THE LORD SPEAKS

Then the Lord answered Job out of the storm. (38:1)

As sensational as the ending of this book is, many readers have found the Lord’s answer to Job oddly unsatisfying. In the first place, it does not seem to provide any clear response to the burning questions about suffering and evil that the book has broached. In the second place, many people feel that the content of the Lord’s speeches is not significantly different from much that has gone before.

There is a sense in which these readers are right: the Lord does not say a great deal that is substantially new or earth-shattering. And yet, must not the same charge be brought against the Bible as a whole? For all that may be said in defense of the uniqueness and supremacy of Biblical religion, the fact remains that at many points the wisdom of other faiths does come very close to the wisdom of Christianity. If this were not the case, then why has so much of the world been led astray? Other gods are worshiped precisely because the secrets they impart are profound, attractive, vibrant, and powerful. Even to a highly intelligent and inquiring mind, Christianity may appear narrow and unsophisticated when compared with the fascinating religions of the East.

So let us grant that the speeches of Yahweh at the end of Job do not have anything essentially new or surprising to offer. This is not what makes them stand out. What does? Only one feature sets these chapters apart, and that is the simple fact that it is the Lord Himself, and no one else, who speaks them. But that in itself—just think about it—that alone makes all the difference in the world! An art critic might tell us quite a bit about the paintings in the Sistine Chapel; but it would not be the same as talking with Michelangelo—let alone with Michelangelo’s Creator.

To complain that there is nothing striking about the speeches of Yahweh is a bit like saying that one human face is very much like another. This is true, as far as it goes. Generally all faces do have two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth, and other features in common. But only a fool would claim that because of this uniformity there is no way to tell faces apart. No, there is only one face of Jesus.

Similarly, someone might try to argue that one tree in a forest is very much like any other. But imagine, for a moment, that you are out for a walk in the woods on a lovely fall day. The sun is warm, there is a faint hint of frost in the sparkling air, and all the trees are decked in gold and crimson. For some reason, however, the beauty of the scene escapes you. Perhaps you are sunk in some dark mood, or abstractedly mulling over a problem. Although you are dimly aware of the spectacular color all around, you cannot seem to take it in. You feel cut off, trapped in your own dull thoughts. Then all at once you find that you have paused in your walk—you do not know why—and as you lift your eyes, you happen to notice one particular tree. You notice it, and then you begin to study it. More than that, you are riveted by it. For reasons you cannot explain, this one single tree has caught and held your attention in an extraordinary way. It may be a red maple, or it may be a yellow poplar. It may even be a tree from which all the leaves have already dropped. In any case, there are other trees just like it all around, and you have been seeing these same trees all day long and throughout your life. Why should this one tree suddenly catch your eye and, as it were, lift you right out of yourself? How can one tree, rather than another, exercise such power over your moods? You do not know. All you know is that you go away changed. You go away feeling as if you have just seen the most beautiful tree in the entire world, and you will never forget it as long as you live. You will never forget the look of it, but more importantly you will never forget the experience of it, the sense of revelation, of encounter. What was it that fired your imagination? What was it that made all the difference? Certainly not the tree itself. There was nothing unusual about that particular tree. What then? Surely the thing that made that tree different—the only thing—was that it was the Lord Himself who showed it to you.

If all the victims of crucifixion in the history of the Roman Empire were to be hoisted back onto their crosses and gathered together into one place, they would make a very large forest. In such a setting, would there be anything to distinguish one cross from another? No, nothing at all. Nothing, that is, except to the eye of faith.


Mason, M. (2002). The Gospel According to Job: An Honest Look at Pain and Doubt from the Life of One Who Lost Everything. Crossway.