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13. One of the benefits of close reading of the Book of Job is that it gives one insight into the way Job's mind works. I have spent a lifetime trying to figure out the ways that my mind recalls material, articulates it, and connects it with other knowledge, and I have done the same for Job as I studied his book. Two chapters where we see the flow of his thought clearest are in chs. 3 and 14. I think it is a special bonus for those who study Job to get a glimpse into the flow of a great mind.

Each of these two speeches or parts of speeches can be divided into four sections. In the first part (3:1-10; 14:1-6), Job articulates the current state of his mind. That is always a good place to start when examining distress. Begin with as clear a statement as possible of where you are right now. In ch. 3, for example, Job wants to be obliterated. The crushing pain of his loss has now come upon him, and all he can do is long for the darkness. Likewise, in ch. 14, he makes the observation that life is short and full of trouble. That is his current condition. What does he want to do, or want God to do, as a result? "Look away from them (people) and desist, that they may enjoy, like laborers, their day" (14:6). Thus the intellectual process of the creative mind in dealing with distress doesn't begin by trying to say something profound or moving, culled from Paracelsus or some medieval mystic. It begins with a statement of how one is thinking/feeling right now.

This statement of current condition has an effect on the heart, however. It enables us to go outside of ourselves to imagine a different world. Once we describe our own distress with care and skill, the weight is off us, as it were, and we can look outside of ourselves. And what does Job see or do when he looks outside of himself? He goes on (temporary) journeys of hope. In ch.3 he goes on a mental pilgrimage to another place (3:11-19), a place where small and great are living in the realm of the dead in peace and satisfaction. In ch. 14 he looks to nature and then begins to ask questions about another place and time (14:7-12). In ch. 14 he contrasts the human condition of mortality (1-6) with the apparently contradictory experience of the tree, which is that the comes back to life each season at the first hint of water, but mortals die, and "where are they" (v. 10)?

These first glimpses into a new situation then make Job stay with that new situation even longer. This is most clear in ch. 14. After asking questions about why a tree can spring back to life when he cannot, he imagines a time when God would "hide him in Sheol" until the divine wrath is past (14:13-17). Then, after God has gotten over his anger (!), Job imagines a time of reconciliation and peace, of harmony between him and God that would at least restore and at most raise their former relationship to a more intimate level.

Finally, however, Job is able to maintain his expansive thinking no longer. In both ch. 3 and 14 he returns to the hard facts of today, the difficult realities of the present. It is as if he was permitted to ingest the "drug" of hope for a little while, but then the effects wore off and he is plunged back into the despair or anger which prompted his thoughts. In his first speech, he returns to his present condition in 3:24-26. His troubles are as numerous as his bread and water. The very thing he feared came upon him. As a result, "I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest, but trouble comes" (3:26). A similar situation happens in ch. 14. There Job has imagined himself taken away to Sheol, kept safe there until God's wrath is past, and then enabled to join God for times of covenant intimacy. But Job's current reality returns to him with a vengeance. Nature giveth and nature taketh away. If nature can teach you in 14:7-12 that there is hope for a tree, it can also give you images of erosion, loss and the crumbling of hope. So it does. Job looks at the mountains that wear away and the rocks that crumble and concludes, "so you destroy the hope of mortals" (14:19). The only thing left is the pain of one's body and the mourning for the self (14:22).

Brief Concluding Reflection

When you are in distress the mind plays tricks on you. It tries to convince you that you are getting better or that you are psychologically "on the mend." Indeed, sometimes that may be true to a limited degree, but Job's speeches in these chapters tell us that there is more self-deception going on in the facture of hope than there is true insight. Hope in these chapters is nothing more than a mental break, a kind of temporary retreat that you take to escape the throbbing reality of the overmastering pain. The "bottom line" or the "last word" in these chapters is hopelessness. There is no rest; there is no peace, but trouble comes. The only things felt are the pains in the body. The mind is in complete thrall to the pain of the loss that has taken place.

This realization makes me almost want to do something that wouldn't be widely accepted. In view of all the "get rich" or "get better" types of seminars out there, whether it relates to real estate or weight loss or getting over trauma, I wonder whether it would "fly" to offer a seminar entitled, "You CAN'T Get Over It." I think it might inject some needed caution into the world of self- or other-help approaches to life today. "You CAN'T Get Over It" would stress that any kind of return to "normalcy" isn't really possible or, if it is, is only purchased at the cost of living a life of self-deception. "You CAN'T Get Over It" would emphasize that loss is a debilitating reality of life, that it saps energy and creates a teary style of living, that the best you can hope for at times is a truce with your distress but, at worst, you will be cast back into the same maelstrom that has caught you for years. You may want to escape, and there will be many out there who tell you they can help you escape, but my role would be to remove those false hopes and look at the people and say, "You are in it for the long haul. Get used to it. The pain will always be ringing in your ears. Let's try to develop a way to live with it rather than 'defeat it' or 'get over it' or something Hollywoodish like that." Accept yourself in your unstanchable grief. The world cries with you. That is the only comfort I would bring. What do you think?

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