As we enter the book of Job, we meet a man that, by all standards, seemed to have it all together. He had a thriving family, unimaginable wealth, and a piety so strong that he offered atoning sacrifices if there was even a chance that someone in his household sinned. Yet in one day, all of this is wiped out. Raiders, thieves and natural disasters eliminate all that Job has. Even his health is not spared as he breaks out in painful sores. And he grieves. Openly and publicly. Following the customs of the day, Job covers himself in sackcloth and ash, crying out for all to hear. Taking broken pottery, he scrapes at his wounds. He grieves in community. And his community comes around him. His friends gather, first sitting in silence with him. Then they start to speak. This marks the largest section of the book of Job, the friend’s discourse. Each of Job’s friends takes it in turn to tell job how he must have done something terrible to deserve such a fate. With each accusation, Job asserts his innocence and cries out to God for justice, or at least understanding. He asks God, “why?” And that is what a large part of this book comes down to. It is the community of faith’s wrestling with the question of why do bad things happen? Why did I lose my job out of the blue after 20 years? Why did this friendship that I thought would last for ages fall apart? Why did they die so young? Centuries after Job was written, people continued to wrestle with this question, asking Jesus, “Who sinned that this man was born blind?” And Jesus gave an answer, much as we find in Job; suffering is not just a punishment. Sometimes, we don’t know why something happened. And it is okay to admit this. Living in a culture that values having all the answers and always being right, we can easily slip into the feeling that if we can’t give an exact reason for someone’s suffering, we have let them down. Yet a bit of wisdom that our friend Dallas shared with me is that often we can be a better support by saying, “I don’t know why this happened, but I’ll sit with you and wrestle with your questions with you.” The book of Job is one way of a community wrestling with this question together. Alongside this question of why, we see another question: “what?” What do we do when life falls apart? What do we do when we lose the job, and with it, our sense of security and identity? What do we do when relationships that once provided joy turn toxic and fall apart? Job brought his pain before God. There was no “keep a stiff upper lip” mentality. Job grieved. And, as Erin shared, he grieved a deeply embodied grief. With eyes red, tears and snot running down his face, dirt rubbing into his skin as he curled on the ground and sobbed until his chest ached. Job brought this grief to God boldly. He does not hold back. Job cries out, naming exactly what is making him suffer, pouring out all of his heart. He doesn’t just bring the acceptable emotions. The good presentable emotions. He brings those emotions we often label as “wrong”. Not only his grief, but his rage, his frustration, his isolation. Job does this, because ultimately, Job knows that he has an advocate. An advocate above all those accusing him of secret sins, all those questioning his character, all those who “know better.” And who is this advocate? Near the end of Job, God answers him out of the storm. God says, “where were you when I hung the stars in the sky” “can you capture the leviathan of the deep and control him by the nose?” In ancient Hebrew texts, there were a few things that set God aside as wholly other. One was the ability to create. While we may create by combining and rearranging things around us, only God can create ex nihilo, out of nothing. Another was the ability to control the sea, that place of utter chaos and danger, filled with creatures such as the leviathan. With God’s reminder of all of God’s power, we find another reminder. God does not need us. God is fully complete and sufficient. This then makes it so beautiful that God chooses us. God wants to be with us. God can live without us but does not choose to. God wants to be with us so much that God left heaven, paradise where no sin and suffering can reach. God came down to live in the dust and the dirt. Jesus wept until his eyes were red outside the tomb of Lazarus and in the Garden, where sweat like blood poured to the ground. Jesus experienced the people mocking and hurling insults, “He saved others, but he can’t save himself,” and “Come down from that cross if you really are the Son of God!” Jesus felt cut off from God’s face, crying out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!” God does not need us, but God chose us. Chose to dwell with us. And so, we are invited to bring all of our selves to God, not just the polished and presentable parts, but the dirty, messy aching parts as well. Because God chooses to be with us. God chooses to be with us when the boss invites you into his office and says, your position is getting eliminated, Friday is your last day. When the friendship that we thought would last for years falls apart and suddenly your closet friend is a stranger. When you talk with a doctor about test results and the first words out of their mouth are, “I’m so sorry.” The same God who hung the very stars in the sky can handle our grief, our fear, our anger. For just as God’s power is great, so is God’s love. A love that will never leave us nor forsake us when we bring our “ugly” emotions but will advocate for us before the very throne of God, now and forever. Amen. - NHRC Intern Jessica Loper