Pentecost 22C
Job 19:23-27a
We don’t have to stretch our imaginations far to find contemporary correlations to the story of Job.
I can imagine a father in Ukraine seeking vindication and an audience with God over the atrocities that have consumed his life and his country’s. A father who has lost his family, his home, his physical and psychological well-being to warring Russia.
I can imagine the mother of a child gunned down in her Uvalde, Texas, classroom, crying her questions of “Why?” to the school board, the local sheriff and her priest. She, like Job, wants answers to the unanswerable. She wants justice. She wants the irrational, violent world she knows to make sense. She wants her child’s life back.
I can imagine George Floyd pinned down by police officers, struggling to survive the knee on his neck, the oppressive forces of White supremacy and a policing system that targets Black men. Job wished for his words of protest to be written down, inscribed and engraved on a rock. Floyd’s words — “I can’t breathe” uttered more than 20 times— have been Sharpied on posterboard, spray-painted on confederate statues and inscribed on signs at street side memorials that call us all to vindicate social injustice.
Beyond a desperate hope for the restoration of life, home and sense of safety, we wish that the suffering we have endured be known, that our tribulations may have meaning. We wish that however irrational the world, it is still possible to hope that injustice, deprivation and violence would somehow inspire their opposites — vindication, plenty and peace.
Job 19:23-27a is a tricky passage for the lectionary to isolate. Our familiarity with verse 25, “I know that my Redeemer lives” comes from its use at Easter in hymns and songs about Christ’s resurrection. But understanding this passage requires us to set aside its Christian appropriation. The redeemer (unfortunately capitalized in some Bible translations) to whom Job refers is not Christ. The Hebrew word go’el, translated as redeemer or vindicator, is sometimes applied to God, but Job is seeking someone to defend him and his name against the targeted atrocities God has allowed — the loss of his family, home, health and wealth.
While verse 25 reflects Job’s desire to be vindicated, verse 27 reveals when he wants this redemption to occur — before he dies. What Job most desires is to see God himself while he is still alive (“in my flesh.”) Job desires what he described earlier in 13:13-22, to speak with God directly, to present his case. And to hear God’s reply.
Job’s desire to confront God, to accuse the Holy of wrongdoing, may make us squirm with discomfort or avoid this biblical narrative altogether. But I find hope in a God open to such honest confrontation — a God who, later in the text, honors Job’s request to defend himself. God shows up, granting Job a hearing and allowing him the right to challenge divine rule.
Confronting injustice implies the belief that justice can be restored, that redemption is possible. If only a high enough power will listen, our hope tells us, justice will be restored. Hopelessness does not inspire such action. Hopelessness does not inspire us to work for reform. Job’s actions ultimately speak of his enduring belief in God and his belief that God will redeem. Job believes God will make things right.
With this same hope, we pray for the people of Ukraine. With this same hope, we work to bring an end to gun violence, the evils of White supremacy, and the abolishment of unjust systems that cannot be reformed. Job’s story reminds us of a God we can trust to hear our cries of injustice — a God who grants us an audience and with whom we can be honest. In this God lies my hope, and Job’s.
Questions for reflection:
- What thoughts, feelings, ideas or images arise as you read this passage?
- What injustices come to your mind as you read Job’s story?
- What role do you believe God plays in life’s injustices? What role do we play?
- How can we sustain our faith in the face of continued injustice?
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