20 Then Job arose, tore his robe, shaved his head, and fell on the ground and worshiped. 21 He said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” [1]
This third Sunday in Advent is the Sunday of Joy. We have had a glimpse of the hope of the season, and the signs which encourage us toward hope. He have had a glimpse of the peace of the season, and how we ought to prepare for the coming of that peace. Today we were to be encouraged exercise our joy in the anticipation of what is coming, of who is coming. Today was to be the day in which the light that shines in darkness would begin to burn even more intently as we know that the day of the Lord’s coming swiftly approaches. Today was to be the day that our upraised voices and upturned hearts would begin to celebrate with urgency as we look toward the day of the birth of the Son of Man. This was to be our message. But life presented us with a situation that would cause many to question the appropriateness of preaching about and singing about and praying about joy, in light of recent tragic events. Life presented us with a reminder that there are many unanswerable questions, many unexplainable actions, many confusing and doubt-raising occurrences in this world in which we anticipate the coming of the Lord in glory and majesty.
The tension that exists in this day pulls at the heart and wrenches the gut in unimaginable ways, and yet, there is still a word from the Lord. There is still good news for today. The light that shines in darkness, shines brightest in the darkest dark. And it may seem to reinforce the reality that we live in darkness. But the light still shines, and it still foretells the coming of Joy even in the midst of grief and sorrow. We preach joy, even when we don’t feel it, even when we don’t believe it, even when we don’t want it, because the pains of life are so raw and so real. We preach joy.
Job’s story is not necessarily the text that comes to mind when we consider the idea of joy. Job, that giant of righteousness among men, is presented to us in the midst of an existential question: God, why? Why has this happened? Why has this happened to me? Why could this not have happened to somebody else? Why does this go on and on and on? Why does this not end? Why don’t you answer? Why don’t you explain yourself? He has no knowledge of what has happened between The Lord- Yahweh, and the sattan- Satan. He is not privy to the wager that exists between these two divine characters. All he knows is that pain and suffering have become his lot, and he can come up with no reasons for why this is so. For 39 chapters he laments, he argues, he pleads, he curses, he questions. And when he finally receives a response from the only One who can truthfully and rightfully respond to him in his situation, he gets a different response than what he anticipated.
But before he gets to that final encounter with the Lord, before he has the inadequate conversations with his friends, before he has even reached his lowest point, Job makes a declaration after having a moment with God in the only way that he knew- he worshipped. He presented himself before the sovereign God of the universe and through his act of mourning, he acknowledged God as God. And he declared, still out of his premature understanding of God, that he came into the world with nothing, that he would leave the world with nothing, that everything that he had was given to him by God, and God must have decided to take back what God had given. Whatever the case, the name of God was to be blessed.
Now it must be understood here that worship is not always a celebratory activity, not always filled with high praise and glad tidings. Worship can be marked by shouts of “Hallelujah,” and festive singing and dancing, or by lying prostrate and bare before the God of all creation, or by anything on the spectrum between. But I take advantage of the popular idea that worship is always a joy filled experience to suggest that worship in sorrow might be the beginning of joy. It may be that acknowledging the sovereignty of God in the midst of our personal struggle is the genesis of joy. It may be that the seed of joy is sometimes planted into ground that is fertilized by grief and watered with tears. But if we do not acknowledge God, if we don’t turn to God with all of our questions and our doubts and our confusion and our anger and our dismay, that we may leave the garden in which joy is cultivated untended, the soil unturned. I don’t know. I don’t have ready answers, and that is the real problem today. We want ready answers were there are none. We want to blame the overabundance of guns, the lack of prayer in schools, the poor state of mental healthcare in our communities. But the answers are not readily forthcoming, not for us, and not for Job in his day.
There is no doubt today that twenty-seven families in Newtown, Connecticut, find themselves in the seat of Job. They could not have known on Thursday night what Friday morning would bring. In their wildest imaginations, something like what happened on Friday would never have occurred to those 27 families. But even before there was Newtown, there was a mall in Oregon on Tuesday. Before that, a factory in Minneapolis in September. Before that, a Sikh temple in Wisconsin in August. Before that, a movie theatre in Colorado in July. Before that, there was Virginia Tech and Fort Hood and Columbine. And after Friday, there was a hospital in Birmingham. And a gas station in Tuscaloosa. And all year long, there has been any street in any neighborhood in the city of Chicago. And all of the families associated with all of those lives lost find themselves in the seat of Job. And we, too, may find ourselves in the seat of Job.
But among the many lessons in Job’s story, there is one thing that I find remarkable- two things. The first is that with all of his desire to end his suffering, he either could not or would not take those matters into his own hands. It might be that Job still believed in the value of life even though he wished his own would come to an end. It might be that Job recognized that starting and/or ending life was not his responsibility, but the responsibility of the One to whom he complained and lamented his condition. Whatever the case, Job could not simply give up on life, roll over and die. The second remarkable thing is that through all of his ranting and shouting and shaking his fist at God, he was not undone. Job spoke to God in ways that I dare say most Christians would find blasphemous and dangerous, definitely crossing the line of acceptability and courting a swift and sure punishment from God. But Job not only survived after he pushed the envelope with God, he came out on the other side better than when he went in- not because he gained more material wealth, but because he gained a deeper and truer understanding of who God was and how God intervened in his life.
The questions that we pose to God in times like these are questions that God is well equipped to handle. We might not be well enough equipped to handle the answers, which is why there might be an overwhelming silence, and a darkening darkness. But the children who walk in darkness will see a marvelous light. Those who mourn will be comforted. The meek will inherit the earth. The merciful will receive mercy. The pure in heart will see God. The peacemakers will be called children of God. These are the assertions that we find in the Beatitudes that I believe we must affirm and hold on to. Otherwise, the light that shines in darkness shines for naught.
So today, my brothers and sisters, I want to encourage us to walk in the light. The light that shines in darkness does not illuminate everything around us, but gives us just enough light that we might see our way through. The light that shines in darkness give just enough light that we can keep on keeping on. The light that shines in darkness can help us get to the place of joy. The light that shines in darkness may not dispel the long shadows, but it helps us to know that even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we can become less fearful. Preaching joy in the midst of tragedy is not a tragedy in itself, but it is the exercise of hope in the midst of darkness that God is with us, and that God will enable us to endure.
[1] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version (Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1989), Job 1:20–21.
Sankofa Theologian 