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MAJOR THEMES of JOB
Admitting the HARD REALITIES of Life. And Death.
Suffering is a given. For everyone.
Do we REACT more out of Fear?
Or RESPOND more out of Faith?
Asking the HARD QUESTIONS
What is Good and what is Bad? How do we really know?
Refuting the EASY QUESTIONS
We are tempted to trivialize the Challenges others face.
Is Advice ever helpful?
Affirming the Majestic Mysteries of Heaven AND Earth
Who can contemplate the beginning of Creation? Or the End?
Beware of believing WE understand God ... or God's purpose(s)
JOB 1: Cause of the Suffering
JOB 2: Reactions to Suffering
JOB 19: Response to Bad Theology
JOB 38: Response from the Storm
JOB 42: Job Repents and Forgives
So, is CHAOS a Kind of Systemic Monster?
JOB 40: 15 “Look at BEHEMOTH, which I made along with you and which feeds on grass like an ox. 16 What strength it has in its loins, what power in the muscles of its belly!“
JOB 41: 1 Can you pull in LEVIATHAN with a fishhook or tie down its tongue with a rope? 2 Can you put a cord through its nose or pierce its jaw with a hook?
The Book of Job is about suffering and loss. And much, much more.
The Book of Job is about faith in spite of loss. And faithfulness in spite of great suffering.
The Book of Job is also about struggling with monsters of gargantuan proportions. And a God of even greater proportions.
Although some might argue, I think the Leviathan (Job 3:8; 41:1-41) and the Behemoth (Job 40:15-24) are mentioned in Job as metaphors. Not real, actual monsters. Rather, Leviathan and Behemoth are metaphors for the problems that we face whose spectacular size and scope remind us of our human frailty and fallibility. There are problems we face in life that just seem overwhelming. So beyond our scope of control that we don’t even begin to know how to face them.
So. In a way. We don’t. Face them. Deal with them.
We create metaphors as a code to remind us. This challenge is larger than life. And we simply don’t know how to deal with it.
My son is on the Autism Spectrum. And Autism is a Leviathan. Autism is a Behemoth.
The challenge is far greater than I will ever begin to understand. And facing the challenge taxes all of the energy I can muster in my waking moments.
So I also find myself fighting the Leviathan in my sleep. The Behemoth often appears in my dreams. Not as any actual monster. But as a multi-headed, tumultuous dilemma … with gaping jaws of turmoil … and sharp taunting teeth.
In the dream I am confronted with this realization: I cannot defeat the monster. I cannot destroy the monster. The monster is far too big. And the monster is not going anywhere. So somehow I must learn to find peace … in the presence of the monster. If I am to find peace … I must learn to live with the monster.
Which I can only do. If there is a power greater than myself that … created me … the world … and yes, even the Behemoth too. The Leviathan is also one of God’s creatures. Which doesn’t compel me to love the beast.
Or learn to control the beast.
Just believe that God. Has a solution.
That God. Provides a pathway to peace.
A pathway that is, at present. Beyond my comprehension.
Personally, I don’t like naming monsters. When we name our monsters in the midst of fear, we have a tendency to give them evil sounding names. And the horrible sound of the name simply reinforces our prejudgment that the monster is evil. Which, if accurate, may be helpful. Or maybe not.
But if inaccurate. Believing the “monster” is evil can very easily lead us to act monstrously ourselves. Act in desperate, destructive ways. All in the name of battling evil.
Still. In my mind, I do tend to name the monster.
To me, the monster is named CHAOS.
Chaos is our greatest challenge when dealing with Autism.
The chaos of sensations he is trying desperately to process without feeling overwhelmed. The chaos he creates as he seeks out sensations that stimulate his brain in ways that he can control.
Dust left on any surface or hidden in any corner is wiped off with his fingers and tossed into the air.
Any flour that is left where he can reach it will be opened and tossed like a fine mist over everything.
Crayons in the thousands that are perpetually gathered (mostly by us) into large bins and then scattered (by him) all over the floor.
A random pile is far preferred for his CD’s and DVD’s than a box or an organizer
But the greatest challenge is the chaos of emotions we have to process with only a few words and gestures as clues.
Is he irritated because he is hungry? Or is somebody on the phone?
Is he slamming the door because he is upset? Or this is his way to initiate a game?
Is he wearing his headphones to protect himself from a noise we cannot hear? Or to isolate himself from us?
But the chaos isn’t really what HE feels inside. Or the mess HE makes on the outside. The chaos is what happens to ME. When I begin to feel alone and helpless.
I can’t possibly fix the situation for him.
Usually, I don’t clearly know what the problem might be.
At best I have a clue.
At worst I am simply guessing.
And that feels chaotic. And chaotic feelings can so easily cascade into utter helplessness and hopelessness. if ...
If I think I have to face the monster myself.
Which I don’t.
Chaos is always systemic.
And the solutions are always systemic.
The tendrils of the monster seem to reach in all kinds of different directions. And pull in people who seem to want to help. But really aren’t equipped to help. People who think they know better than I do how to fix my dysfunctional son. People so willing to offer opinions that I never asked for. Who grow impatient with me. With us. With him. When their advice isn’t heeded.
And I struggle to respond to them with grace and tact.
While also trying to tend to the chaos he’s feeling.
And if I don’t see the chaos as systemic. Eventually. I will lash out at somebody. Who pushes hard enough and long enough to find the button. Labeled EXASPERATION.
When exasperated. I begin to feed the very monster I still fear.
But chaos is always systemic. Sometimes systemic means just this:
Something (or somebody) I desperately want to be connected.
Seems disconnected.
Something I want.
Can never happen.
Because the systemic barriers, the many things that are outside of my control, are just too great. For me to overcome. Alone.
My son is disconnected from our world in so many ways. Some ways, because of his own brain chemistry. But many other ways, because the world just doesn’t understand him. Or me. Or any of us.
Thankfully.
Systemic solutions do not require us to fix the broken systems. Systemic solutions accept that so much is outside of the realm of our control.
Systemic solutions realize that the best next step. Is usually to do something, anything constructive, that is within the realm of our control.
Today. His breakfast didn’t fix the hunger in his soul. Maybe his stomach is still feeling empty. Maybe he is tired of being cooped up at home for the 40th day in a row. Like I am.
All he said was, “Smell the flour, please.” And at first I mistook his statement as a request for another nature walk. “Smell the flowers, please”.
But he is desperate for tactile stimulation.
To feel the flour in his hands.
To see the flour fly through the air.
To watch it land like dust all over something, anything.
And run his fingers across that “dusty”. surface.
So we take a box of old pancake flour outside. And he gathers it in his hands.
And creates dust clouds as he throws it onto the plants and trees in the garden.
It helps a little.
But the experiment leaves a lot of chaos behind.
White flour everywhere. And it looks so out of place on beautiful green leaves.
So we add one more step into the tactile game.
A bowl of water.
Perhaps a baptismal bowl.
Bringing a touch of living water into the chaos of scattered dust.
It doesn’t really fix the problem.
Not the mysterious hunger pains.
Not my inability to understand what’s going on in his mind.
Not the mess the flour left behind.
But the water does one thing. And does it well:
It encourages me to let go. And give the chaos to God.
It encourages me to breathe. And find peace.
It is not my job to fix the chaos. It is never my job to fix the system. And when I try to fix the system. The chaos begins to feel like a monster. A Behemoth. A Leviathan.
But in God’s hands. I know. I can find peace in this system.
By shifting my focus.
And doing one thing to give it back to God. To give it all back to God.
In my hands, the chaos, the system, feels monstrous.
In God’s hands, even the monsters seem tamed.
And some days. Just a splash of water is all that is needed.
To shift my focus.
To wake me up.
And put the monsters in perspective.
To help me give back to God.
The chaos I can never cure.
And embrace the gift of this moment. As messy as it may be.
Amen.