Job's Other Children.

While he was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, “Your sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!” Job 1:18-19

Job is consoled at the end of his story, by 10 more children, Seven sons and three beautiful daughters. He lives to 140, and sees his descendants to the 4th generation. His riches are restored and he was blessed more by God, in the post disaster part of his life, than he had been in the first part. But I wonder, if at 139, bouncing his great, great grandchildren on his weakened knees, he didn't spare a thought for the children that he lost in that awful storm. I suspect that no matter what came after, nothing could have replaced what he had lost. Grief is like that. It never goes entirely. It kind of reshapes you, it becomes livable but it is still present.

I have always struggled to find comfort in the children that Job receives after the event. It seems to me, (taking aside that these were real children, real human beings with their own individual attributes and personalities and ways of relating to their Father), that their presence in the story just rubs salt in the wounds. I am a father. I am sure it doesn't work like that. You love each child on their own merit, and sometimes without much merit. But it seems to me that we are being asked by the story, to simply accept that everything is okay again. And what about those Children? What had they done to deserve to be wiped out like that?

At some fundamental level my response to this is the same as it would be to those deaths of school children in Oklahoma this week, the same as it would be to any children lost in natural disasters, or any adults for that matter (and Jobs children were grown, that much is clear by the nature of the activity they were involved in at the time of their demise). My response is, 'its not fair!'

But the thing I realised about the story of Job is that it is the story of Job. Profound, hey? What I mean is, ultimately, as far as the story goes, it is not about them. That does not mean, that if they were real flesh and blood people, that God did not care about them, or that he had simply chalked them up as collateral damage. It means that that is another story, and one that is not told in scripture. The story we are told is about Job and not his children. It is about how we respond to suffering, and how we maintain our integrity when all the anchors of reasoning and emotional connection to the Almighty are ripped out of the ground in a single moment.

Job's story raises many questions about the origins of evil and causes of suffering. Job mostly maintains his integrity but none the less, in the awe inspiring end to the long explorations of these themes, God declares himself to Job. He says

Who is this that obscures my plans with words without knowledge?

Firstly it needs to be observed that whenever we speak about these things, we are lacking in a knowledge of what we speak of. We only get one very limited perspective. We see in part, only. God then, through a series of questions compares his own achievements to Job's (and really humanity's) own. It is really his way of making the distinction clear. We are not dealing with another man here. This is the Almighty, maker of the universe. Essentially, who are we to question him?

Not exactly the comfort we are looking for but, at some deeper level I think it might just be. God is enshrouded in mystery. Perhaps that despite an all powerful and benevolent creator there is such suffering is the greatest mystery we will ever have to face. Our impotence in the face of it is quite humbling. Perhaps we don't need answers, perhaps we need acceptance. If God was not loving though, this would be a terrible state of affairs. It is only when we understand the love of God that we can start to trust him, that he knows what he is doing, even when we are clueless and blinded with grief and rage. He never lost control. Not once. Sometimes the things that we must face are crippling but If God is redeeming the world to himself, at least, ultimately, there is a purpose in it. It is not needless, senseless suffering. It is a mystery but it is not without reason, nor apart from divine love.

And it is not the story of those whose time is done, be they seven or seventy. The question is what are we to do, how are we to respond?

My life is in your hands

I haven't done this for a while. No, not the blog, although I haven't. I mean the type of blog. I don't tend to use it for personal journalling but tonight I wanted to just get this down while its fresh. But it is quite personal. Don't worry, not THAT personal.

I've been thinking about trying some meditation again. A while back, a long while back, I had in my possession a clutch of books that taught on meditation, from a biblical perspective which I fully intended to read, and apply. The ancients used to do it, the Patriarch's of our faith, King David, the church fathers, the desert fathers and lots of godly people. I have a sneaky suspicion that Jesus used to do it himself. But in my church tradition it is almost a dead practise. There is a wide acknowledgement that biblical meditation is a perfectly  acceptable and beneficial practise. But can I find anyone in my acquaintance who regularly practises it, or who teaches it? I'm sure there may be a few who dabble but I have rarely heard anyone speak of it.

Anyway I had started to read a couple of the books. Richard Foster's 'Celebration of Discipline'' (Which starts with Meditation) and 'School for Prayer' by Metropolitan Anthony. I had started to experiment a little with silence, in my prayer life, but felt about as spiritual as a discarded prophylactic. But that was nothing to the conviction I started to feel when I read the books by these Godly men. There writing was so rich with spiritual authority that it almost hurt to read it. I could barely get through two sentences without being deeply challenged. I wanted to achieve a deeper prayer life and a closeness with God but in all honesty I found it, and still do in many ways, too costly. You don't get nearer to God without transformation. Its that simple. And, after a short time, I had wimped out.

But I had been thinking lately that it might be time to face it again. Indeed, I thought a little earlier in the week that I may well pick up one of my books again and start putting it in to practise, reporting back on my progress in a weekly blog.

Almost independently from this thinking, I had an experience this evening which kind of confirmed things to me again. That this was the right direction for me. I was walking home from house group, across the fields, a few miles listening to my MP3 player the whole way. As is my habit, when walking and not surrounded by people, my thoughts were interspersed with prayer, but no real concentration. I was approaching the last field when I felt, from nowhere, seemingly, that perhaps I ought to just turn off the music and walk over this last field, in silence. And listen, you know, to God.

In all my times at home sitting in silence, even using a biblical mantra on a few occasions, I had never experienced anything but frustration. But on a few of the occasions I have practised this silence whilst walking I have heard Gods voice. Not an audible one, a voice that is identical to the sound of my thoughts. In other words, It is no different from my thinking. what IS distinctive about it, when it actually happens, is the nature of the thoughts themselves. they are always authoritative and gentle. Direct and wise. And they nearly always bring clarity. the first time I heard God speak like this, he said 'Shut up'. A very good starting place. The bible tells us, be still and know that I am God. Yes. that requires some reverent silence, accompanied by more than a little awe.

And almost immediately as I stepped into that last field, he began speaking to me. He told me it had been too long since I did this, he affirmed that it felt good tom me to be in his presence, didn't it? (yes it did, Lord) and he told me, He had been here waiting for this, ever since I gave up on it. That he didn't mind, because he is patient. I started to respond in my head, in the silence, and my thoughts got mixed up with his. I started to surrender to him. And the words came into my head, 'My life is in your hands'. I took this to be an expression of trust on my part.

And then it became clear to me, or at least clearer. Wasn't it God that had been speaking. Yes, I think that was him, not me. God was saying 'my life is in your hands'. I had to think about that.

Was he saying I was responsible for his life? Of course not, at least not in the most obvious sense. But the more I think about that phrase, the richer it is.  But in a way I am responsible for his life which he has put inside me. Not responsible for ensuring his safety, but responsible for what I do with the gift he has given me. He has placed it into my hands. My decisions and actions are therefore doubly important.

And on another level, 'My life is in your hands'. Hands are symbolic of what we do, our actions. So in what I do, in how I chose to serve him, that is where his life is. In two distinct ways. One is that I am acting as his hands and feet. His life is reaching others through me. I am acting as his representative when I do his work. Two is that he brings life to what my hands do, when they are employed in his service.

I needed to hear this, because, I have lost some sense of connection to this, over the years. That I make a difference. It may not be a huge difference but it is a difference none the less. He is not going to indwell me and overpower me. If there is a blockage to my doing his will then 'Guess what, matey?' It's up to me to remove it.  I do not mean to play down Gods grace, not at all. I just mean to play up my responsibility to make a difference. I have a tendency to coast. Father knows that and tonight he kindly told me, that it is time to wake up, and see what a precious thing he has given me, and to see how much more effectively i can serve him with it. Because his life is in my hands. His healing can flow through them too. I am in him, and he is in me. To think I so nearly missed that tonight because he spoke to me in a way I would not usually have heard. Only if I was silent. Only if I was listening.

 I think the Richard Foster book may getting a visit from me in the not too distant future.