Love Amid the Ashes (31 page)

Job offered no reply.

What happened to you during the night, Abba?
When Elihu had left the ash heap with the elders at sunset, Abba had been responsive. Now he sat silently in slack-jawed despair. Elihu’s eyes clouded with tears. His once robust abba and teacher slouched over folded legs, arms no thicker than twigs. Bandages hid protruding bones of starvation, and a loincloth hung loosely around blackened skin. The canopied courtyard protected Job from direct sunlight, but the wind and small animals nipped at his exposed flesh. Job’s eyes were river pebbles, rubbed smooth by tears, set in a skeletal mask of pain.

“Abba, did Nada have the right to take Sayyid’s life?” Elihu moved closer, hoping to draw his beloved teacher into conversation. “Aban’s guards have given up hope to find the Nameless Ones in their familiar desert haunts. Do you believe justice has been served through Sayyid’s death alone?”

Job issued a cold stare. “Justice?” The muscles in his face began an eerie dance. A twitch at the crest of his left cheek. A tic at one side of his mouth and left eyelid. “You should discuss justice with bored men on white thrones,” he said in monotone, fixing his gaze on the visitors’ tents.

Activity stirred across the canyon, and Elihu glanced toward Sayyid’s palace. Today it was Aban’s home.
Though Abba Job’s suffering overshadows Aban’s victory over Bela
, Elihu thought,
still we should celebrate Yahweh’s provision and power.

“Aban has acquired Sayyid’s estate,” he said, trying to impart some hope, “and Aban has promised to care for us all: Nada, Dinah, Nogahla, me—and you, Abba, when your wounds heal.” He paused, unsure how Job felt about remaining on the ash pile. “He said you could live inside the house whenever you wish. El Shaddai is at work.”

Wrapped inside an invisible shroud of his own making, Job remained aloof, offered no reply. Aban, Dinah, and Nogahla approached from across the canyon, waves of heat causing their silhouettes to dance in dreamlike steps.

Elihu leaned close and whispered, “They come because they love you, Abba. As I love you.”

Job’s facial tic intensified, and a leaden dread settled into Elihu’s stomach. If Abba’s countenance didn’t brighten at the approach of Dinah and Nogahla, what hope remained for him? These two women had been his sun and moon.

As if summoned by the presence of Job’s supporters, Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar emerged from a single tent, their expressions as hard as Hittite iron. Elihu sighed deeply, dreading the moments to come. He had spent the morning listening to the elders’ plot. They would remain silent to frustrate Job into submission.

“Abba,” he whispered, “remember the night of the tragedies, when you praised Yahweh.”

Job’s stare was as vacant as the charred shell of his home.

“Remember, Sayyid has met a wicked man’s fate. His son, a good man, has received his inheritance. Righteousness has prevailed.”

Again, no response.

Knowing his time to speak had ended, Elihu dutifully slid down the mound of ash and dung. He met the elders at the broken courtyard wall, extending his hand to assist them to their reed mats. The three relatives wore fresh herb sachets beneath their noses, ready to overcome the stench of Job’s stubborn resistance. Bela, on the other hand, remained at home, no doubt contemplating his losses and considering alternate gains.

Elihu arranged the reed mats for the elders and heard the deep, resonant sound of Aban’s greeting.

“Good morning, Job,” the big guard said. He followed Dinah and Nogahla, ascending Job’s ash pile. Wearing the same sandals and robe as yesterday, Aban was evidently more interested in supporting his friend than choosing a new wardrobe.

Job’s face reddened and his agitation grew, but still he remained silent while everyone assumed their positions. Aban sat at Job’s right side. Nogahla took her place directly behind her beloved captain. Dinah knelt at Job’s left, her hands constantly tending his needs, offering mint tea, rolling bandages, preparing herbal remedies.

The three elders, barely settled on their mats, were greeted with Abba Job’s voice. “Even today my complaint is bitter. If I had the chance to stand before El Shaddai as Nada stood before the elders, I would be acquitted of all wrongdoing just as she was!”

Elihu’s heart pounded. He barely recognized his abba in this moment. Yes, his voice resounded like the Job of a year ago, but his expression was pinched and his words embittered.

“I have looked for God—north, south, east, and west—to do that very thing, to present my case before Him. He knows I have treasured His teachings and kept every one. Yet God does what He pleases, and who can oppose Him? I am terrified, but I will not be silent in the thick darkness that covers me.” Abba paused as if waiting for the elders to confront him as they had yesterday.

Elihu bowed his head. Their plot of silence was deafening and awkward. Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar were determined not to answer until Job showed some sign of repentance.

“Why was Nada judged so quickly while the Nameless Ones continue in their wicked lives? Why doesn’t God set times for
their
judgment?” Abba Job was relentless. “Men steal flocks and pasture them in someone else’s field. Are they punished? No! And then we all die. Everyone! Without knowing when or why or how. If I’ve spoken anything that is untrue, go ahead and reduce my words to nothing!”

Bildad thrust his fist into the air. “Dominion and authority are God’s alone, Job! How dare you presume to instruct El Shaddai? Man is less than a maggot in His sight! You say you are righteous, but how can a man be righteous, when even the moon is not bright and the stars are not pure in His eyes?”

His voice had shattered the relatives’ earlier agreement, and Eliphaz placed his gnarled hand on Bildad’s arm, silencing the Ishmaelite prince. Elihu watched the wordless exchange, no animosity or anger, simply a renewed pact of stubborn piety, and Bildad recoiled like a dayflower at dusk.

Elihu thought he might retch. The stench of the dung heap and Job’s wounds were more palatable than the air of hypocrisy in these men.

“My, my, Bildad,” Job said, his words dripping with scorn, “by whose spirit do you speak such wisdom?”

Elihu saw beyond the sores on Job’s flesh and mourned the resentment disfiguring his character.

“Of course God has all dominion and authority,” Job continued. “He spread out the skies over empty space and suspended the earth over nothing. He wraps the waters in the clouds and marks a boundary between light and darkness. And these are but a faint whisper we hear of Him. But as surely as God lives, He has denied me justice.”

Elihu gasped and watched Dinah’s hands still on the bandages she was rolling. But Job did not seem to notice. He was swallowed up in self-justification.

“I will never admit you three are right. I will maintain my righteousness as long as I have breath. I am innocent before El Shaddai, and no man can shame me.”

Dinah turned to him and whispered something. Elihu watched her lips form the words,
Innocent before El Shaddai, and no man can shame me.
His heart skipped a beat. Yes, Abba Job had spoken that same truth to Dinah many times, encouraging her to embrace Yahweh’s forgiveness and rebuff the shame others continually thrust upon her. Job was applying his teaching to himself—but wasn’t he twisting this truth to accommodate his anger?

Elihu glanced down the row of elders. How many truths had they twisted in their anger toward Job? He saw Zophar’s neck shade a deep crimson as he watched Dinah. Job’s cousin-brother had believed his own twisted truths for so long that he’d made Dinah an idol of the world’s evil. To stop loathing her would open a floodgate of tolerance he couldn’t accept.

Abba Job seemed calmed after Dinah’s counsel, his voice quieter, his words more reasonable. “If I were a godless man, what hope would I have? I tell you, brothers, my hope lies in El Shaddai alone.” Looking to his right, he smiled weakly at Aban before turning back to his relatives. “Let me tell you the fate God allots to the wicked, the heritage a ruthless man receives from the Almighty: however many his children, their fate is the sword. His offspring will never have enough to eat.”

“Job!” Dinah’s shocked outburst mirrored every expression. Nogahla’s tears were immediate, and the pain on the big guard’s face was inexpressible. Even the cynical line of elders offered sympathetic glances to the son of a wicked father, now betrayed by an ungrateful friend.

“Dinah, let me finish,” Job said quietly.

Aban bowed his head, most certainly ashamed and embarrassed. Everything inside Elihu wished to shout the truths of El Shaddai. Why weren’t the elders encouraging Abba with the teachings? They were the only source of life and hope to answer Job’s despair. Instead, no one spoke, and Job went on.

“As I was saying, though a wicked man heaps up silver like dust and clothes like piles of clay, what he lays up the righteous will wear, and the innocent will divide his silver.” He extended his hand to Aban. “El Shaddai has surely cut off a wicked man and all his
other
offspring. He has placed Sayyid’s great wealth in your hands, Aban, and I pray you will learn the ways of the Most High and honor Him with the gifts He has given you.” He shrugged his shoulders as if considering what figs to purchase at the market. “Perhaps it will go better with you than it has with me.”

Silence prevailed, and Job’s expression grew contemplative. “Wisdom is hidden, Aban. Men have searched in the deepest caverns of the earth and found iron and gold and silver, but wisdom was not there. It cannot be found in the deepest sea or bought with gold from Ophir or topaz from Nogahla’s homeland of Cush.” Turning to the three elders, he said, “Not even destruction and death know where to find wisdom. Only El Shaddai understands the path to it. ‘The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding.’ Isn’t that what we were taught?”

Dinah poured another cup of mint tea and held it out to him. “Please, Job.” Her eyes implored him, and Elihu silently begged him to drink it and quiet his runaway tongue. Alas, he did not.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if I could sit in my elder’s seat again? Oh, for the days when I was in my prime. Dying men blessed me, and I made the widow’s heart sing. I was eyes to the blind and feet to the lame. I was an abba to you, Elihu.”

Dinah bowed her head and lowered the cup.

Job began to tremble and tears welled in his eyes. Lifting his three-fingered bandaged hand toward heaven, he screamed, “My life ebbs away, and I cry out to You, O God. But You do not hear me. You turn on me ruthlessly. My skin grows black and peels, my body burns with fever. I mourn and I wail, yet You do not relent. Why?”

He turned back to the elders, his expression wild and fierce. “Let Yahweh weigh me on honest scales, and He will know I am blameless! I made a covenant with my eyes not to look lustfully at a girl.” He pointed to Dinah. “If my heart was enticed by this woman,
that
would have been a sin to be judged, a fire that burned to destruction. When dealing with servants and the poor, I feared God’s judgment, so I kept myself from wicked things. If somehow I have concealed my sin, as men do, I would tell you now. I would put it in writing and sign it. But I tell you before God, I am blameless. El Shaddai has wronged me, and I want Him to appear before me and give me a fair hearing!”

“This is madness!” Elihu sprang to his feet, staring down at the three elders. “How can you sit there and say nothing to comfort your friend? He has lost everything, and yet you give him no hope, only judgment and condemnation.” Bildad offered no remorse, and Eliphaz crossed his arms over his chest. Zophar locked his gaze on Dinah, whose tears had formed rivers down the front of her robe.

“And you, Abba.” Elihu crossed the few paces of courtyard filth and saw the justification on Job’s pocked face. “You defend yourself with declarations of righteousness and then accuse God of injustice.” Elihu glanced at both camps of mentors. “I have kept silent, thinking my elders should teach wisdom. But it is the Spirit of God in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that gives understanding. So now I will have my say, and you will listen to me!”

Elihu watched Job’s expression harden and felt as if a dagger twisted in his gut. “Abba, my words come from an upright heart.” He ascended the ash pile and knelt before his teacher and abba. “You taught me everything I know about El Shaddai. I am just like you before Yahweh. I too have been made from clay. You need not fear condemnation from me, nor will I show partiality to the elders. It is God’s Spirit that compels me to speak, no other motivation.”

Elihu thought he noted the slightest crack in Job’s defenses, and as he drew breath for his first word, a chilly breeze swept through the canyon, cooling the blistering sun.

~Job 38:1–2~

Then the
Lord
answered Job out of the storm. . . . “Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?”

Dinah’s heart broke at Elihu’s confidence in Yahweh.
There are no answers, Elihu. Even the elders know it.
Elihu was like a man wandering in the desert, leading another man to a mirage. Job’s despair sounded raw and ugly, but Dinah was beginning to believe his words were true. And the gravest truth of all sat beside her. El Shaddai could heal Job and make all things right in the world, but He chose not to. Evil men like Sayyid gained power and left an inheritance to a son, while good men like Job died on a dung hill without a legacy. Greedy men like Bela prospered, and poor widows like Orma died in a cave.

Dinah’s cheeks burned under Zophar’s judgmental gaze. She would live out her days stooped under the weight of his hatred.

Elihu’s grand speech began, more words in a sea of endless blither. Dinah was sick to death of men’s prattle about a God they understood no more than a tree could grasp the ax that felled it.

“Abba Job, you have said in my hearing that God considers you His enemy, but in this you are not right, for God is greater than man and doesn’t make war with him.” Elihu’s words were gentle but firm. “Why do you complain to Yahweh that He answers none of man’s words? God does speak—now one way, now another—sometimes in dreams, sometimes by chastening a man on his sickbed, and at other times through an angel or mediator. But in all these ways, God is speaking to a man for his good, to keep him from wrongdoing, so that the light of life may shine on him.”

A resounding clap of thunder shook the ground. Silence reigned for two heartbeats as every eye went wide with wonder. A storm in the middle of a desert summer was unimaginable.

Elihu’s features glowed with wonder, his fervor stoked by the loud clap. “Abba, it is unthinkable for the Almighty to do wrong. Who appointed Him over the earth? If He withdrew His breath, all mankind would turn to dust. So why would the God who sustains you destroy you without provocation? Look at the heavens, Abba.”

Job stubbornly glared at Elihu. When had he become so angry, so unreachable?

“Please, Abba.” Elihu pointed to the rumbling heavens, and finally Job complied. Peering beyond the canopy, Dinah saw a black, rolling storm filling the skies from the east.

“Look at the clouds, Abba,” Elihu said. “If you sin, how does that affect El Shaddai, the Creator of the heavens? Yet His eyes see each one of us. There is no dark place, no shadow where anyone can hide. Men cry out under a load of oppression, but when times are good, no one says, ‘Where is God my Maker, who gave me a song in the night, who teaches more to me than to the beasts in the field?’”

Elihu turned his attention toward the elders. “You, Bildad, have accused the Most High of using His power as He pleases, without restraint or conscience. And you, Zophar, have harbored the kind of resentment in your heart that befits a godless man.”

“Ha!” Job laughed aloud like a boy whose ima had just scolded his naughty friend.

“Yes, and resentment is eating you alive, Abba Job.” Elihu turned on him, compassionate but firm. “Those who suffer, God delivers from their suffering. He speaks to them in their affliction. Even now, He is wooing you—longing to comfort you in your distress. But you are so quick to blame, beg, or barter to prove yourself righteous, you’re missing the relationship Yahweh wants to build through your pain. El Shaddai has a higher call than the dung pile on which you sit.”

Relationship?
Dinah glanced at Job to measure his approval of Elihu’s assertions. She had never heard anyone declare that El Shaddai sought a
relationship
with a human.

Slowly Job’s anger seemed softened by a sad but hopeful expression. Another rumble filled the sky, its vibration shaking Dinah to her core. Job turned to her with a warm glance that fanned the dying embers of her hope.

“You were a good teacher, Abba,” Elihu said. Lifting an eyebrow, he pointed to the darkening skies. “But Yahweh’s voice is louder and stronger.”

Dinah shivered as another cold breeze swept away the summer heat. She nearly bolted for cover when lightning skittered across the sky.

But Elihu was like a child at play, dancing delightedly among the ashes as the first drops of rain splattered the red dust and drummed the canopy overhead. “Who can understand how El Shaddai spreads out the clouds or scatters lightning across the face of the earth?”

Another great peal of thunder rattled the foundations, and tiny beads of hail began to bounce off the canyon floor like pearls from heaven. Elihu’s praise sank deeply into Dinah’s soul like rain into the thirsty soil.

“Listen! God’s voice rumbles in marvelous ways. His breath produces ice, and water freezes. He brings floods to punish men, but the same clouds water the earth and show His love.” Elihu ran to the courtyard wall beyond the canopy, catching a handful of hail like evidence at a trial. “Tell me, Abba, can we, with our limited understanding, draw up a righteous defense for ourselves to the Most High?” Turning to the elders, he said, “You were right—all of you—when you told Abba Job that El Shaddai is beyond our reach. But you misrepresent God’s power if you allow any shadow of oppression to fall from His hand. Fear Him, yes, but recognize His work as a loving expression to draw a man closer, not crush or repel him.”

Dinah saw a golden light split the northern sky, brighter than the sun, shimmering like rushing water. It descended over the canyon and lingered, an indefinable, shapeless pattern. The roar accompanying it was rolling thunder and sea combined—not a voice, but an understanding, a knowing. She could not look away; she did not want to—ever. For the first time, she understood Job’s words, “Though He might slay me—He is still my God, my only hope of deliverance.”

Wind blew rain sideways and battered her face. Dinah drew Nogahla close, and they huddled together in awe of the shimmering light and darkening clouds around them. Rain mixed with snow and ice pelted them. Incredible. Dinah glanced aside to see if Job was all right.

The sight was as shocking as snow in a summer drought. Job was standing, arms lifted to the sky, displaying more strength than she’d seen in over a year.

Every sore, every wound on Job’s body, buzzed as though bees’ wings enveloped him—not stinging, simply kissing his skin with their vibration. The rumble of God’s voice quaked through his inner being.

Who is this that darkens My counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man, and I will question you, and you will answer Me.

Job tried to bow his head, tried to close his eyes, but he could not. God willed his attention, and he could not look away. He wondered fleetingly about the others. Could they see El Shaddai? Could they hear His voice? Job was not the keeper of the covenant promise as Jacob was. How could Yahweh be speaking to him? But he had little time for trivial considerations before the God of the universe began His interrogation.

Where were you, Job, when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell Me if you understand who marked off its dimensions. Surely you know! Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea? What is the way to the abode of light? Have you entered the storehouses of snow or seen the storehouses of hail, which I reserve for times of trouble? Who endowed the heart with wisdom or gave understanding to the mind?

Finally, Job felt released, and he fell forward in worship, his face in the ash and dung. He dared not answer, dared not utter a word.

Do you hunt the prey for the lioness and satisfy the hunger of the lions? Do you know when the mountain goats give birth? Do you watch when the doe bears her fawn? Will the wild ox consent to serve you? Does the eagle soar at your command?

Job lifted his head, felt the cold breeze against his tingling skin, and saw the shimmering light transformed into a column reaching to the heavens. The Voice in Job’s spirit changed to a Voice his ears now perceived.

The elders fell on their faces, crying for mercy, their fine linen robes mired in the rain-covered slop.

“We are destroyed!” Bildad bellowed. “Yahweh has judged us!”

“We have spoken foolishly!” Zophar wept aloud.

Job peered out of the muck to see a smile on Elihu’s face. “Elohim! Elohim! You show Your power through snow, ice, and rain on a desert summer day!”

The Voice rattled the red cliffs around them. “Will the one who contends with the Almighty correct Him? Let him who accuses God answer Him!”

“I have no defense, Yahweh, for the things I said,” Job replied. “I am unworthy to speak another word in Your presence—I put my hand over my mouth.”

Through tears, Job glanced at Dinah, Nogahla, and Aban, who knelt with their faces in the dirt. Dinah’s faith was surely strong enough to have withstood his senseless blustering, but what of Nogahla and Aban? Had Job’s faithless words damaged the budding devotion of those who knew little of El Shaddai? Heartbroken, he looked into the shimmering column.

The light swelled, and the rain beat out the rhythm of God’s rebuke, His voice no longer an inner knowing but a resounding drum for all to hear. “Brace yourself, Job, and you will answer Me.”

Job’s heart withered, but at the same time, he exulted in God’s presence.

“Would you discredit My justice to tout your righteousness? Would you condemn Me to justify yourself?” A horrendous peal of thunder shook the earth. “Can you make your voice thunder like Mine or reduce proud and wicked men to the grave? On the day you can do those things, I will admit you have the right to question Me.”

The fluttering sensation on Job’s skin ceased, and panic stirred in his belly.
Don’t leave me!
he prayed, keeping his gaze focused on the shimmering column. Suddenly he felt as if a sword sliced through his heart. In agony, he screamed and rolled onto his back. When he looked up, Dinah hovered over him, her lips moving but uttering no sound. He glanced at the elders, shock and terror still etched on their faces, but only the Voice resounded in his ears.

“Consider the hippopotamus, Job, which I made along with you—except he feeds on grass like an ox.” The absurdity of the comparison nearly made Job chuckle. Why would God speak of a hippopotamus at this most holy moment? “I endowed him with physical power, bones like bronze, and limbs like iron. He ranks first among My works.”

Job gripped his chest, feeling the definition of every rib. He had once been muscular and sinewy. Had he too been ranked first among God’s works?

Lightning flashed, and the searing pain in Job’s chest intensified.

“Yet his Maker can approach the mighty behemoth with His sword.”

Why would God need a sword to approach anything in creation? Job’s heart beat wildly—was it the pain or the unanswered questions?

“Wild animals play nearby while the mighty hippo sleeps in the shade of the lotus plants, and when the river rages, he is not alarmed. He is secure, Job.” The last words came as a whisper. The rain and storm ceased completely. “Can anyone capture him or trap him?”

Job wanted to laugh at that. Of course no one could capture the behemoth, but when he gazed at Elihu and the elders, he understood God’s message. Why hadn’t Job, like the hippopotamus, rested in his Maker’s ability to sustain him when the storms of life raged? Why had he instead raged against God and his friends so fiercely?

“Do you think you can snag the leviathan with a fishhook?” the Voice continued. “If you lay a hand on him, you will remember the struggle and never do it again! No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who could stand against Me? Who dares file a claim that I must pay when everything under heaven belongs to Me?”

The searing pain in Job’s chest eased, relief coming with a great sigh. In the presence of such wonder, he marveled at his foolish demands on the Most High. Had he been utterly mad?

“Who can strip off the leviathan’s outer coat, his back with rows of shields tightly sealed together? Joined fast, they cling together and cannot be parted.”

Job marveled as the snow began falling again, gently now. A chill surged through him as the Voice continued a description that felt too familiar.

“His snorting throws out flashes of light, and fire streams from his mouth.”

In his misery, Job had become the leviathan. Donning an impenetrable outer shield, he had roared fiery accusations against his friends and God.

“The leviathan makes the depths churn like a boiling cauldron, and behind him he leaves a glistening wake. One would think the deep had white hair.”

Silently now, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar stared at him from across the dung pile, their faces wasted, withered, aged. They had entered Job’s nightmare, but their pride couldn’t compare to the leviathan.

“Nothing on earth is his equal,” the Voice concluded. “He looks down on all that are haughty; he is king over all that are proud.”

Job bowed his head, broken. “I know You can do all things, Yahweh,” he whispered, his voice full of reverence. “All Your plans will be fulfilled. I spoke of things far beyond my ability to comprehend. My ears had heard of You, but now my eyes have seen You. I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.”