I remember clearly my first serious work with the story of Job. It was Spring 1974 . . . my final undergraduate semester . . . a 400-level course in oral interpretation . . . an entire course devoted to preparing and delivering a single oral presentation. Though in her last year before retirement, Professor Crider – ‘Miss Ruby’ to her colleagues and to the inner circle among her students – was still listening, still imagining. I could tell by the verve of her staccato approval -- “Yes. Yes. Something from the story of Job.” -- and by the delight in her eyes that this slight yet vibrant teacher sensed the challenge before me.
So I plunged into the old Jewish drama of Job’s story. I wrestled with questions about the story’s textual integrity. I identified core questions. I became intimately familiar with the characters. I traced the plots. I probed the metaphors. I marveled at the satire. I experimented with ways to convey angst. I faced the demand for verdicts. I found myself interpreted by the story with liberating clarity.
For more than three decades now, this ancient drama – which holds a perplexing place in the canon of Judaism’s sacred writings -- has never released its grip on me. The academic hurdle back in 1974 enlarged into a journey inward that continues unabated (including preparing twice-monthly tutorial presentations 2000-2007 for a Wisdom Literature and Hebrew language specialist). Simply put, the story of ‘the scrapheap Job’ became essential to the fabric of my thought about spirituality, ethics, theology.
Many are familiar with the short version of the story. Celestial messengers appear before ‘God’ to report in turn on the state of creation. (Italics indicate quotes from the text, using Peterson’s translation in The Message; single quotation marks for ‘God’ serve as a reminder to distinguish the word from the subject/reality.) ‘God’ singles out a coy accuser among the stream of heralds – “What have you been up to? . . . Have you noticed my friend Job?” ‘God’ points proudly to Job’s values, his behavior, his religion – “There’s no one quite like him!” The unconvinced accuser questions Job’s motives and the insight of ‘God’ by pointing instead to the thick hedge of aristocratic and affluent privileges enjoyed by Job and his family – “So do you think Job does all that out of the sheer goodness of his heart?” The accuser proposes a wager that this supposed champion of chivalry can be made to turn against ‘God’. A hush sweeps over the heavenly celebration. The stakes are high. ‘God’ accepts the wager. The accuser, with the permission of ‘God’, cuts down Job’s protective hedge with swift strokes – cattle and camels stolen . . . sheep trapped and consumed by a fire . . . hired hands killed . . . sons and daughters crushed to death under a collapsed house. Job grieves deeply and visibly. But not once did he blame God. ‘God’ expects the brazen accuser to fold in defeat – “. . . (Job) still has a firm grip on his integrity. You tried to trick me into destroying him, but it didn’t work”. Instead, the undeterred accuser argues that Job’s integrity remains in doubt as long as he has his health – “But what do you think would happen if you reached down and took away his health?” Again with the permission of ‘God’, the accuser breaks Job’s health by covering his body with painful sores and decaying tissue. Sleepless, smelling foul, ostracized, mocked, covered with maggots and scabs, . . . – Job withers away as month after month passes. His wife breaks – “Curse God and be done with it!” Still Job does not blaspheme in what he says. Finally, ‘God’ claims victory. Though never informed of the wager, Job soon appears far more blessed than before all the trouble God had brought him. His sores disappear. His vigor returns. His fortune is restored many times over. New sons and daughters are born. He regains his coveted position of honor in his family and community.
Perhaps there is a touch of history imbedded in this story’s seductive promise of rewarded endurance. Perhaps an actual Job lived in Uz. But what grips me are the spiraling cycles of raw monologues and bitter dialogues that break apart the short version of the story into a disturbing prologue and a fairy tale epilogue. The searing poetry of the monologues and dialogues transforms a simple story into a commanding drama. I have found that far fewer have seriously watched and listened to this longer version of the story. I know I had not prior to 1974.
So I plunged into the old Jewish drama of Job’s story. I wrestled with questions about the story’s textual integrity. I identified core questions. I became intimately familiar with the characters. I traced the plots. I probed the metaphors. I marveled at the satire. I experimented with ways to convey angst. I faced the demand for verdicts. I found myself interpreted by the story with liberating clarity.
For more than three decades now, this ancient drama – which holds a perplexing place in the canon of Judaism’s sacred writings -- has never released its grip on me. The academic hurdle back in 1974 enlarged into a journey inward that continues unabated (including preparing twice-monthly tutorial presentations 2000-2007 for a Wisdom Literature and Hebrew language specialist). Simply put, the story of ‘the scrapheap Job’ became essential to the fabric of my thought about spirituality, ethics, theology.
Many are familiar with the short version of the story. Celestial messengers appear before ‘God’ to report in turn on the state of creation. (Italics indicate quotes from the text, using Peterson’s translation in The Message; single quotation marks for ‘God’ serve as a reminder to distinguish the word from the subject/reality.) ‘God’ singles out a coy accuser among the stream of heralds – “What have you been up to? . . . Have you noticed my friend Job?” ‘God’ points proudly to Job’s values, his behavior, his religion – “There’s no one quite like him!” The unconvinced accuser questions Job’s motives and the insight of ‘God’ by pointing instead to the thick hedge of aristocratic and affluent privileges enjoyed by Job and his family – “So do you think Job does all that out of the sheer goodness of his heart?” The accuser proposes a wager that this supposed champion of chivalry can be made to turn against ‘God’. A hush sweeps over the heavenly celebration. The stakes are high. ‘God’ accepts the wager. The accuser, with the permission of ‘God’, cuts down Job’s protective hedge with swift strokes – cattle and camels stolen . . . sheep trapped and consumed by a fire . . . hired hands killed . . . sons and daughters crushed to death under a collapsed house. Job grieves deeply and visibly. But not once did he blame God. ‘God’ expects the brazen accuser to fold in defeat – “. . . (Job) still has a firm grip on his integrity. You tried to trick me into destroying him, but it didn’t work”. Instead, the undeterred accuser argues that Job’s integrity remains in doubt as long as he has his health – “But what do you think would happen if you reached down and took away his health?” Again with the permission of ‘God’, the accuser breaks Job’s health by covering his body with painful sores and decaying tissue. Sleepless, smelling foul, ostracized, mocked, covered with maggots and scabs, . . . – Job withers away as month after month passes. His wife breaks – “Curse God and be done with it!” Still Job does not blaspheme in what he says. Finally, ‘God’ claims victory. Though never informed of the wager, Job soon appears far more blessed than before all the trouble God had brought him. His sores disappear. His vigor returns. His fortune is restored many times over. New sons and daughters are born. He regains his coveted position of honor in his family and community.
Perhaps there is a touch of history imbedded in this story’s seductive promise of rewarded endurance. Perhaps an actual Job lived in Uz. But what grips me are the spiraling cycles of raw monologues and bitter dialogues that break apart the short version of the story into a disturbing prologue and a fairy tale epilogue. The searing poetry of the monologues and dialogues transforms a simple story into a commanding drama. I have found that far fewer have seriously watched and listened to this longer version of the story. I know I had not prior to 1974.