Lectionary reading: The TWENTIETH SUNDAY OF ORDINARY TIME - October 18, 2009

Job 38:1-7 (34-41)

"Can you lift up your voice to the clouds, so that a flood of waters may cover you? Can you send forth lightnings, so that they may go and say to you, 'Here we are'?

MORNING STARS SANG by Larry Patten

Job’s closing comments, fittingly, spring from the mouth of the character of The Lord (Job 42:7-8). They weren’t words that stirred the heart or prompted souls to sing. Instead, after all the Lord’s grand and demanding speeches in prior chapters, Chapter 42’s final uttered phrases level criticism at Eliphaz the Termanite and his two muddled companions. The Lord invoked wrath at Job’s friends because they never comprehended the divine purposes.

In other words, Job concluded with holy snarkiness. Well.

On the one hand, this makes perfect sense. In The Godfather, Marlon Brando’s character dominates every frame. Even when Brando’s absent (in the nearly three-hour movie, the actor’s on screen less than thirty minutes), the viewer feels the brooding presence of Don Corleone. Whether absent or present, with petty accusations or brilliant insights, Job’s The Lord also rightly seemed omnipresent.

The other hand beckons though. As a reader of Job, I don’t remember the snarky or trite dialog. What I remember instead is the grandeur. The whirlwind (Job 38:1ff). I am awed and humbled by the blunt, confrontational questions that fill and thrill the final chapters. Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? The Lord demands. Silence was the human answer.

Where indeed?

In recent days I’ve returned from a mountain sojourn. I emerged from my tent in a place where the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy. With two friends, during the first days of autumn, I trod trails and swam (briefly!) snow-fed lakes. We weren’t out in the wilderness for long, and yet long enough for The Lord’s questions to echo. The time helped me remember God’s grandeur and mystery. It demanded my full attention.

One experience pulled ye olde mat out from under me.

Camped beside a lake, 8,000 feet closer to the sky than where I live in Fresno, we witnessed day fade on the ridge across the water. Gloaming time. Earth spins; sun sets. The solar light painted stone in vermillion strokes, glazed the granite with blushing rose. First stars glimmered. Trout leapt, seconds later the only evidence concentric circles of water. A waxing moon ascends, white against a sky futilely grasping blue. Bats swooped. Insects thrummed.

The three of us, little different than Job’s Eliphaz the Termanite, Zophar the Naamathite or Bildad the Shuhite, took pictures. We snapped away. Shutters yapping. Film whirring. A click here. A double-click there. Capture it. Claim it. Frame it. More trout jumped, ripples like miniature galaxies. The sunlight gone, still—on the far ridge—it seemed granite had become a thousand rubies. Yap. Whir. Click.

That’s when one of my friends—let’s call him Bildad—mentioned that our cameras, high-tech and oh so digital, contain no moving parts. What? Bildad further noted all the sounds our cameras emitted as we attempted to record awe and wonder was pretend. Made-up. Not real. Our fancy-schmancy cameras spewed sound as false as the squeaker in my dog’s favorite plush lamb. Baa. Baa. Those counterfeit noises were added to provide comfort and security.

Nothing mechanical inside. Ain’t no film to advance . . . though it sure sounds like it! Okay, a few things within my cute Canon expand or contract, pop up or press down. But still it’s a soundtrack, a musical score for the naïve.

Fake. Unreal.

Job prayed. Good for him. What a faithful, hopeful human his character was. However Eliphaz, Zophar and Bildad all cast words that belittled or trivialized Job’s confidence. With rationalizations and accusations, they whirred and clicked, making loud useless sounds to disguise their own faithless fickleness. They were no more than Idle worshippers.

The Book of Job, as noted, ended with The Lord shutting up and shutting down those friends. And poor Job, ever faithful, having demanded answers from God, received only questions.

And yet Job honestly humbles me. Boy, do I need that! Please, stop my flapping lips when I mutter or shout my fake, fear-filled words. Let me only witness. Let me remember I am not Creator.

The three of us stood at lake’s edge, day dying, twilight dazzling, and momentarily stopped taking pictures and stopped our Eliphaz, Zophar and Bildad routine. We merely and magnificently delighted in the foundation of the earth.

In Job, The Lord gave more questions than answers. It’s what we deserve.

Stand still. Listen. Feel. Watch. Creation hasn’t ceased. Trout dance across the water. Stone burns red. The Lord, always present, invites our continued growth.

in Peace,

Larry Patten

(Written on October 6, 2009)