In the last chapter of Job, Job speaks, recalling some of the words that
God has spoken out of the whirlwind: “Who is this that hides counsel without
knowledge?”; “Hear, and I will speak; I will question you, and you declare to
me.” In recalling these questions and declarations from God, Job addresses the
God who has spoken out of the whirlwind. He enters into dialogue with God.
Job speaks a number of times throughout the book: to curse the day of
his birth; to tell his friends that he would prefer that God would kill him; to
resist entering into conversation with God about the justice of his situation;
to complain about his torment; to suggest that perhaps if he could find God, he
would argue with God; to capitulate, to back down before the God who speaks out
of the whirlwind; and finally, finally…
And there is our problem… What does Job finally do? The end of the book
of Job continues to be an enigma, a puzzle for scholars and ordinary people of
faith alike. Is it a bid to repentance? Is it an admonition to silence? Or is
it something else…? What does Job really do?
In order to think about that question, we need to re-visit the speech of
the God who speaks out of the whirlwind and to have a bit of a conversation
with that God ourselves.
Who measures the dimensions of the earth? Who knows on what its bases
were sunk? Who knows what it was like “in the beginning”? God inquires of Job.
Let’s see how we would respond: Well, actually God of the whirlwind, we
have a pretty fair idea what the beginning of the universe was like and what we
don’t know, we probably will one day. It’s only a matter of time.
Who causes the floods? Who is able to send forth lightning? Who can
number the clouds and shift the waterskins of the heavens?
Well, actually God of the whirlwind, we’re not bad at affecting the
weather and the climate either, and pushing around or hoarding water supplies
willynilly is something you’d have to say we’ve excelled at in recent times,
even if on some days, we’re prepared to admit that more in shame than in
honour.
Who provides for the wild beasts? Who knows what endangered species
need? Who seeks to provide for their wellbeing?
Well, actually God of the whirlwind, we do. Yes, actually, we do.
The questions that the God of the whirlwind asks aren’t questions that
frighten us or drive us into submission or send us to our knees in awe and admiration
any more. In fact, they spark our imaginations and scientific inquiry. We know
so much, and what we don’t know we expect that we will some time. We know that
we are doing things that once were thought of as only belonging to God. And
what’s more, we know that we can no longer shrink away at that reality, or
shrug our shoulders at that possibility, or even act as if it somehow were an
act of defiance against God. It’s just our reality: that we play God and know
that we are doing it. That we offer answers to God’s questions out of the
knowledge and skills we have been given; and we seek out the possibility to
respond to yet more difficult questions. But Job did not get to that point
until the very end of the book.
The blind man by the roadside at Jericho
who called out to Jesus was there. He was certain that Jesus could do something
about a situation that was patently unfair: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on
me!” “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” You who represent God, you who
stand in the line of the God’s chosen ones, you who understands the ways of
God, surely you will look at me and see that I am in need of mercy. I need
help. It is not just that I am this way; and furthermore, it is just that I
should challenge God on this situation.
The people around him are not so sure that this is a conversation that
should happen. They want the man to be quiet. But Bartimaeus, the blind beggar,
does not cease wanting to enter the conversation with Jesus. He persists:
“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And eventually, Jesus hears him,
continues the conversation with a question “What do you want me to do for you?”
and acknowledges the faith of this one who has dared to enter into conversation
with God.
Surely, God does want to engage us. God does want to be in conversation
with us. And God does want us to be real conversation partners. God asksquestions
not to belittle or silence us, not to gobsmack us or smack us into submission,
but to be in conversation, to be in dialogue, to be a part of our world, our
work and our play. When I was a small child, my mother used to read me a story
about that: The Way of the Whirlwind
by Mary & Elizabeth Durack
Nungaree and Jungaree had a baby brother called Woogoo. One morning,
Nungaree and Jungaree decide that Woogoo “was old enough to go with them on
their walk-about to the river”. They had a lovely time playing together and
feasting on bush foods. Early in the afternoon, they “curled up in the shade of
the river trees and went sound asleep”. When Nungaree and Jungaree awoke,
Woogoo was nowhere to be seen. They looked “for his footprints in the river
sand, but they saw nothing, for a wind had come past as they slept and swept
the sand clear of all marks”. They looked and looked along the river, “but
Woogoo was nowhere to be found”.
To cut a very long story quite short, a crocodile takes Nungaree and
Jungaree to Old Father Bremurer, “the spirit father of all the children of the
dream country” who suggests that the wind that wiped away Woogoo’s tracks was
the Whirlwind who actually took Woogoo away. Now they must find “where in all
the world … the Whirlwind [goes] to sleep”.
“Here-and-there [the Whirlwind] was one of the most unpopular sprites in
the whole of the dream country. He was a thief and he was a tease and he
carried his mischief far beyond even the dark people’s idea of a joke.” “Even
though he had never been known to steal a child from them before, they always
believed him quite capable of doing so”. So Nungaree and Jungaree set out to
find this much feared and illusive baby thief.
As one does in stories such as this, they consult many other of the
dream country inhabitants on their way: grandfather flying-fox; the stick-man;
the brolgas, Bubba Piebi “who fished by night to feed the terrible spirits, and
had the power of turning human beings and animals into fish”; Mother Mopoke; an
old lizard; kangaroos… Until, at last, Father Bremurer, the rainbow serpent,
provides a rainbow bridge to the end of somewhere where Here-and-there the
Whirlwind sleeps.
There, they find Woogoo, but not sad, afraid and crying, gurgling,
chuckling and playing with Here-and-there the Whirlwind. They discover that
Here-and-there is lonely, not scary, and that Here-and-there really only wants
to play and be loved. Nungaree, Jungaree and Woogoo cannot stay in the place at
the end of somewhere, but they promise to play with Here-and-there whenever the
Whirlwind comes “twirling and twisting … whirling and swirling … laughing and
rustling and hissing with joy in the long yellow grasses”. Because it is play,
not fear that is the way of the whirlwind.
In his book, Playing God, Andrew Dutney reminds us that we live in a “risk
society”: a world where we know a lot about the challenges that confront us,
where risks “can be predicted, calculated and, consequently, reduced or
possibly even eliminated by the decisions we make now”. Whatever their
probability, those risks require management because of our knowledge. Our
knowledge calls us into a different relationship with the world around us. In
the past, the kinds of things we do to “manage risks” have been called “playing
God” and the term has been used derogatorily, as if “playing God” is a bad,
unfortunate, even sinful thing. In our contemporary context, for Dutney, it is
simply what we must do, what we do do and what we are able to do. Dutney writes
his book out of the background of the death of his and his wife Heather’s only
child in very early infancy from a disease that is not yet preventable, not yet
curable, but can be managed to a certain extent.
Because of the knowledge we have and the ability to make choices that
comes with it, we do play God, but play, in this context, for Dutney:
is not a frivolous waste of time or simply a
rest from work, but a necessary part of the way we fit and re-fit ourselves for
effective living—whether or not we know we are doing it. In play we take the
exercise we need—physical, emotional, intellectual, creative, social and
cultural—to tone and maintain the selves we become through the living of our lives.
In play we also tend to our abused or damaged selves, finding comfort and
healing. In play we keep our selves open to inspiration, experiment and new
growth, making us ready for the unforeseen developments and unprecedented
challenges of a life and a world that is in constant change (p. 27).
Play demands relationship with our world, with other people, with God.
We cannot rehearse who are in the world without a world. We cannot rehearse who
we are in relation to others without being in relation with others. We cannot
rehearse who we are in relation to God without being in relation with God. When
we dare to respond to God’s questions, we dare to enter into play with God. We
dare to be in relationship with God and to be adults in that relationship, not simpering
children, or submissive slaves, or spineless lackeys. We dare to prompt hard
questions and to respond as best we can, even when we may not know all that our
response will entail. We dare to enter the way of the whirlwind, out of which
our God speaks. And that just might be what Job actually does at the end of the
book, to turn towards a God who wants to be in a real relationship with him. Is
this not what God wants for us too?
