How Memory Heals
"Oh, that I were as in months past."
— Job
When we suffer and ask "Why?" we need memory for our healing. After a person has gone through the stages of denial, anger, negotiation, and acceptance of suffering, the next step is to gain the perspective of a new reality. As painful as it may be, perspective comes when we remember the days before our suffering. Memory is essential for our intellectual, emotional, and spiritual healing.
In his book, Transitions: Making Sense of Life's Changes, William Bridges envisions transformational change in the life of individuals or organizations as a drama in three acts.1 Act I is entitled, "Old Endings," because we must let go of the unworkable elements of our past if we are to move forward into the future. Act II, then, is named "Transitions" because it takes time and trauma to rework our thinking when the old is ended and the new is not yet in place. Act III, however, becomes the story of "New Beginnings" in which hope is revitalized in the vision of a future that is even better than the past.
People who suffer because of a sudden change in their circumstances, whether it be disease, death, divorce, or
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displacement, become participants in the same drama. "Old Endings," "Transitions," and "New Beginnings" must be made in a succession of acts that will lead us to healing and hope.
After Job had worked through his rage in debate with his unsympathetic friends and reaffirmed his faith in a one sided encounter with a silent God, neither he nor his friends had anything more to say to one another (Job 32:1). Job was left alone with his thoughts. Having been engaged in an exhausting emotional battle, he needed to climb above the conflict and see his suffering from the perspective of a new reality with which he must learn to live. As another attestation to the intellectual, emotional, and spiritual stature of the man, Job began the task of memory work — reviewing his theology, recalling his past, and rebuilding his identity.
Reviewing His Theology
Job's theology begins with a song. Bildad has just closed off all further conversation with one last cynical blast at all humankind:
How much less man, who is a maggot,
And a son of man, who is a worm?
(Job 25:6)
This is more than Job can take. With equal impatience, he levels a parting shot at his friends-turned-enemies and gives up on them for good:
How have you helped him who is without power?
How have you saved the arm that has no strength?
How have you counseled one who has no wisdom?
And how have you declared sound advice to many?
To whom have you uttered words?
And whose spirit came from you?
(Job 26:2-4)
Revealing, then, the difference between Bildad's bitter
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spirit and his own persistent hope, Job breaks forth with one of the most majestic hymns of Scripture which extols the power of God over all creation, exalts the work of His Spirit, and concludes with the mystery of His grace:
Indeed these are the mere edges of His ways,
And how small a whisper we hear of Him!
But the thunder of His power who can understand?
(Job 26:14)
Whereas Bildad, from his peak of good health and prosperity, damns man, Job praises God from his valley of suffering and shame.
Advancing from his theology of God to his theology of man, Job acknowledges the sinfulness of human nature and the punishment of the wicked:
This is the portion of a wicked man with God,
And the heritage of oppressors, received from the Almighty.
(Job 27:13)
A litany of what has happened in Job's own life follows. The wicked will suffer the loss of children, possessions, health, peace, and respect (Job 27:14-23). Again, the contrast with Bildad's pessimism is obvious. Condemning man as a maggot, Bildad has betrayed the deficiency of his view of God. For Job, God is just; but for Bildad, God is brutal. Even more than that, Bildad has exposed the fact that he lacks a personal relationship with God based upon love and trust. If Bildad had been in Job's place, he would have cursed God and died long ago. Job, however, is realistic about the sinfulness of human nature and the wickedness of which we are capable. But this does not make man a maggot without mind or soul and worthy of being trampled underfoot. In direct refutation of such a cynical view, Job goes on to bring God and man together in a poetic discourse on wisdom:
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Surely there is a mine for silver,
And a place where gold is refined.
Iron is taken from the earth,
And copper is smelted from ore.
Man puts an end to darkness,
And searches every recess
For ore in the darkness and the shadow of death.
He breaks open a shaft away from people . . . .
He puts his hand on the flint;
He overturns the mountains at the roots.
He cuts out channels in the rocks . . . .
He dams up streams from trickling . . . .
But where can wisdom be found?
And where is the place of understanding?
Man does not know its value,
Nor is it found in the land of the living . . . .
God understands its way,
And He knows its place . . . .
. . . He saw wisdom and declared it;
He prepared it,
indeed, He searched it out.
(Job 28:1-4,9-11,12-13,23-27)
Job's understanding that we are created in the image of God is evident in the credit he gives to human achievements in the field of mining and metallurgy. Contemporary readers still marvel at his technological insights far advanced for his time. He cites these achievements, however, for the purpose of drawing the limits of human ability to attain wisdom — the ability to see things whole — without a relationship with God based on reverential fear and discipline in righteousness. Not unexpectedly, Job pinches off the recall of his theological foundations with the capsule of his faith:
Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom.
And to depart from evil is understanding.
(Job 28:28)
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Throughout all the angry and accusatory interchange with his friends, Job has not wavered in his theological position. He still believes in the power of God, the punishment of the wicked, and the promise of wisdom. Having restated his position, however, he knows that he must go on. His theology does not answer the question, "Why do I suffer even though I have not sinned?" As part of his memory work, Job relives his quandary. He must hold on to the fundamentals of his faith at the same time that he must let go of the conclusion to which they have led him. The curtain falls on Act I, the drama of "Old Endings."
When we suffer, it is the time to ask ourselves, "What do I really believe about the character of God? What do I really believe about the nature of man?" and "What do I really believe about the relationship between God and man?" If we have positioned ourselves with Job rather than Bildad, we are ready to go on.
Remembering His Past
When we suffer, memory is one of the most effective agents for healing. Extensive studies of grieving people agree in their findings about the value of memory in mourning. Essentially, the past must be remembered in order to let it go. Therefore, when a loved one dies, counselors and friends do well to encourage the mourner to walk back through the memories of life with the deceased, whether those memories are good or bad. The same principle transfers to any kind of dramatic change in personal relationships which causes suffering — death, disease, divorce, or displacement. Remembering our past is the way in which we move through "Transitions," which is Act II in our drama of transformation.
Around our house we are learning the importance of memories in letting go. For the first time in thirty-five years, this fall our home became an "empty nest" when our fourth and youngest child enrolled at Seattle Pacific University, 2500 miles away. Initially, it seemed good not to stay awake and listen for his footsteps late at night or to pick up the
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inevitable mess in his room. Then, one weekend, both my wife and I became ill. Neither of us could admit the cause, except that my wife is more honest about her feelings than I am. After one violent sick spell, I heard her say, "He's gone forever." Her exaggerated honesty made me realize that the "empty nest" is a form of death itself which requires grief work.
Once the truth was out, we began to put together an emotional scrapbook of our son's life with us — an inspiring junior high school commencement address, a devastating tennis loss, a too-much, too-soon love affair, a blaring stereo, a stupid fender-bender, a tennis idol for children, a supersensitive spirit, and a life commitment at an altar of prayer.
True, he is gone forever in his dependence upon us — but not in our gratitude for the years we had together. Our memory work has served to set both him and us free to go with hope into the future. Even now, we await his first return for Christmas vacation with the light-hearted thought, Only Rob knows the secret of setting the digital clock in the car back from daylight saving time. We love him more now that we have learned to let him go.
Job also engages in memory work as the bridge of transition between his old theology and his new reality. As a sure sign of his good mental health, he speaks freely about the grandeur of his past (Job 29). Of course, there is an air of nostalgia in Job's memories, but not the kind that paralyzes him. Remembering can become a fixation on gory details or flights of fantasy created out of glossy generalities without a balance of realism. Job is neither soggy nor sick as he remembers the glory of his past. He speaks in the past tense with more gratitude than regret. He speaks of lost relationships not of lost things.
Remembering is the way in which we reveal our emotional attachments and our ego investment in those attachments. Noticeably and significantly, Job does not mention either his wealth or his possessions in his memory work. As we saw earlier, he held them loosely and with gratitude so that when they were lost, he said:
The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
(Job 1:21)
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As a true indication of the man, however, Job does not find it easy to give up his investment in interpersonal relationships. He remembers first his past relationship with God:
Oh, that I were as in months past, As in the days when God watched over me;
When His lamp shone upon my head,
And when by His light I walked through darkness.
(Job 29:2-3)
Almost in the same breath, Job links God's goodness with the memories of his family:
Just as I was in the days of my prime,
When the friendly counsel of God was over my tent;
When the Almighty was yet with me,
When my children were around me,
When my steps were bathed with cream,
And the rock poured out rivers of oil for me!
(Job 29:4-6)
From here, Job's memory trail leads back to his former standing in his community:
When I went out to the gate by the city,
When I took my seat in the open square,
The young men saw me and hid,
The aged arose and stood;
The princes refrained from talking. . . .
The voice of nobles was hushed . . . .
(Job 29:7-10)
Job, like us, is not without his vanity. A self-made man, he needs and loves the hush of awe with which young and old, princes and nobles alike, greeted him because of his wealth and power. But just as quickly as he recalls the honor given to him by the great and powerful, he makes it clear that he prefers to be remembered as the "father of the poor" (Job 29:16):
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. . . delivering the poor who cry out,
. . . saving the perishing man,
. . . aiding the helpless widow,
. . . serving as eyes for the blind,
. . . becoming feet for the lame,
. . . seeking the poor who have no voice,
and
. . . rescuing the victims of oppression.
(Job 29:12-17)
Who can blame Job for his next thoughts? He remembers that he counted upon the goodness of God, the love of his family, the honor of his peers, and his championship of the poor to assure him long life, good health, and perpetual youth (Job 29:18-20). Job realizes that the connection between these emotional attachments of the past and his hope for the future has been severed. Undoubtedly, he had invested a large portion of himself in these relationships. Their loss meant that he had been stripped of the external support system for his identity and would have to rework the meaning of his life and reconstruct his sense of self-worth without them!
Job's wistful recognition of his lost relationships is like a parenthesis in his memory work. To make his emotional scrapbook complete, he returns to his remembering and draws out one more relationship which he loved — the power to lead and govern with wisdom and confidence:
I chose the way for them, and sat as chief;
So I dwelt as a king in the army,
As one who comforts mourners.
(Job 29:25)
By Job's example, we learn the rules for remembering when we suffer. Memory can implement our healing during the time of transition from "Old Endings" to "New Beginnings" if we:
1. Keep our memories in the past tense.
2. Keep our memories bright.
3. Keep our memories balanced.
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In contrast with Job's constructive remembering, some sufferers can never accept the new reality of their circumstances. They dwell on their suffering, romanticize their past, hold to their old attachments, and refuse to consider a future without full restoration of the days gone by. Of course, there is a fine line between faith that glorifies the past and faith that anticipates the future. Healing requires the willingness to remember the past with gratitude, but also to cut the emotional attachments to that past in order to move with hope into a new reality, whatever that may be.
The other day I heard a father say that he always referred to his dead son in the present tense. Whether in official or unofficial listings of his family, he said that the son is included among his brothers and sisters as if he were still living. At first I thought that these attempts to keep the spirit of his son alive were fitting expressions of a loving father. There is no doubt that his motive is good. But then I thought about the lesson from Job.
I wondered whether or not the father had ever been able to accept his son's death. Isn't there a connection between faith in God and the acknowledgment of our own mortality? It certainly did not appear as if his grief work had been done. Also, I wondered how his insistence on keeping his favorite son alive affected the other children in the family. In fairness to his faith and his family, he needs to acknowledge that his son is dead. As memory serves to recall the beauty of their relationship, he will be ready to move on to the new reality.
Job's memory work is not yet done. He must handle the discrepancy between his past glory and his present shame. On the same memory trail down which he came, Job reverses his thoughts with the words of a deep sigh, "But now . . ." (Job 30:1). Having completed the "Old Endings" of Act I, he must now proceed with added pain to draw the ludicrous contrast between his past and present condition:
. . . his fame is mocked (30:1)
. . . his honor is taunted (30:9)
. . . his health is gone (30:16-19)
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. . . his God is his enemy (30:20-23)
. . . his friends have failed him (30:24-29)
No more plaintive poetry can be found in Scripture or human literature than Job's recognition of his new reality:
I am a brother of jackals, and a companion of ostriches.
My skin grows black and falls from me;
My bones burn with fever.
My harp is turned to mourning
And my flute to the voice of those who weep.
(Job 30:29-31)
From the foundation of his theology, Job has begun to build a bridge into the future by remembering the past with gratitude, but leaving it behind by recognizing the new reality of his present condition. Now, in the next step toward healing, he must rebuild his identity without the relational attachments and emotional investments of the past. Reality brings the curtain down on Act II.
Rebuilding His Identity
After reflecting upon his theological foundations, his past glory and his present disgrace, Job is ready to begin rebuilding his identity according to his new reality. All the spiritual blessings and social supports upon which he previously depended for his identity have been stripped away. Figuratively, at least, Job is naked before God and man. What's left? As if already facing the Great Judgment, Job has nothing left except the quality of his character. Here he is willing to stand. Remembering now the covenant that he made with God to keep himself "blameless and upright, fearing God and shunning evil," Job proceeds with an accountability check on his own character. Every possible sin of which he might be accused is cataloged and Job declares not only his innocence, but also his positive pursuit of righteousness.
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Few of us would dare put our character on the line with the same declaration of independence from the sins of:
. . . lust (31:1-4)
. . . lying (31:5-8)
. . . covetousness (31:9-12)
. . . injustice (31:13-15)
. . . lack of compassion (31:16-23)
. . . idolatry (31:24-28)
. . . vengeance (31:28-34)
. . . waste of the land (31:38-40).
Like an attorney presenting his case before a cosmic court, Job exhausts every known charge that can be brought against him and then rests his case with the public challenge for anyone to speak now or forever hold his peace. More than that, at the gate of the city, in its marketplace, and through its streets, where the greatest man in the East has now become a byword, Job is willing to wear a placard on which his claims of innocence are written for all to see.
By this means, Job establishes his new identity. Admitting that all his past glory is gone and all his former social supports are lost, Job is literally stripped to the barest and innermost essentials of his character. He has nothing left but his integrity! By his declaration of innocence, Job is saying, "Even though all else is lost — my fame, fortune, family, and health — I have not lost my innocence. Remember me as a man of integrity."
Three times in my career stretching over twenty-six years as a college president, my integrity has been questioned by a colleague. In each case, the challengers were bright young people whom I had spotted as comers in their field and potential leaders in higher education. Without going into specifics, my words, my writing, and on one occasion, my business practices, were questioned. Each time, I had to search my conscience and review my conduct to determine whether or not I was guilty.
While recognizing that I might have been wiser in what I said and did, my self-conducted moral investigation revealed no motive, act, written word, or business transaction
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that could not withstand public scrutiny or audit. In response to the charges, then, I did not need position, power, privilege, or pity. People marveled at the nonretaliatory calm with which I met the challenge. Assured that my integrity was intact, I awoke one morning humming a song which sprang from deep within my subconscious mind:
Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace,
Whose mind is stayed on thee,
Through the sunshine and the shadows grim,
He giveth perfect peace.
Job must have experienced the same kind of confidence. Of course, his integrity test went far deeper and wider than mine. My test was restricted to a narrow area of life and my spiritual and social supports were still intact. Job's integrity test was total. Mine was temporary as well. Job's new identity as a man of integrity without divine blessing or human support appeared to be a permanent condition.
Critics are quick to charge Job with arrogance in his claim of innocence. Not me. When Job announces, "Here is my mark" (31:35), I hear the confidence of integrity, not the trumpeting of self-righteousness, Certainly, we do not charge Martin Luther with arrogance because he declared, "Here I stand. So help me God, I can do no other." Integrity, not arrogance, is speaking.
By remembering his past, Job has shown us how memory heals during suffering. Restating our theological convictions, reliving our past glory, recognizing our current condition, and rebuilding our new identity is a process of healing through suffering which causes us to change and grow.
The Ultimate Contradiction
Not by coincidence, we foresee the memory work of Jesus in Job's story. Time and time again, Jesus goes back to remember His foundational convictions and His relationship with His Father — Their oneness, Their love, and Their purpose. Yet, remembering for Jesus also included reflections on past glory and recognition of His current circumstances. In
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his letter to the Philippians, Paul draws the ultimate contradiction:
. . . who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but make Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men,
And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself, and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.
(Philippians 2:6-8)
Jesus, too, knew what it meant to be stripped of His past glory with God and to lose the social supports for His identity. His voluntary fall from glory to shame, throne to cross, King to criminal, and life to death is the ultimate contradiction which memory recalls. Isaiah's description of the "Suffering Servant" is an unforgettable image because it is built of the contrasts of memory which are so far apart that they seem ludicrous. Such an image, however, is absolutely necessary if we are to understand that Jesus had only His integrity to sustain Him during His trial, torture, humiliation, and death.
Going one ultimate step farther than Job, who could only claim to be innocent of sin, but not without a sinful nature, Jesus put out the public challenge, "Which of you convicts Me of sin?" Silence followed and Jesus, like Job, rested His case. Before His accusers, then, He stood silent. As docile as a lamb going to the slaughter, Jesus was a man of integrity at peace with Himself, His God and the whole world.
Job, too, falls silent as he rests his case. He has gone through the living drama of transformation in which he has cut off "Old Endings," worked through the trauma of "Transitions," and initiated "New Beginnings" with integrity as the mark of his new identity.
Memory has served Job well. He is on the way to healing from his doubts, bitterness, and regrets. He can do no more for himself. Now Job needs someone to intervene who can help his healing.
