Borrowed Breath

In the course of our narrative, three of Job’s friends, Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, hear of this evil that has befallen their friend. And so they come to be with Job. Even though they knew he was suffering and most likely braced themselves for the scene, as they approached him, they did not even recognize Job. And for seven days and nights, they sat with him in silence.

This is commendable behavior exhibiting true friendship. They did not come to “fix” Job. They came to join in his suffering. In times of deepest agony, just being there must suffice, for there are no words to say. Rob Bell, in his book Velvet Elvis writes, “Suffering is a place where clichés don’t work and words often fail.”

But as Job’s suffering continues with no end in sight, he curses the day of his birth, wishing he had been a stillborn delivery. The present crushing weight of his suffering suddenly outweighs all of the good memories he had. He would rather forego all of them in order to avoid this anguish. This may seem overly melodramatic, but suffering has a way of blocking out all other realities as it crowds into the consciousness with a constant barrage of pain.

When good people suffer, a side of them is unveiled that we would never know existed without pain revealing it. They might articulate their inner anguish in a way that we never thought they would. Suffering has a way of bringing out of us emotions that would otherwise remain hidden.

In poetic prowess, Job expresses his suffering in comparison with the daily necessity of bodily nourishment:  “For my sighing comes instead of my bread, and my groanings are poured out like water” (3.24).