder weapon. One day I was in my parent’s room, sitting on the bed, chatting her up and I said, “I love you.” My mother overheard it, and when I hung up the phone she came in and said, “Aaron, I’m glad that you have a special friend. But I don’t think you should say you love her; you’re too young to really know what love is.” This was before Forrest Gump, so despite the perfect set-up I was not able to respond, “I’m not a smart man, mama, but I know what love is.” I think I stomped into my room, pushed play on my Bon Jovi Slippery When Wet tape, and sang “Living On a Prayer” as though it was about me and my beloved. We were misunderstood. We would run off together and we would make it, dammit, by our pluck and love.
I mean, we were already halfway there.
Of course, Mom was right. I didn’t know what love is. It took a perspective shift, like learning how to love my schizophrenic brother without needing anything in return. It’s about loving a person when you don’t particularly like them. Love is messy, gritty, painful. It is not ideal. Not all the time, anyway.
So we look at Job. Job so certain. Confident that he is blameless. Sure that justice has been denied him, that he is owed better, that he has been given short shrift and now is the time of reckoning. Time to square the accounts. And Job has filled himself with the sort of indignation that is righteous. He has God in a corner, God on the ropes. It’s going to be a hell of a show.
Until Job is given a perspective shift. God’s words from the whirlwind are crushing. Defeating. It almost makes us want to look away, it gets so uncomfortable. We shift in our seats because Job is getting his ass handed to him. And, frankly, if I have to take this literally I really don’t like this God. This God feels hostile. Unloving. Diffident.
But there is a great deal of truth in this story even if the facts are in dispute. When we mistake the part for the whole, when we allow ourselves to go off half-cocked because we are certain we are the moral arbiters of the world, when we think we know a person’s motives, or heart, or sense of self, when we project onto others the ways we think we have been wronged, but then are given new information, we stop short. What is this dark magic? It is almost like we have new eyes, really. Because that’s what happens when we have a shift in thinking. We see things differently. We enter more fully into the complexity of human experiences and relationships.
People often ask me if I believe in an interventionist God. A God who controls or influences history, and I am generally hesitant to give a quick answer. Not that I don’t have one. You might have gathered by now that I like to talk. A lot. And write. A lot. That’s part of the bipolar. But when it comes to God I’ve learned to slow down. It makes me a bad Calvinist, but I don’t believe that everything is already decided and we are merely meat puppets acting out a divine drama. But I do believe that God’s spirit animates us and flows through our lives, that we experience it, in part, through love. And through the people whom God places in our lives. Through the situations that arise, requiring us to navigate them with some sort of discernible principle.
In our nation, right now, we are facing a fundamental choice about who we are as Americans, as Christians (for some of us), as citizens, as human beings. Choices about how we view the world and each other. In many ways, history is calling for all of us to use our lives as testimonies regarding how we understand Jesus Christ. God is calling us to account for what we think about justice. Just like with Job. We Christians testify that through Christ, we see anew. Through the model of Jesus, we have a definitive example of how to live. How to be in relationship with others. How to discern God’s priorities and make them our own.
We have a choice. We can be certain we understand justice and that wrong has been done to us, that we have been robbed of things that are rightfully ours, or we can take God’s view. The larger view. The longer view. The view that shows the totality of love, justice, compassion, mercy, and grace. Or we can rage and rail until we are red-faced, tilting at windmills. We can continue to allow mechanisms and structures to be Job creators; manufacturers of persons who are so blinded by their own certainty, they lose nuance. Perspective. The ability to be transformed and shaped. The supporters of this vision are looking to create more Jobs. The question is, will we let them?
God gave us free will and Jesus. The rest is up to us.