2:11 Now when Job’s three friends heard of all these troubles that had come upon him, each of them set out from his home—Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They met together to go and console and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him, and they raised their voices and wept aloud; they tore their robes and threw dust in the air upon their heads. They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.
Job 2:11-13, 4:1-9
4:1 Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered:
“If one ventures a word with you, will you be offended?
But who can keep from speaking?
See, you have instructed many;
you have strengthened the weak hands.
Your words have supported those who were stumbling,
and you have made firm the feeble knees.
But now it has come to you, and you are impatient;
it touches you, and you are dismayed.
Is not your fear of God your confidence
and the integrity of your ways your hope?
“Think now, who that was innocent ever perished?
Or where were the upright cut off?
As I have seen, those who plow iniquity
and sow trouble reap the same.
By the breath of God they perish,
and by the blast of his anger they are consumed.
My sermon from the 17th Sunday after Pentecost (October 5, 2025) on Job 2:11-13, 4:1-9.
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Now every once in a while, I do something that makes me feel so awkward, I hope other people do it too. I’ll be, for example, at a restaurant giving my order to the waiter or standing in line at airport security waiting to hand my boarding pass and driver’s license to a TSA agent. These tiny interactions come with a list of spoken and unspoken rules shaping what we’re supposed to say and what we shouldn’t. At the end of these little moments, there’s a small phrase the waiter or the agent shares signaling this interaction is over and the next one is on its way. So when the food I ordered is finally placed in front of me and I’m given back the sensitive documents I just handed over, the waiter and the agent invite me to “enjoy the meal” and to “enjoy the flight.” As a grown person, I know what I’m supposed to do. I should thank them for their service or, at a minimum, smile and nod my head. But for reasons I can’t really explain, a sound at the back of my throat bubbles up. I can feel the beginning of a two word phrase word form and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I, with deep sincerity in my voice, look straight into the eyes of the waiter and the security officer and say “you too.” It’s a little strange to invite the person who brought me food and who made me throw out a tube of toothpaste I accidentally packed – to eat a meal and board a flight. Even though I know what I’m supposed to say in that moment, a script in my head kicks in and the words come tumbling out. We all, I think, carry within us a series of scripts shaping what we say and do. These actions plans usually help us process whatever we’re going through and they’re rooted in the wisdom others have taught us. There are moments, though, when these automatic scripts break down. And in our reading today from the book of Job, the script Job’s friends used failed to bring comfort to the one whose world came tumbling down.
So last week, I invited you to see the book of Job as a an extended parable, similar to the kind of stories Jesus shared. Job, a non-Israelite living in a land we cannot easily identify, had a large family and was very rich. Job’s faithfulness was reflected in the tangible blessings he received since the number of sheep, cattle, oxen, donkeys, sons, and daughters he had were tied to the numbers 3, 7, and 10 – all of which represent symbolically wholeness and completeness. Job was the kind of faithful person we wish we could be. And yet a divine accuser wondered if Job’s trust in God was because of all the stuff he’d been given. So, like in a fairytale, God took everything away. Job, though, still had friends and they came to bring a little comfort to the one who’s life had been completely undone. The three of them used the wisdom they were given to respond to the suffering they saw. The tearing of clothes, the loud cries, the sprinkling of dust, and the sitting with Job on the ground – all of that was from a cultural script to let Job know he wasn’t alone. And instead of filling the air with the sound of their voices, the wisdom required them to wait for Job to speak first. Now when we visited a friend or a loved one who is wrapped up in grief, we often feel as if we’re supposed to say something. We hope there might be a word that can break through all the tears and sadness. This desire comes from our own cultural scripts that doesn’t really know what to do when suffering and grief comes our way. Our discomfort at not knowing what to say or do often leads us to mutter the worst possible thing instead. We can’t imagine that sitting in silence, saying we’re sorry, and holding all that sorrow might be the most loving thing we can do. Job’s friends, then, showed us how the script and wisdom we can carry can be changed into something more holy and true. And in the verses we don’t hear today, their silence allowed Job to put into words every emotion filling his soul. The beginning part of the script Job’s friends used is one we can adopt as our own. But once the script told Job’s friends it was time for them to speak, the limits of our shared wisdom came clearly into view.
In your responses to the questions I asked you last week, we all know life happens. There’s a lot of stuff in our lives we can control but a big chunk of our existence requires us to simply go with the flow. This, though, is really hard to fully integrate into our minds, hearts, and souls because we have our own cultural wisdom that believes our worth and value are determined by the individual choices we make. That doesn’t everyone is held to this kind of standard and there’s all kinds of people who regularly fail upwards based on who there parents were or the amount of money in their bank account. But when suffering makes it self real in our lives, we act as if others – or ourselves – really deserve it. Our response to those moments are full of a frustration, anxiety, and sadness that would do anything to change. And even if we know there’s nothing to blame, our actions and words default to a script blaming others, ourselves, and our God. That’s the script Job’s friends turned to once their words started tumbling out. They assumed their friend wasn’t maybe as good as they thought and he must have done something to break his covenant with God. Life, to them, was a series of gives and takes that was controlled by their God. And since God is God, then Job must have done something to force God to take his life away. Even though we know, at some abstract level, that life is and that Jesus never said life would be fair, it’s hard to break the script we carry that can’t seem to separate the suffering we’ve cause from the suffering that’s happened to us.
And so I’d like us to spend the next few moments trying to break that script and wisdom. Please take a few minutes to answer the questions on the pink sheets that came with your bulletin and remember what it was like to be Job during those moments when your friends shared an uncomforting word.
So what things have people told you to try and make you feel better?
What things have people told you that made you feel worse?
Can friends sometimes be a mixed blessing?