Would my faith stay strong if put to the ultimate test?

A Reflection for Monday of the Twenty-sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Find today’s readings here.

I love the Book of Job. But when I spend time reading it, sometimes I reacquaint myself with a distressing thought pattern that has carried me away many times before.

Today’s first reading from Job opens with a conversation between Satan and God. God remarks on Job’s steadfast faith and strong moral character. Satan is less than impressed. What reason would Job have not to love God and do well? He has been blessed and remains fortunate. For Job, loving God ought to be easy. 

Satan suggests that if Job’s riches and comforts were taken away, his faith would fail. God agrees to see how an experiment of this kind would play out—on the condition that Job is not harmed personally.

Job soon receives a quadruple helping of bad news: The herdsmen watching his flocks of livestock are killed in a raid; lightning strikes his sheep and shepherds; his camels are stolen and those watching them are killed; and, most devastatingly, his children are killed in a catastrophic accident. Talk about being put to the test!

Here’s why a story like this keeps me up at night: I have been extraordinarily blessed. So many happy things have happened, so many good people have brought great joy to my days, and many of the things I’ve hoped for have become realities. In short, God has been good to me.

I ask myself the same question Satan asks about Job: Am I only faithful because I have been fortunate? Am I only close to God because he has blessed me so many times over?

Then, perhaps the even scarier question creeps in: When is the other shoe going to drop? Blessings have abounded, but streaks of good luck are famous for running out. Will I one day find myself like Job, seeing that so many days and years of fortune were preceding unspeakable tragedies?

There’s no way to know. Heartbreaks and tragedies, losses and illnesses come to God’s people indiscriminately, and there’s no way to predict when they might knock on my door. The things I love, I might also lose. It’s that frightening possibility that has stopped me dead in my tracks, making joyful moments difficult to fully take in and enjoy. What if one day all of this disappears?

Job, in all of this, serves as a unique kind of model. Today’s reading tells us that Job’s reaction is not stoic, not detached: He “began to tear his cloak and cut off his hair. He cast himself prostrate on the ground.” Job is emotional; he is reactive. Simply put, he is human. He is not unmoved by the loss of the things that have populated his blessed days up until now.

Job finds a balance: He is expressive, but he doesn’t turn away from God. Instead, his hand and heart are outstretched. He reaches out to God.

“Naked I came forth from my mother’s womb,
and naked shall I go back again.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
blessed be the name of the LORD!”

In the face of God’s might, Job remains amazed. As order becomes disorder, he connects to what he trusts and knows. He’s human, but he’s close to God.

Like Job, I can kick and scream and tear my cloak and cut my hair. I can feel heartbreak and respond to loss. But God can still be there for me, and I can still be there to receive his graces, to marvel at what he has done for me and to know he is not done with me yet.

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