Where do they get their strength from – Br. Geoffrey Tristram

SSJE Sermons

Br. Geoffrey Tristram

Job 1:1, 2:1-10

I was talking with a friend recently about the situation in the Middle East, and he said he felt so much darkness right now that he found it hard to know how to deal with it. I knew exactly what he meant. You may feel it too, overwhelmed by the images of violence, death and destruction. How do you pray, what words of prayer do you use, how do you focus your love amidst such images? How do you remain faithful and hopeful? For me, I have tried to focus on individual families who I have read about, and prayed for them by name. I have read about individuals who have shown extraordinary bravery, resilience and self-sacrificial love; mothers with their children who have lost everything but hope. Where do they get this hope, this strength? God bless them.

Munther Isaac is a Palestinian theologian and he’s the pastor of the Lutheran Christmas Church in Bethlehem. He gave an interview last week which greatly moved me. He said, ‘When I talk to my friends in Gaza I have no idea how they are surviving. It is really hell on earth there. What kind of strength do these people have, and where do they get it?’ The same question may be asked of those Israelis, whose loved ones are still being held as hostages. What an excruciating time of waiting and hoping. Where do they get their strength? Or of those Lebanese whose homes have been destroyed, and loved ones bombed. ‘What kind of strength do these people have and where do they get it?’

Munther Isaac goes on to say, ‘I am convinced that people undergoing harsh realities experience God in a more real way than we can imagine. We hear it from those pulled from the rubble, who still say, “We thank you God. We rest our case before God”. The faith they exhibit in God is so strong’, he says. ‘We pray for deliverance, but the Bible doesn’t promise deliverance. It promises that God will be with us.’

When I was in my teens, I began, I imagine rather pretentiously, to ask deep questions about the meaning of life, about the mystery of being human. About who I am, why am I here, and about the human condition. At that time the news, every day, would be about the endless violence and killings in Northern Ireland. I tried to understand why there is so much suffering in our world. My parents would take me to church sometimes, despite my sullen resistance. What I heard there didn’t really answer, or actually even address any of these questions. One day, I was perhaps 16, I came across some engravings that rather blew me away. They were by the poet and artist William Blake. There were twenty-two illustrations of the Book of Job. I found them quite staggering. You may know them. One in particular stood out for me, and it is called ‘Job’s despair’. And it depicts what we heard read today in our first lesson. God has allowed Satan to afflict Job with every kind of suffering in order to test him and see whether he will maintain his integrity before God, or whether in his agony and despair he will curse God. In this engraving Job is sitting on the ground, and we see that he is covered from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head with loathsome sores. His three friends, his ‘comforters’, sit around him with their heads bowed to the ground as in wailing or deep grief. But Job himself sits upright. His face, despite his sorrow, is actually rather beautiful. In despair he lifts his arms up towards the heavens. We hear him crying those words , ‘Let the day perish wherein I was born.’ But as you stare longer at the engraving, those same arms stretch up in a kind of triumph of trust and faith in God. Just as some of those pulled from the rubble in Gaza can still say, ‘We thank you God’, so Job, in the midst of his terrible suffering can still utter those extraordinary words in the 13^th chapter of the Book of Job, ‘Though he kill me, yet will I trust in him.’ I didn’t understand this at the age of 16, but I knew this was serious business. I don’t claim to ‘understand’ it now either, but I know that here we are on holy ground. There is a deep silence pervading the engraving, and as you look longer at Job’s friends, they are bent over, their heads touching the ground not only out of grief, but out of awe. God is in this place.

Munther Isaac, the Lutheran pastor, in his interview, asks, ‘What kind of strength do these people have, and where do they get it?’ Contemplating Job, as he sits in despair but refusing to curse God, we might ask the same question. What kind of strength did Job have, and where did he get it? But we might well ask the same question of ourselves. What kind of strength do I have, and where do I get it? Think of a time in your own life, it might be now, when you were going through a great trial; a time when things were very dark. Perhaps a loss or a bereavement, perhaps an illness; perhaps even an experience of despair. How did you get through it? What strength did you draw on, and where did you get it? Over many years of pastoral ministry, I have had the great privilege of sharing in the inner lives and struggles of many men, women and children, including in this congregation. I would say that Job is not some strange and alien figure from the past. I have known many Jobs: Many, who in the face of great suffering and trials have shown heroic patience, fortitude and perseverance, and whose faith and trust in God have frankly put my own faith to shame. I bet you know some Jobs in your own life; those whose faith and resilience have amazed you, and caused you to ask, ‘Where do they get their strength from?’ It can be very humbling.

Meditating on the William Blake image of Job, with his arms raised to heaven, draws us of course to another image, that of Christ on the Cross. Christian theologians through the centuries, from Gregory the Great onwards, have seen in Job an Old Testament prefiguring of Jesus. Two figures who amidst terrible suffering, showed such unwavering, unflinching faith and trust in God. Nailed to the cross Jesus’ body is covered from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, not with loathsome sores, but with the terrible wounds of his passion. Just as Job raised his arms to God in despair but also in a kind of triumph of trust and faith, so Jesus extends his arms to his Father in agony, but also in a kind of triumph and victory of trust and faith. In the midst of his sorrow, Jesus’ face is strangely beautiful. At his feet are his mother and close friends, who bow down or stare up in anguish. There is this deep silence. The figures at his feet, as well as the angels, look on in despair but also in awe and wonder. This is holy ground. Throughout his trials, Job remained faithful to God; ‘Though he kill me, yet will I trust in Him;’ and God vindicated him. Throughout his passion and suffering on the cross, Jesus remained faithful to his Father: ‘Into your hands I commend my spirit.’ And God raised Jesus from the dead, and opened the gate of heaven to all who put their trust in him. That is the Good News that we proclaim, that however dark the night, the light of God will always be brighter. For us who believe in Jesus, the Cross is surely where we get our strength. It is our hope and our anchor. If you are feeling overwhelmed with the sorrows of our world, if your heart is filled with compassion for all who are suffering, in the Middle East and beyond, bring your sorrow, your love and your prayers to the foot of the cross, and allow Jesus to bear them and offer them for his work of redemption.

May God give us strength and courage and perseverance, in all our trials, may God give us hope and faith, that even in the darkest day, we may proclaim with Job those luminous words, “I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the last day upon the earth, and then, in my flesh, I shall see God.”