Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Job 38:1-7, 34-41, 42:2, 5
Psalm 139:1-18


When I was in seminary, the great professor and preacher known to the world as the Reverend Doctor Peter J. Gomes would remind us over and over again, with his deep gravelly preacher voice, in his fancy doctoral robes with Puritan preacher tabs at the collar, and that great Peter Gomes air of dramatic intensity, that our job as pastors would be “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”

We would laugh every time he said it, and we would laugh at the way he said it, but we knew deep down that he was right. And we knew that it might not always be clear who among us would count as “afflicted” or who would count as “comfortable.” And we knew that even if we did suspect who was who, in a general sense, that it was also true the ones among us who might appear to “have it all together” on the outside would often be crying out for help on the inside. And the ones among us who might seem to be struggling beyond the telling of it might in fact be doing just fine, thank you very much.

Appearances simply don’t tell the story of the soul, do they? What shame or pain or guilt or even secret joy we carry deep within. And the designation of comfort or challenge for any one individual might very well change from week to week or month to month, or maybe even from minute to minute. Or it just might even be both at the exact same time. At least if you’re anything like me.

Which is why I bring the reminder of Peter Gomes to all of us every Sunday when we come to the Prayer for Illumination in our worship service just before the reading of the Scripture. Did you notice? In our Prayer for Illumination, every Sunday, we pray for both the comforting Word and the challenging Word, speaking to us through these words of ancient Scripture, shaping us as God’s “beloved community,” with an emphasis on community.

Which brings us to the Book of Job. In the beginning, this man has it all. He is, the Bible says, “blameless and upright, fearing God, turning from evil.” He has a huge family to carry on his lineage: seven sons and three daughters. Which in biblical numerology simply means Job has “the perfect family.” He has also amassed great wealth in ranching and farming, which allows him to hire hordes of servants and to throw lavish parties that win the love of all his friends and neighbors. And to sponsor great religious festivals during which he always worships God with great ferver and prays for God’s continued blessing on him and his family . . . 

The thing is, Job has got it together! He is, in the words of Peter Gomes, quite “comfortable.” Devout. The envy of his peers. Which then goes on to beg the big question of the book: Is Job’s devotion to God because of his blessing? Does Job expect the wealth and honor he has gained as some kind of “divinely sanctioned quid pro quo” in response to his righteousness? This belief would certainly fit right into the prevailing theological sentiment of his time. And maybe even of our time.

Until it all falls apart.

Out of nowhere, with no notice at all, on one terrible day, disaster descends on Job.  His ranch animals are slaughtered. His servants are massacred. His children are killed in a tornado. Every bit of Job’s blessing is gone!
And then the question becomes: will Job still celebrate the goodness of the God of all creation now that he is afflicted? In the midst of his very real agony? Or will he cry out in anger and betrayal and just plain pain?

It turns out that Job really is human. Just like the rest of us. Even the very human Jesus cries out, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” As we all should, in my audacious opinion. Because God really can take it when we are fully real about what is going on with us beneath the surface. The hurt, the shame, the anger, the fear. As far as I am concerned, one of the worst legacies of the Christian tradition is this misplaced idea that we are somehow lacking in faith when we tell God like it is when it hurts. Don’t you think God already knows anyway?

Of course Job’s so-called “religious friends” don’t agree with me. They are convinced Job must have done something dreadful to deserve such disaster, and they shut him down every time he expresses himself honestly. They are convinced God must be punishing Job for some unexpressed sin for which he must repent. Over and over again Job protests his innocence. Over and over again his so-called “religious friends” demand his confession. Until finally Job has had enough of the whirlwind and blows up at his friends and at God. If things are this bad when I’ve done nothing wrong, Job wants to know, how bad will they be if I do deserve divine retribution? And the question is never quite answered. By God or by Job’s so-called “religious friends.”

The answer that does come, from God, out of the whirlwind, is one of incomparable compassion, accompanied by incomprehensible detachment. The God of the whirlwind does not try to explain the inexplicable, to justify Job’s suffering, or to take it away. The God of the whirlwind simply is. The God of the whirlwind simply exists. From the beginning of time until the end. Laying the foundations of the earth. Numbering the clouds. Creating the plants and animals, some of whom happen to be human. With wisdom in our inward parts but not nearly approaching the great wisdom of the God who created it all.

It is a cycle of life that includes us but that is not dependent on us, as much as we would like to pretend that it is. The answer that comes from God out of the whirlwind to the suffering of Job is simply I Am. And You Are. Fearfully and wonderfully made. And the world goes on. And that, in the end, is all we really can depend on. And that, in the end, is enough.

The desert mystics call this grace. This compassionate incomprehensibility of God that can only be known by losing it all. This divine detachment from all the ups and downs of our individual human lives can only be celebrated when we have nothing more to lose. The desert mystics call it, unbelievably, “grace.” And so does Job!

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, Job concedes in the end. I can never understand you, God. But now I see you. Even in the whirlwind. And you are good!

It is a far cry from the “God’s eye is on the sparrow” song that keeps so many of us going through the tough times. But as Mark Marty reminded me yesterday, enlightenment comes when we are able to hold two competing truths in tension at the same time. On the one hand God cares enormously for each small part of our lives. And on the other hand it’s just not all about us, at least according to the Book of Job.
Either way, it’s a grace. Either way, we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Either way God’s works are wonderful. That we know very well. Which is why this really is a sermon about stewardship, believe it or not. In a week when we will all receive a letter in the mail inviting us to consider our gifts of time and talent and treasure to offer the church. The hope is that you will give as generously as you are able in each of these areas, and perhaps even more generously than you think you are able, and see how God can use it for good.

But the fourth chapter of First Peter in the New Testament tells us that stewardship is less about a specific checklist of time or talent or treasure and more about making good use of the good grace of God. Sharing it with one another. Companioning one another better than those so-called “religious friends” of Job did. With a deep heart of compassion for the “affliction” our neighbor might be suffering and we don’t even know. Comforting where we can. But also challenging where necessary . . . 

This is why I dared to suggest last week that we might have something to learn as a congregation if we followed the teaching of Mark’s Gospel to give up the possessions we depend on so much here at Madison Square. It’s not because I think it’s bad to have money or property to inherit from our predecessors. Or that we’re all going to the bad place because we accept the proceeds of Big Oil! It’s that I think we could learn something about God’s grace if we really do end up losing it all. The way Job did. The way the rich man in Mark’s Gospel might have. It’s that I think the wisdom we might gain on the other side of that loss could be a greater gift than anything we could possibly measure another way. The way it was for Job.

So when you get that stewardship letter this week, consider the grace of God that has overwhelmed your life with joy, whether you are comfortable, or afflicted, or comfortably afflicted. And pledge as generously as you are able in your time and talent and treasure in the year to come. And know that God is speaking to you, too, through the whirlwind, saying, “I have searched you and known you. I have discerned all your thoughts and am acquainted with all your ways. In my book were written all the days that were formed for you when none of them as yet existed. We have come to the end; I am still with you.”

I pray it may be so. Amen.