Lux Lucet

Curse God and die.

Things had hit an absolute low point for Job. He had lost his oxen and his donkeys and his sheep. Most of his servants were dead, killed by the edge of the sword. His sons and daughters had perished amidst the merriment of a banquet. To top it all off, Job himself had come down with painful boils which covered him from head to toe.

And with all this, what advice did Job get from the person closest to him, his wife? “Curse God and die,” she told him. The words shock us. They seem so out of place in the home of a believer. Scripture doesn’t tell us much about Job’s wife, but certainly she knew of her husband’s faith. And it seems not unreasonable to suppose that she herself shared that faith. But her words of advice to Job at his very lowest point were not, “let us go before the Lord and seek his council and his mercy.” Her reaction was not even one of silent empathy, as was that of Job’s friends when they first came to see him. No. What she did on that occasion was proffer some of the worst advice imaginable, “curse God and die.”

It’s easy from the comfort of my home and sipping a cup of coffee that I would never say such a thing. I could sit here and boast all day about what an unshakable tower of faith I would be were I faced with a similar situation. But if I were to speak in this way, I would very much be guilty of the sin of bearing false witness. Or to put it a little less gently, I’d be lying to you.

We have our plans. Not that having plans is a bad thing in itself. In fact, our rationality, our ability to make plans and carry them out, is the very image of God. And that’s a good thing. But in our sin, we can easily turn our plans into heart idols. And when that happens, especially if we’re believers, God will bring that to our attention. Perhaps gently if we have ears to hear. Perhaps with a two-by-four if we don’t. In my case, I needed a two-by-four.

When I was in high school, I wanted nothing more than to be a professional classical musician. I played French Horn and was good enough at it to win a scholarship to music school. Only things didn’t go as I had planned. Long story short, I spent three miserable years at the conservatory and ended up getting booted out of the program. It was devastating. It was humiliating. It was among the lowest points of my life. And did I faithfully seek God’s council and humbly entreat his mercy. Nope. I became angry, bitter and depressed. And not only that, I persisted in that condition for nearly 20 years. I didn’t say the words, “curse God and die.” I lived them.

When we encounter the disappointments and difficulties that inevitable come with life in this sinful, fallen world, we are faced with a choice. We either can turn from God, or we can turn to him. We can shake our fist at him, or in prayer bring our burdens to him. “[N]o chastening seems joyful for the present,” says the author of Hebrews, “but painful.” True that. “Nevertheless,” he adds, “afterward it yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.”

Understanding God’s sovereignty means understanding that our trials and tribulations are not random events. It is tempting to say that when pain and tragedy come our way that God has nothing to do with it. But God has everything to do with it. He works, “all things according to the counsel of his will,” as Paul tells us in Ephesians. This includes sending pin pricks and two-by-fours into our lives. And when they come, may we recognize their ultimate source and seek the face of him who chastens us for our own good.