Job LVIII

 Job’s friends heard of all the adversity that had come upon him and took action. They mobilized, each one coming from his own place, and made an appointed time to come and mourn with him and to comfort him. When we hear of someone’s woes, our reaction to them will tell the tale of our character and virtue. Job’s friends could have heard what happened to him, shrugged their shoulders, thanked the Lord it wasn’t them and continued with their lives. They may have spared him some thoughts and prayers, as has become fashionable in our day and age, but as far as going out of their way and carving out a time in which to come and visit him, they could have easily found excuse upon excuse not to do it.

We have families of our own, businesses to run, things to do, and sheep to shear. It is a horrible thing what happened to Job, but such is life; we wish him well.

The three men held Job in enough esteem and considered him enough of a friend, wherein they put their lives on pause and came to be with him. If your friends, or those you consider your friends, are unwilling to go out of their way to be a comfort in your time of hardship or to mourn with you in your time of mourning, perhaps the relationship is not reciprocal.

There is the comfort friends and family can bring in times of distress, and such comfort is not without its benefits, being as a salve on an open wound, but the comfort others can bring pales in comparison to the comfort God can bring. If you find yourself without friends who are willing to comfort you in your time of hardship, know that God is always willing and able to comfort you beyond what any man can do.

The most difficult time of my life was dealing with my grandfather’s passing, closely followed by my mother’s. It may sound odd to some to put his loss above the loss of my mother, but throughout my life, my grandpa was a constant. He was the person I spent the most time with. My grandpa taught me how to ride a bike, shoot a slingshot, bait a hook, honor God, love the Bible, and even tried to teach me noodling, although that particular skill never took. To my young eyes, he was the coolest grandpa in the village, the only man I’d ever met with a tattoo, which he’d gotten in the Navy. He was my best friend from as early as I can remember, and that carried through pretty much for the rest of my adolescence and into adulthood.

From the age of twelve and well into my twenties, I spent at least nine months out of the year on the road with him, the other three being spent either coming home for a fresh change of clothing or spending just enough time in Fullerton to put the newsletter together. I loved my mother deeply, but my relationship with my grandfather was far deeper, more established, and fleshed out than it was with her. She was busy with working, raising my little brothers, keeping the home, and doing everything else, so as far as spending a lot of time with her one-on-one, that only happened later on in life.

When my grandfather passed, to their credit, friends and family did try to comfort me, but I was inconsolable. Even with having received a word from the Lord that he would be allowed to choose whether he remains or goes on to his reward, the loss was something akin to taking a cheese grater to an open wound.

During that time of grieving, the only thing that brought me comfort was being alone with God and pouring out my heart to Him. It wasn’t so much that the pain of loss went away; rather, it was muted, and the peace of God was an ever-present companion that kept me from despondency. We’ve all experienced loss. We’ve all grieved or mourned the passing of a loved one, and in those moments, the presence of God is a fount of untold comfort.

Although none of us can honestly say we’ve experienced Job-level hardship, we’ve all experienced some sort of difficulty in life. The sun shines on the just and the unjust alike, but what the just have is the presence of God in their lives, something the unjust can never experience unless they humble themselves and repent, thereby becoming just.

Not only did Job’s friends put their lives on hold and come to be a comfort to him, but they also spent seven days and seven nights with him, sitting down on the ground, not speaking one word to him. Could you imagine sitting on the ground for an entire week and not speaking one word? It’s not as though they had cell phones or YouTube to keep them busy; they didn’t have television to make the time pass a bit faster; they didn’t bring books along or do their taxes while they sat; they sat in silence for an entire week.

This shows the depth of love the three friends had for Job. How many people can you think you’d be willing to sit with for seven days and seven nights without uttering one word? Not on a couch or in some comfortable chair, but on the ground, next to someone covered in boils, sitting on an ash pile, unrecognizable from the person you once knew?

If ever there was a question about the affection Job’s friend had for him, their act of kindness and willingness to go beyond what anyone would expect of them should dispel any doubts. They saw his grief was great and knew that no words they could have spoken would have consoled him. Although in a pitiable state, Job did not pity himself or invite the pity of others. He accepted the situation for what it was, never once sinning with his lips.   

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr. 

Posted on 3 December 2024 | 12:51 pm