The book of Job in the Hebrew Scriptures addresses the question of
why inexplicable and bad things happen to good people. Job's friends call his righteousness
into question because, in their view of God's justice, you reap what you
sow. In a series of natural
disasters and raids by neighboring tribes Job's prosperity evaporated, and his
sons and daughters were killed.
His friends call on Job to confess his sins, but Job claims he has not
sinned and challenges God to justify these disasters. The author of this story frames Job’s troubles as the test
of a righteous person by the heavenly court, including satan (the accuser):
In the face of all this disaster will Job, a righteous man, curse God?
In the 38th chapter of Job, which we heard this morning,
God speaks to Job and tells him to back off. God who created the heavens and the earth, who brought order
to the chaos of the primeval world, reminds Job that he was not present at
creation. God's transcendence
trumps Job's expectation for a world in which righteous obedience—following the
laws of God—brings prosperity.
The poetry of creation should lead not to a legalistic view of
fairness, but to awe. In beautiful
poetry God gives Job reasons to be in awe of the Creator: “. . . who shut in
the sea with doors when it burst out from the womb?—when I made the clouds its
garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band, and prescribed bounds for it
and set bars and doors, and said, 'Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and
here shall your proud waves be stopped?'”
The fearsome imagery of chaos as a sea bursting from its bounds and
“proud waves” not yet contained in creation makes a point to Job and to the
reader: God, whose transcendent power brought order from chaos in creation,
isn't bound by human standards of fairness. Not a comfortable view for Job nor for the writer of this
story who ends the story in the final chapter with all Job's prosperity being
restored to him. Awe was required
of Job, but not faith, in the end.
Nadia Bolz-Weber, a Lutheran pastor, wrote about a conversation she
had with a colleague, “Recently I was talking with a colleague about the nature
of God and how sometimes we lean too exclusively toward the transcendence of
God—God is mighty and distant and all powerful . . . Then at times we lean a
bit too much on the immanence of God, believing that God is present in a
personal way—God is your buddy and life coach and hooks you up with sweet
parking spaces . . . We have perhaps made God so personal that we no longer touch
the mystery and mastery of God's holiness, instead making God an eccentric,
benevolent, wealthy uncle of some sort.”
This, of course, is the exact problem for Jesus' disciples on the
boat in the midst of the great windstorm on the Sea of Galilee. Jesus as their teacher, their rabbi,
had gained their respect. Jesus as a healer had impressed them and many others
who were traveling in the other boats.
So why wasn't he more concerned about the danger the windswept waves
posed, for the boat was almost sinking as the waves broke over it and water
rose inside it. How could he be
sleeping with all this life-threatening danger?
The disciples looked to Jesus as one who had power that they
respected. Their question was not,
“Why has this storm arisen when we have been such good disciples and look to
you with such deep respect?” With
their question about whether Jesus cared about their well-being, they were
demanding that action be taken to remedy this particular situation. In their fear they asked for the power
of God to be applied right now to end the storm that was threatening them. They were insisting on the immanence of
God to act now. The petitionary
prayer contained in their question was the one the author Anne Lamott calls,
“Help, help, help.”
Jesus responded in two ways. As God incarnate, who had revealed his
creative power in containing all the waters of the seas, Jesus contained the
waves and stilled the storm with the words, “Peace! Be still.” As
their rabbi, he asked them two questions, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” Now, more than awe of God and God's
creative power was required. Faith
was as well.
“Faith in what?” we may ask.
Jesus began to teach the disciples (and us) with his first question,
“Why are you afraid?” I don't
believe this is an existential question—we have brain chemicals as part of our
human nature that help us identify dangerous situations and develop appropriate
responses (sometime called “fight or flight”). I think it is a spiritual question—“Are you afraid that you
are alone in this difficulty, that you no longer matter, that no one cares
about you any more?”
Next Jesus
asks about the disciples' faith in God–and as followers of Jesus that question
is ours as well. Not faith that
God will find us that sweet parking spot or protect us from a hurricane
when we choose not to evacuate or save us from the pandemic that scientists
fear will one day sweep the globe or even protect us from the daily frustration
and sadness that often fill our lives.
Not faith that God .
. . , but rather faith in God.
Faith in God means we believe God is with us, never leaving us alone,
never abandoning us when trouble comes.
Your faith is strong when you trust God will be with you.
Pastor Bolz-Weber described how she understands what faith in God
means: “So here's the thing: I have a goal. You know how you'll be in a personal storm and you think,
'I'm perishing here, God.' but when you look back on it six months later you
are still alive and the world didn't end?
One day I want to get to the point where I can trust God in the moment
and not just in retrospect months or even years later.”
So what will be our answer when we encounter the next storm in our
lives and Jesus asks, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” Perhaps we will be able to answer, “I'm working on
it. I am doing my very best to
trust.”
Nadis Bolz-Weber,
“Reflections on the lectionary: Sunday, June 24 – Mark 4:35-41,” Christian
Century, June 13, 2012, p. 21.
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