Today's Meditation
Read Job 16:16-17:1
16My face is red with weeping, and deep darkness is on my eyelids,
17though there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure. 18“O earth, do not cover my blood; let my outcry find no resting place. 19Even now, in fact, my witness is in heaven, and he that vouches for me is on high. 20My friends scorn me; my eye pours out tears to God, 21that he would maintain the right of a mortal with God, as one does for a neighbor. 22For when a few years have come, I shall go the way from which I shall not return.
17My spirit is broken, my days are extinct, the grave is ready for me.
Job continues in his lament and grief in his spoken prayers. Verse 16, 17; "My face is red with weeping, and deep darkness is on my eyelids, though there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure." These two verses remind me of a child, a toddler who has experienced deep pain. Perhaps it was the result of a toy being broken, the removal of a favorite blanket, or simply the sudden disappearance of a bubble. The child wails in outcry. He or she cannot be calmed. The universe has conspired against the child to only bring it pain and there is no end to its grief - the face flushes red with the weeping and crying that emanate from deep within the soul, the eyes become dark with sorrow. There is no understanding in the child, only that their world of joy and bliss has been abruptly destroyed. Yet, no violence is in their hands, they do not wish to do anything harm, they are simply inconsolable and their prayer for life to return as they knew it is pure.
Being around lots of different children on a regular basis as a pastor, I have witnessed this very scenario take place quite often. There is nothing a parent can do. I've watched many parents try. They offer to fix the broken toy or buy another. They give the child a different blanket/stuffed animal/comfort binky. They blow more bubbles. They do something...anything to bring the child joy again, but nothing works, in that moment. But ten seconds later, the child finds the dog's wagging tail to be the most delightful thing they've ever seen. I've seen other parents bring the child close, hold them, whisper calm voices of concern and understanding. This, sometimes, works. The violent tears end, but the sobs continue, the darkness remains...until.
Job shows us in this passage (perhaps in the whole of the book) that we haven't really grown much beyond that child. The sorrows grow more grim, the delights grow less frequent, and our holding of the center is what we mostly strive for as we go through our daily living. Can we grow to respond differently to trials/sufferings as well as joys and bliss?
What if we were to understand yesterday's meditation from John that "rain falls on the just and the unjust alike" and that life is going to be full of brokenness, the tearing away of our favorite object/our family, the sudden disappearance of something that brought us wonder? To go ahead and dwell in the grief and sit in our sorrow, but to move more readily and easily to joy. Instead of letting our emotions control us in sorrow, let our emotions control us in times of joy. To jump and dance, to sing and shout, to laugh and smile, to fully embrace the wonder of creation, the beauty of the moment and revel in bliss for as long as possible.
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