All the sorrow in the story of Job built barriers between God and me as I read it, and though the lessons became clear in my mind, I still got stuck in the pain my heart felt. Job’s wife (traditionally named Sitis) got mired in her agony as well. His friends were convinced that the disasters were due to some secret sin. Job had committed and never confessed. The question, “How would I act if I were in their sandals?” prompted the stories you will read in three Monday blogs.
So Satan went out from the presence of the Lord and afflicted Job with painful sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. 8 Then Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes.
9 His wife said to him, “Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!”
10 He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?”
In all this, Job did not sin in what he said. (Job 2:7-10)
My breath is offensive to my wife; I am loathsome to my own family. (Job 19:17)
Satan knew me better than I knew myself, and what he knew delighted him. I am convinced that this is the reason that I—Sitis, wife of Job—was not killed along with the others during “that time” of trauma, anguish, and awfulness. Satan knew he could still use me to make Job more miserable. Oh, I know what you are thinking. “How could a man who had lost his family, friends, fortune, livelihood, reputation, and even his health, be any more wretched?” He could be, and I play a part in that.
You see, Satan kept me in reserve until he realized that his evil plot had not worked, because Job refused to reject God. My disgust and desertion were supposed to be the final straw. Surely then Job would join with me, and we would “curse God and die” together. Those were the very words I spoke to the man I had married and lived with for my entire life. “Curse God and die.” I played Satan’s game, but he still lost the battle.
Job had always been an ideal husband and father. He was the kind of man that every mother prayed her daughter would marry—respectable and respectful, cultured and kind, wealthy and generous. He adored me, took no other wives, and saw to my every need. Who would think that it might be hard to be married to someone who always did “the right thing”? This was my life for so many years, I suppose I began to take it all for granted, as if it was my right to be the queen of my king’s mountain. Looking back now, I see ways that I may have been demanding and selfish, but when you are sitting on top of the world, one does not have the time or inclination to look for faults in oneself. That was the task of the rabbis and learned men. I did not think of myself as a snob, or self-centered, or as a woman of little faith. I only thought in terms of my comforts, my wants, and my desires—all of which were fulfilled.
Then “that time” took it all away. Our flocks, our servants, our homes and barns, all that we had—everything went up in smoke! As if that was not painful enough, it could not match the agony of the loss of our beautiful children. I think of them now, and I cannot even smile at the memories. Their faces stab me again and again, like a knife in my heart, until you would think I would have no more blood to bleed. Instead, a volcano inside me spews hot anger, bile, and bitterness everywhere I go.
Job suffered the same losses. Do you think our shared misery draws us closer together? Oh, no. Any connection we had burned away in the heat of our first losses. And now, I care for him in his illness as is my duty, my lot in life. No one will have him in their home for fear of falling ill themselves, so he has been banished to the city dump. I cannot bear to touch him or even look at him, although I bring him food and drink myself.
May you never be tested this way! The smell rising from the dump on a hot day is almost preferable to the stench wafting from his body. Waste, sweat, rotting clothes, vomit, and sores oozing puss. Worm-laying flies blanket his body—surely this is the stink of hell itself. I cannot find it in myself to look at the creature laying there as though he is Job. All I see is a putrid bundle of pain and great need that it is my duty to care for. Yet, he lays there as though he were still a noble man—lying in a dung heap!
If there is an all-powerful God, as Job still testifies, then I say it is time to let him know what we think. Why would we want anything to do with a God who lets such awful things happen to us when we have done nothing to deserve this? Job lay there, still devout in his moaning pain and raging fevers, and I lost it. My control snapped. He continues to trust in his God, while I have begun to think of God as a monster without love or sympathy.
The bitterness and bile burst out of my mouth; let the ashes fall where they may.
“Curse God and die!”
As I sink to the ground in the filth and rot, I know that stinking rubbish also fills my soul.
I wonder …
Job and Sitis suffered the same losses. In addition, Job suffered greatly with health issues. Why do you think they reacted so differently?
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance are often listed as stages of grief. They are tools to help us identify what we might be feeling, but they are not linear or limited in time or scope. Have you experienced grief? Have you found yourself stuck in emotions or angry at God?
Jesus suffered much. He was “despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). He was falsely accused, ridiculed, betrayed, beaten, humiliated, and abandoned. Do you think Jesus was ever tempted to be bitter toward those who caused His suffering (Hebrews 4:15)?
Look in God’s Word for Jesus’ responses to suffering and pain. How might we follow His example in our own hard circumstances, unexpected tragedies, or heartbreaking disappointment?
Kathleen S Evenhouse 