Published With Thanksgiving

“Listen, we’ve done all the research, we’re right.

            So take notice so you, yes you can understand” (Job 5.27).

Have you ever walked away at a visitation or a funeral wondering why did I say that? If you’re like me, you went in with every intention to not say something, well stupid. But you stood there with the grieving and felt awkward in the silence as you held their hands, and so, you spoke. And even as the words came tumbling out you knew they were terrible. But you couldn’t pull them back, couldn’t stop. You just blathered on until you said all the things you know no one wants to hear.

Because, if you’re anything like me, you’re not talking to them. You’re trying to convince yourself.

Eliphaz is the first of the Trio to speak. Job’s own words, later in the poem, confirm that all three of these men are friends, good friends. And, I think, Eliphaz has come to comfort and lend his presence. He’s just…disturbed by what he sees.

So, he opens his mouth and says, hey man, you know that I know you’re not a bad guy, right? But, hey, I’m just sayin’ that bad stuff doesn’t happen to good people. God has a purpose in this. Everything happens for reason, after all.

His heart’s in the right place, but it’s as though something deep within him can’t face what Job’s situation entails. Perhaps it’s the randomness of the universe or the reminder that we’re mortal—all of us. Or, maybe, he really believes that he’s got it all figured out and can explain it to his friend.

But, if he’s anything like me, he’s so afraid of what he doesn’t understand.

I love, as you may have noticed, the big mysteries of the universe. How do supernovas explode? What happens when black holes collide? I enjoy the pursuit, the hypothesizing and the testing that leads to understanding. There’s a comfort, a peace when something complex makes sense.

But tragedies never make sense. They upend my supposed wisdom and plunge me into the waters of chaos. I am afraid. And I’m too proud to admit that I don’t know. So, I open my mouth and attempt to prove that I know what I do not.

Thinking back, in times of grief I don’t think I ever wanted answers. I asked why, many times. Still do. But even today as I do so, I know answers aren’t what will satisfy me. They never will; because, they aren’t what I want. As they aren’t what Job wants, or needs. What we need is a friend to share in our confusion.

Maybe next time I’m at the funeral home or with someone who is grieving I can remember Eliphaz, remember his fear and all the words he said. And, instead of explaining, I’ll just admit that I don’t understand either. Instead of trying to convince myself that I have it all figured out, I’ll confess that I just don’t know.

Because, all we need to know is that we aren’t alone.

Great Counselor, help me be content enough in my ignorance so I can be present with those who need a friend more than answers.