Print Version October 6th, 2006
Readings: Job 38:1, 12-21, 40:3-5; Luke 10:13-16
We get a rare glimpse of a family likeness today: Father and Son both letting off steam, both sounding provoked beyond endurance, both ticked off. And both complaining that we continue to be wilfully blind to the plain and glorious truth under our noses.
I love Job, the man, the book. He won’t let up his demand for explanation. And it won’t give up any answer to Job’s predicament. What we do get—which finally silences Job—is this tirade from the tempest’s heart. Who are you? Can you not see? Do you not know? Will you not wonder?
And then there’s Jesus letting rip too, wondering what it would take to get people to see and believe, pointing to miracle and marvel and the kingdom coming about their heads. Who are you? Can you not see? Do you not know? Will you not wonder?
I guess I’m glad Father and Son care enough to lose it a little. I have a tendency to let God grow distant, above my petty concerns, and beyond caring. I let God grow cool and careful and colourless. Maybe it feels safer. Certainly it asks less of me. But God never lets me off the hook. God cares. God nudges. God nags. Once in a while God loses it. God aches for me to see and to celebrate, to live and to love. Nothing less will do.