Reading Job

Job has been the source of some confusion to me. The first time I read it, it was weird and hard to follow. The second time, I felt like I understood the general idea, and wondered why it took nearly 42 chapters to get it. The third time, I suddenly realized that it was written like Proverbs or Psalms, and could be put bridging the gap between history and poetry. But then it read like a musical. For real: who talks like that?

"Hey Eliphaz, I'm depressed, scratching between my boils with a shard of broken pottery"

"No worries, I'll tell you you're sinful in a poem off the top of my head."

*cue the harp here*

"Did this really happen, or is it just some kind of crazy metaphor?" I asked. I guess it makes more sense to believe that there was a guy named Job who's life stunk for awhile than to believe that God would become a man to save the people that would kill him. I believe the latter of the two. It makes sense to believe the former.

So then the fourth time (this morning) I remembered that Job's friends weren't really any help to him, or so it's been said to me. But as far as I could gather, everything they were telling him was true; he just knew it already, and expressed as much. So Job spent 40 chapters whining about how righteous he was, how he was being punished for no reason, and on and on and on and on.

I wanted to play Eliphaz and be like "DUDE. You self-righteous, arrogant, whining little boy. SHUT. UP. Yes. Everyone's dead, but you shook that one off like a champ. Yes, you hurt. But you crying about it isn't going to solve anything."

While I am only about halfway through Job, the little booger is irritating me. I'm gonna be excited when God shows up, rocks his world, and puts Job back in his place.

I say this knowing that we all whine every now and again. I feel like I've been whining my whole life. We even whine when our friends try to help, but we don't want to hear it because all we know is our own pain. While many of us don't get the fireworks that Job does, I know I could use one when I whine about my life. Especially because I have a job, a place to live, food to eat, friends and family that love me, a church to attend that isn't in danger of getting torched, five quilts on my bed, and an air purifier on top of my dresser.

So I'll fight through Job. It'll probably still confuse me, but it seems I take something different from it every time.