Job never believed God owed him anything; he never imagined God would take everything.

As a child, while hearing the story of his forefather Noah’s righteousness amidst a destructive world, he felt a deep desire to live an upright life as well. Well into adulthood he lived as God called, and kept his distance from even the appearance of evil. In fact, he even stood in the gap for those he loved, appealing to God on behalf of his children, in case in their partying they had “sinned and cursed God in their hearts.”

There was one thing Job knew: God did not warrant cursing. If anything went wrong in life Job was sooner to curse his own life than levy accusation on the One who created and knew all. Hard times did come; however his life was marked by blessings, not curses. Far and wide people were confident Job must be the most righteous man, as God had not only met his needs, but done so in abundance. Job deserved nothing and God everything, and he was grateful for God’s generosity.

Public opinion shifted sharply on “the day”; no one could recall a single day quite as catastrophic for one man. Job had just finished checking on operations near his home and settled to pray when a frantic knock startled him.

“Sir… the oxen…” the servant doubled over, struggling to catch his breath. “They’re gone… all of the oxen and donkeys… the Sabeans, they… they came out of nowhere… everyone’s dead. Everyone. I barely made it out.”

Job was floored. He had heard stories of raiders, but never had they had the audacity to attack his lands. Most knew his God protected him… but why hadn’t He?

The thought barely developed before a figure barreled past the first servant, a thick aroma of smoke surrounding him. “Fire from God!” He swatted at his arms, believing himself ablaze. “It’s all gone, the sheep, everyone!” Job rushed a ladle of water to his gasping mouth. He gulped it down and sputtered, “I’m the only one who survived!”

He was interrupted by a shout from outside, “The Chaldeans!” A third servant crashed through the door, baffled briefly by the two traumatized men just beyond the frame. There was no time to ask questions: “The Chaldeans formed three raiding parties; all of your camels are gone. Those savages put every one of my fellow workers to the sword.” He jerked his head back, suddenly fearful he may have been followed. “I ran. I am the only one; I had to tell you. It was horrible, sir, horrible.”

One report would have been enough to crush Job, three without pause left him in shock. His thoughts could not make sense of these destructive events, nor the long-term ramifications, and as the man in charge the pressure to respond felt suffocating. The one saving grace was the foundational value that he had carried from youth: God is powerful and good. In the worst circumstances that remained true, which meant it was true even now.

As he took a deep breath to praise God despite the loss, he realized a fourth servant had entered, face caked in dirt and tears, staring with red eyes at Job, his scraped arms shaking by his side. He could not form words, the message was too horrendous.

Somehow Job knew; he could not bear to hear it.

“Your sons and daughters…”
Job fell to his knees, unable to contain deep sobs.

“They were just laughing and singing when the wind – I have never seen a wind like it – it rushed from the desert, and somehow hit every corner of your oldest’s house. They didn’t have a chance… all of them, crushed. I was at the door… barely escaped…”

Job bolted up and with intense sorrow ripped his robes. The fatigued servants watched as he sharpened a blade and shaved the hair from his head, dumped a jar of ash over his body, and crumpled into the piles of hair and sand around him.

His breathing slowed, and to the shock of the servants he began to worship the God who had taken everything:
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.”

Neither Job nor his wife slept that night. She had returned from the market to see her husband, tear-soaked and disheveled, singing psalms as servants muttered nearby. They conveyed all that had happened, leading her to shriek and fall to the floor. Neither Job nor his wife had the words or energy to interact as the sun fell and rose; adrenaline prompted her to scream as the morning light revealed Job entirely covered in oozing sores.

“What have you done to anger God?!”
He had asked that same question, but could find no answer. It and the relentless itching had consumed his mind; he held in his hand a shard of broken pottery – a casualty of his wife’s fall – which he scraped against his skin. His silence angered his wife, who could no longer look at his grotesque form.

“You’ve acted righteous your whole life, and look where it’s gotten you! That fire and wind was from God; He did this to us! Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!”

Now adrenaline rushed through Job’s veins. “You’re talking like a foolish woman! What, are we supposed to only accept good from God and not trouble?” His wife had begun storming out at “foolish woman” and left Job alone, bloodied and in anguish.

Job had no idea how long he sat alone in ashes, nor was he aware of the neighbors who would peer through the windows. Rumors spread from home to home, most agreeing that Job had done something wrong, that he had faked his righteousness, or that his God should be cursed. When word reached his three closest friends, they dropped everything and agreed to sympathize with and comfort him, no matter how long it might take.

They could hardly recognize him. The sight of their friend’s mangled body broke them; they wept uncontrollably as they tore their robes, threw dust on their heads, and dropped to the dirt around their friend. They remained a full week, no one saying a word to him because they saw how much he suffered.

Job was the first to speak.
“It would have been better if I had never been born! I long for God to forget my existence! What I always dreaded has crushed me; I have no rest, only turmoil.” Though this was the most hopeless he had ever been, Job knew it was ultimately on God to take or retain his life; he could curse his birth, but he would never curse God. His goal had been to live a righteous life; he knew his purpose now was to simply not turn against God. His soul was solidified though his heart, mind and strength were frail.

Towards the end of the days of silence, the patience of the friends had grown thin. Their covert glances spoke what they could not in words: Job must have done something wrong, and we must help him move from lament and admission. Job’s sudden outburst crossed the line, and they remained silent no longer.

“We care about you, Job, but I need to speak the truth, though I’m concerned you’ll get impatient,” Eliphaz spoke bluntly. “I’ve always known you as a strong, upright man, but here you are, saying awful, hopeless things. Do you not trust God? If you were really in God’s will, wouldn’t you be content? And what good does cursing your life do? Just pray, God will make everything better.”

Job stared at his friend. His lament was neither weakness nor an act, but a legitimate response to losing his children, the support of his wife, and everything else down to his health. He sensed an undercurrent of indignation in their words and looks, as though they were offended by his sadness.

“You have no idea the anguish I carry. I know I have not sinned against God, and yet his arrows are in me. I do not understand it, but I would sooner turn against myself than against him. You sit here as though you are with me, but you want me to stop crying out because it is too raw and uncomfortable for you. I will not keep silent, I will speak out in the anguish of my spirit. As for prayer, I have asked how I’ve wronged him; he says nothing as his arrows remain.”

Bildad snapped. “How dare you. Do you think God perverts justice? When your children sinned in their partying, he gave them over to the penalty; that’s what a just God does. If you stop pretending like you’re perfect and confess what you did, you may yet be saved.”

“I have no need to defend myself.” Job’s eyes stared blankly ahead, and his words were just as much to himself as his friends. “What would I even say to an all-knowing God to prove my innocence? You are missing the point: this is not about me being right or wrong. I see more clearly than ever that none of this is about our fleeting lives; it is all about God, and only God will remain. So why should I?”

Zophar stood and looked past Job, his face red. “Are we not going to call him out for all this mockery?” He turned to Job. “I wish God would call you out. You say, ‘my beliefs are flawless and I am pure,’ but God could show you what’s really true. What do you know?”

Job could not believe that his friends would argue amidst his grief. They rebuked him as though he were lying or portraying false-piety, though he had never been more vulnerable in his entire life. He had always had questions about the incomprehensible God he served, often perplexed when he could not mesh His love with the brokenness of the world. He kept his deepest doubts and frustrations discrete, shared only in controlled, moderate ways. Now – with his life but a withered husk – venting his grievances was the truest he could be. Vulnerability was his only remaining path to remaining in God’s presence, lest he numb himself or give up.

His friends could not understand that he was actively pursuing God, and rather was mistaken or even duplicitous “How long will you torment and crush me with your words? Ten times now you have reproached me! Even if I had sinned, I didn’t sin against you. God has brought me low, and you have chosen to attack me instead of help.”

This continued for hours, until the four men could no longer bear to speak to each other. A much younger man had been present for the tensest arguments, and was livid at the friends for mistreating a man in mourning, yet more upset with Job for his treatment of God. “How dare you act like you’re better than God? I know I’m young, but I will not stand for you saying God doesn’t speak – He does – and that God harms for no reason – He doesn’t. You are talking to us as though we are fools; you are the one speaking foolishly, and you better get right with God.”

Job never imagined attacks from his friends when he dropped to the ashes, and however weary he was before paled compared to the ramifications of this onslaught. His new reality made no sense to all he had understood about God and reality, yet he was unwavering in his conviction that God was God. He would not turn on his Creator, though he longed for any explanation.

Fortunately, once all voices stopped, He spoke.