How Righteousness Works
"Have you considered my servant Job?"
— God
If anyone who suffers has the right to ask, "Why me?" it is Job. In the biblical book that bears his name he is introduced to us as a person who is "perfect" in righteousness. This does not mean that Job is sinless. Jesus is the only human being who can make that claim. "Perfect" in this sense means that his righteousness permeates every relationship of his life as his working principle. After all, righteousness is a matter of relationships — with God, with things, and with other people. The biblical definition of righteousness involves each of these three relationships. In one instance the word means being right; in another it is used to mean doing right; in still another case it means putting right. Job qualifies as a righteous person on each of these counts, so much so that he is commended by God as "wholly righteous" or, translated into our terms, "perfect."
While we may rebel against the thought of a person as perfect as Job, we need to know him better if we are to understand the meaning of suffering. As is so often the case, we learn best from people who stand out as models. When Job, a perfect man, suffers and cries, "Why me?" we learn
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that we are neither the first to raise the question nor do we cry alone.
Being Right with God
Job is introduced to us without fanfare. Simply and emphatically his story begins with the line, "There was a man in the land of Uz. His name was Job."
Uz is a shadowy land. Although its existence is confirmed by ancient history, it is so old that it predates written records. For those of us who are living today, in an age when we are drowning in a sea of information that is instant, global, and permanent, we cannot imagine a time without written records. Instead of computer networks, signposts along caravan trails on which travelers scratched "graffiti" notes constituted the information system of Job's time. "Camel express" and a serious game of "pass it on" among strangers slowly took garbled messages across desolate stretches of land.
Imagine living in a time before God's Word was written on tablets of stone, shards of pottery, scrolls of parchment, or reams of India paper. Sitting in my study, I envisioned the shelves being emptied of all traces of God's special written revelation. Multiple versions of the Bible disappeared, expansive commentaries vanished, hundreds of Christian books evaporated, and thousands of megabytes on biblical themes were instantly erased. Momentarily transported back to the land of Uz and the time of Job, I realized how precious God's written Word is to me and how much my faith depends upon it. Alone with the vision of empty shelves, I wondered aloud, "Without the written revelation, how could Job be 'perfect' in 'righteousness'?"
The Gift of Physical Creation
Natural revelation led Job to faith in God. Fundamental to all revelation is physical creation itself. Ancients like Job lived close to the land and on the margins of survival. Of necessity, they paid particular attention to the cycles of the seasons, the whimsies of the weather, and the mysteries of
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nature. Translating their observations into a primitive theology, they envisioned the God of creation as a powerful force. Along with the heathen about whom Paul writes in Romans, the people of Uz in Job's time would be included in the truth, "For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and God-head, so that they are without excuse" (Romans 1:20).
The Gift of Moral Law
Complementing God's creation as the ground of his faith, Job also shared with all humanity the natural gift of moral law. Out of the philosophy of Immanuel Kant comes his oft-quoted statement about sensing the existence of God through "the starry heavens above and the moral law within." John, in his Gospel, becomes even more specific in revealing the nature of God. He refers to the light that "gives light to every man who comes into the world" (John 1:9). Whether the reference is to the pangs of conscience, the intuitive sense of God, or the work of prevenient grace within the human heart, the "light" to which John refers is elemental, universal, and shining Godward.
Andrew Laing, the anthropologist, found a sense of God in every world culture he studied. Other anthropologists have also discovered common taboos in every culture which make violations of nature such as incest a sin and a crime. However primitive it may be, there is ingrained in every human heart a God-given standard of right and wrong, which can be cultivated for good or twisted for evil. Whatever that moral law may be, it is a complement to natural law in the development of faith and righteousness. Job is described as a person who is particularly sensitive to the moral law within as he "shunned evil" as well as "feared God."
The Gift of Natural Reason
In addition to the revealed gifts of physical creation and the moral law, Job also had the cultivated asset of natural
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reason by which he came to righteousness. Contrary to some exponents of faith, reason is not in conflict with religious belief or spiritual experience. Instead, it operates in concert with what we feel and what we do. Educators sum up the totality of human learning with the question, "How can I know what I think until I feel what I do?" Our humanity, then, gives us the capacity to reflect upon our spiritual impulses in order to explain them for ourselves and teach their meaning to others. The result is theology. So even though Job lived in a time without the special revelation of the written Word of God, he had a theology developed out of the power of creation, the moral checks of conscience, and the logical conclusions of a searching mind. As primitive as this theological system may seem, it provided Job with the basis for a personal relationship with God. Herein lies the mystery and the miracle of Job's "perfection" in righteousness.
Righteousness begins by "being right" with God and within ourselves. Job meets this qualification as a man who is described as ". . . blameless and upright . . . one who feared God and shunned evil." In a word, Job exemplifies what it means to be spiritual in person and religious in practice. A person may be religious without being spiritual, but one cannot be spiritual without being religious. Essentially spirituality is integrity of character and consistency of conduct. John Wesley preached "perfect love" as the gift of God which fills the heart and guides the behavior of the believer. For him, personal holiness and social holiness were one. Long before Wesley articulated the doctrine, however, Job lived a holy life — inside and outside, personally and socially.
Another synonym for Job's perfection in righteousness is "sincere" — a strong biblical word that means literally "without wax." The word picture comes from the marketplace in the ancient East. There alabaster pottery had to stand the test of being held up against the brilliant light of the burning sun to see if the work had any flaws that had been filled in with wax. Symbolizing the final judgment scene, no hidden flaws escaped and no cosmetic cover-ups succeeded. Job stood the test. Scrutinized under the laser light of God for hidden flaws in his character or inconsistencies in his conduct, he is "without wax."
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Job's perfection went beyond self-perpetuating piety. He worked at righteousness by the discipline of shunning evil under the fear of God. Out of natural revelation of creation, conscience, and reason, a theological system developed called "the Wisdom School." Several books of the Bible come through the teaching of this school and are identified as "Wisdom Literature" - Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Solomon. One sentence sums up their theology, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." Once again, in the word "wisdom" we meet a concept that is closely related to "perfect." Wisdom is our ability to see things whole. To the credit of the ancient scholars of the Wisdom School, they realized that a centering on God even in fear is a starting point for understanding the interlocking relationships which hold the physical universe and human society together. Accordingly, Job's righteousness worked to make him wise as well as holy.
Doing Right with Things
As the land of Uz existed before the time of the written Word, we also know that it was a land without a code of law. Ancient civilization in the Middle East centered in the land west of the Jordan River. To the east of the river only the most venturesome pioneers took the risk of making a fortune against the loneliness of the sparsely populated region, the unpredictability of the weather, and the certainty of vicious attacks by roving bands of thieves and rustlers.
Job is a rare man — one of a kind. Rather than settling for the security of civilized country, he risked his righteousness against the lawlessness of the eastern frontier. The result is another dimension of "human perfection." In counting the wealth Job accumulated, we learn that every animal he owned, every trade he plied, and every servant he hired represented the perfect empire in numbers and diversity. So much so that he earned the reputation as "the greatest of all the people of the East (Job 1:3).
Job's reputation for righteousness is linked to his reputation for riches. In the easily overlooked word "and" (verse 2)
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a bridge is built between his "being right with God" and "doing right with things."
Righteousness and riches are not automatically connected as some current preachers seem to promise. Faith and poverty are closer companions. Yet, we cannot deny that practical righteousness has an integrity which is often rewarded, especially in secular professions, and more especially in competitive businesses that are not regulated by law. In such circumstances, the wealthiest of entrepreneurs are called "robber barons" and are subject to hate as well as fear and jealousy. Job is the exception because he became rich without compromising his integrity or ruining his reputation.
My father used to say to me, "Son, if you want to make a fortune, go into a business that is known for its dishonesty and be honest." I never tested his advice in a secular career but I have turned the thought into a working principle for my Christian witness. My testimony is most effective when I become involved in situations where Christians are not expected to be. For instance, I have never been more fully alive as a Christian than when I walked where angels feared to tread as Chairman of the Governor's Commission to study gambling in the state of Washington. The experience helped me understand the response of a persecuted Christian pastor from a communist nation who is given asylum in America. Once here, he longs for the beauty of a church purified by the fire of persecution.
Fame and fortune, however, are not the primary evidence that Job's righteousness included "doing right with things." Far more important is the fact that neither his righteousness nor riches ruined his family. In the same breath with which the author of Job describes the immense wealth and the incomparable fame of Job, he also tells how celebration characterized the life of Job's sons and daughters. What a contrast with so many wealthy families! In recent days, newspapers have headlined court battles over the control of family fortunes in which brothers and sisters fight bitterly against each other. Another headline reports a murder trial of an heir who killed his mother and brother in order to claim the family fortune for himself.
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Other wealthy families pursue happiness in a celebration of decadence. Our Bluegrass region is known for its elaborate parties during the week of the Kentucky Derby. You can laugh and cry at the game of "one-upmanship" that hosting families play. Exotic themes, extravagant costumes, star-studded guest lists, and exorbitant expenditures are the competitive standards. How hollow their happiness! A few years ago a Greek magnate ran low on themes for his yacht parties while docked in Monaco. So the invitation to the guests asked them to come dressed symbolizing a movie title. When the guests arrived, they were greeted on the deck of the ship by their host, dressed in black leather, sitting on a motorcycle, with a shotgun across his lap. He represented the film Easy Rider.
Decadent wealth is not necessary to spoil families. In plush America psychologists have discovered a disease called "affluenza." Children from well-to-do families are afflicted by the disease. The symptoms are all the signs of poverty — depression, loneliness, exhaustion, escape, substance abuse, shoplifting, physical breakdown, and even suicide. The diagnosis is relatively simple. Affluent parents who substitute money and material things for their love and presence do irreparable damage to their children. Money can make emotional monsters and moral dwarfs of children. But it need not. Job is an exception. He practiced his religion joyfully and held his riches lightly. A family that knew how to celebrate without sin is his witness.
Not long ago, a multi-millionaire came to Christ. One day he invited me to join a small group of Christian friends to advise him on using his fortune for the glory of God. We began to think like businessmen. Our first question to our friend was, "How can you make the best investment with the highest return for the kingdom of God?" Suddenly the Spirit of God interrupted my thoughts with an insight, "We are starting with the wrong question!"
Compelled to speak, I blurted out, "What if God asks you to give it all away?" Startled by such a demanding thought, the superrich man stared straight at me while he weighed his answer. The honest smile of a new Christian broke across his face when he confessed, "I'm not that much
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of a Christian . . . yet." Our conversation then returned to the "reality" of other options and we left him to make a decision.
Two or three days later a brief memo arrived from him informing me of his decision. In one crisp sentence he wrote that he no longer needed the fame and fortune on which he had so long depended. Jesus was now his Lord as well as his Savior. Above his signature at the end of the memo he wrote, "Joy in His service." As with Job, he had learned how to celebrate his wealth by "doing right with things."
Putting Right with Others
Righteousness is responsibility. "Being right with God, doing right with things, and putting things right with others." Again, Job serves as our example for an oft-neglected dimension of righteousness which the Bible defines as "putting things right with others."
Returning to the shadowy land of Uz, we learn that Job lived in a society without professional priests. The wilderness east of the Jordan had no temples, synagogues, ceremonial feasts, sacrificial rights, and, therefore, no need for the service of priests. Thus the burden for the spiritual life of his family fell upon the father. Job served his family well: "Job would send and sanctify them, and he would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings . . . For Job said, 'It may be that my sons have sinned and cursed God in their hearts.' This he did regularly" (Job 1:5).
Again, imagine yourself in a culture without priests. All the responsibility for the spiritual development for our family that we have turned over to the professional clergy would fall back on us. Preaching, teaching, communion, counseling - worship services, Sunday school, prayer meetings, Christian school, day care centers, and summer camps. Peter Berger and his wife have written a book on the problems created when institutions and professionals take over the functions primarily reserved for the family. With provocative insight the Bergers conclude that whenever and wherever we have turned over family functions to mediating agencies, even the
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church, the problems we are trying to solve are actually aggravated. The spiritual development of the family is an example. No longer is the family the center for spiritual development through Bible study, family devotions, dinner conversation, moral discipline, and spiritual counsel. We expect religious specialists in each category to assume these responsibilities for us. The result? Too often the family has become one of the weakest links in the chain of spiritual development.
Some time ago the medical profession realized that the overemphasis on specialization had almost eliminated the role of the family doctor. To correct the imbalance, medical schools once again began to offer programs in family practice and reestablish its credibility among doctors. As a seminary president who is watching the ministry turn more and more to specialization in counseling, Christian education, evangelism, missions, urban and ethnic studies, youth and singles' ministries, or emphasis on the elderly, I often feel as if we need to reestablish the role and credibility of family ministry. Spiritual development in our homes is our most critical need today.
Job had no priest to whom he could turn in the land of Uz. Solely on his own he accepted his responsibility as father and priest for his family. The fact that his sons and daughters committed no obvious sin in their celebration is a credit to the quality of his family life (Job 1:4). Job's spiritual sensitivity, however, extends to the sins of heart — motives and intentions, lusts and loves, wishes and ambitions. For those of us who let blatant sins slip by for ourselves or our families, the perfection of Job may seem to border on the compulsive. If so, we forget that his righteousness did not create a joyless religion for his family. Their love for celebration denies such a thought. Instead, we sense that Job lives so close to God that he wanted nothing to break the fellowship for him or his family. Centuries later he would have said "Amen" to the hymn writer's verse:
Quick as the apple of an eye,
O God, my conscience make!
Awake my soul, when sin is nigh,
And keep it still awake.
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Much might be made of the fact that Job regularly made priestly sacrifice for the sins of his family. The religious function, however, is secondary to the spiritual principle that Job teaches us, especially if we are parents. By offering regular sacrifices for his children, even for the secrets in their hearts, Job taught them the meaning of forgiveness. The more literal biblical interpretation of righteousness includes "putting right for others."
Of all the traits that parents instill in their children by example, forgiveness is the most difficult. Early in my career as a college president, a sophomore appeared before me as court of last resort to appeal his dismissal from school. Violation after violation of residence hall rules had exhausted the patience of directors, deans, and disciplinary committees. His hostility knew no bounds. Whatever awe may seem to pervade a president's office had no effect on him. Anger and hatred exposed a vicious rebellion against anyone in authority. As I listened to him vent his spleen, a contradiction posed itself in my mind. His father enjoyed the reputation as one of the most powerful and effective evangelists in the church. The inconsistency snagged my thoughts. When he had finished and waited for my response, I caught him completely off guard with the unofficial question, "Have you ever been forgiven?" A slap in the face would not have been more shocking. His eyes emptied of fire, his head dropped, and he choked out a barely audible, "No."
"Would you like to be forgiven?" I asked. His answer taught me a lesson of a lifetime. Sobbing now, he lifted the lid that covered his resentment, "I have heard my father invite thousands of people to come to Christ . . . but he has never asked me if I wanted to be forgiven." We prayed . . . he stayed . . . and today he is a college president!
From that time on, I determined that my primary responsibility to my family was to teach the meaning of forgiveness. The most excruciating memories of my fatherhood are the times when I have flung a flimsy bridge across the chasm of anger, impatience, or sarcasm which alienated me from my family, walked unsteadily over that bridge, and begged for forgiveness on the other side. No words can describe the difference I feel when I read a passage of scripture on
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forgiveness, sing a song in the family pew, or pray in our devotions, "Forgive us our sins." Without denying the priestly function of a pastor, no one can substitute for the parent who works out righteousness by "putting right" the relationship with his or her family through the sacrifice of forgiveness.
We have now met Job, fully human as we are and yet a person who exemplifies perfection in righteousness. At first thought we may resent him because he appears to be too good. But then the practicalities of his religion put righteousness within our reach. Biblically, the standard is not too high. Righteousness means being right, doing right, and putting right. Practically, righteousness is everything we aspire to be — consistent in character, honest in our dealings, and responsible in our relationships.
What does all this have to do with suffering? Conclusions leap out at us. Most obvious is the fact that suffering is no respecter of persons. Job's perfection in righteousness takes away any thought that he deserved to suffer. Once and for all, the idea that you can establish a direct cause-and-effect relationship between sin and suffering is refuted. Some people may bring suffering upon themselves by sin, but there is always the exception of the grosser sin and the contradiction of good health, long life, and great prosperity. Therefore, the first step toward understanding the meaning of suffering is to cancel the notion that we can always explain it as a consequence of sin. If we take such a position, not only do we reject the principle that God is trying to teach us in the story of Job, but we are hopelessly stymied by the incomparable suffering of Jesus Christ. As the only human who was sinless in nature as well as perfect in righteousness, He suffered ". . . outside the gate" (Heb. 13:12).
Christ's suffering leads us to another conclusion: God does not punish us when we ask "Why?" Sometimes we forget that when Jesus came face to face with suffering, He, too, challenged God with the question, "Why?" In the Garden of Gethsemane the anguish of the mind and the conflict of the will so overwhelmed Him that He pleaded, "Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me" (Matt. 26:39). Within that prayer are the questions, "Why me? Why this? Why now?" Not many hours later when the sting of a thousand
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scorpions took its toll, He cried out, "My God, why have You forsaken Me?"
Just recently a great and godly man died. When I asked his wife about his final days, she told me of the nightmare of his last twenty-four hours. No amount of drugs could dull the pain of a gentle man thrashing in the throes of death. Into the night she prayed for mercy, but toward the dawn her petition changed to protest against a God who seemed to have forsaken her. Who, including God, would blame her for asking, "Why?"
Hidden in the suffering of the sinless Jesus and the righteousness of Job is another thought that may escape us: The closer we are to God, the greater can be our suffering. By all means, we must avoid the idea that this is a formula for faith. Righteousness and suffering are no more a direct cause-and-effect relationship than are sin and suffering. Yet we know that each can be connected. The sinner who abuses the body may bring on suffering. Likewise a Christian in close communion with God may be as baffled as Jesus or Job when the suffering includes the silence of heaven. For him or her the question, "Why?" goes far deeper than the common protest of our humanity. With Jesus, his cry is "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?" (Matt. 27:46).
Every truth about suffering can be twisted into a weapon for or against God. Only with hesitation do I draw one more conclusion. When amidst our suffering we ask "Why?", we also open ourselves to questions of "being right with God, doing right with things, and putting right for others." Generally speaking, suffering does not produce automatic reversals in character or conduct. Most often it speeds us in the direction we are already going — whether toward or away from God. Still, for those of us who believe God's enabling grace is at work with a love that is constantly nudging every person toward salvation, we must believe God can use suffering as one of those nudges. As Job learned from his friends, the danger comes when the nudge is turned into a sledgehammer.
We have not wandered very far from the central truth of Job's righteousness: Suffering is no respecter of persons and when we suffer, God expects us to ask, "Why?" Our comfort may be small but these truths are the beginning of faith.
