Job the Incomparable

Jean Cadier

Job 1:8

The Preacher

Jean Cadier has been since 1957 President of the Montpellier Theological Faculty and Seminary in France. Soldier in World War I, chaplain in World War II (he holds a double Croix de Guerre), he was ordained pastor in the French Reformed Church in 1924. He later became Professor of Systematic Theology at Montpellier, where he earned his D.D. Noted Calvinist scholar and President of the Conference of Churches in Latin Europe, his biography of Calvin is now also available in English.

The Text:

And the LORD said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?

The Series

This is the eighth feature of our 1962 series in which CHRISTIANITY TODAY has presented messages from notable preachers of God’s Word from the Continent and the United Kingdom. Future issues will include sermons from the Rev. J. A. Motyer, Vice-Principal of Clifton Theological College, Bristol, England; and the Rev. James Philip, minister of Holyrood Abbey Church, Edinburgh.

In vivid and poetic language the Book of Job propounds the problem, the only, the unique problem which haunts the human mind—the problem of suffering. I say puts the problem, I do not mean solves it. For that is one of the characteristics of the Bible: it does not give answers, it is not a book of philosophy to banish our difficulties. In recounting the story of Job, it puts aside all the false solutions, the imperfect and unjust ones, those of the troublesome comforters, the solutions which explain suffering as being a chastisement or an educating process.

For there is no solution—only the presence of the Sovereign God, saying out of the whirlwind, Who art thou, O man, to penetrate the deepest of my secrets? The Bible tells us over and over again that we are not asked to understand, but to believe, to trust, to hope against hope. “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him …” (Job 13:15).

No solution, then, is offered. What we do have is another way of putting the question. The primary causes of events taking place on earth are not to be found in earthly things. They come from further off and belong to another order of realities than that of our human setting. They come from a mysterious background, away beyond our understanding, where what is at stake is God’s own victory, God’s own glory.

How many times has the question, “Why?” come to our minds at the report of sad news? Why this sudden death of a friend whose action seemed so necessary for God’s work? Why the illness of another, why the death of that child in an unforeseen accident? Why all these threats on our world still torn apart by recent unhealed wounds?

For all these questions which we have brought with us into this sanctuary, the spoken or secret “why” of our wretched hearts and all the whys of our human condition, the Book of Job has no answer. Such an answer, indeed, is impossible in our hapless human plight as unenlightened sinners, but it speaks to our situation as men of God, urges us to resist despair, resolutely to keep the faith which upholds God’s honor against the adversary.

What do we find in this book? Two dialogues: one in heaven, one on earth. The first is cast in the form of a very simple story—a challenge flung at God by Satan—a question thrown up by the Deceived as to whether God can find on earth a single man who does really love Him with disinterested love. Then follows the dialogue on earth where the cries and protests of a sufferer clash with the counsels and inquisitions of his “learned” friends. And we who have heard the first dialogue feel like saying to the pious visitors and their wounding words: “For heaven’s sake, keep quiet, you do not see the real issue, you’ve missed the whole point. This man who scrapes himself with a potsherd among the ashes is not a culprit whom divine justice has to chastise, but a defender of God’s honor. He is a confessor, an unshakable witness, a believer. One thing only is asked of him: to hold fast in the storm which strips and breaks him, and inflicts deadly physical wounds.

Let us look again at his life’s story: “Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan came also among them” (1:6). Yes, Satan the rebel, Satan the proud, Satan the enemy—Satan the revolted son, whose wish is to dethrone his father, the Absalom coveting the kingship. “And the LORD said unto Satan, Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the LORD, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.” “For the earth is my domain, my hunting-ground, my kingdom,” he might have added. “I walk on it as a master in a conquered territory. And all these men that thou didst put there to serve thee, it is I whom they serve, they are mine, they are my slaves, I lead them and they obey me.” That is in fact Satan’s claim: to expel God from this world, to possess the earth, to display his demonic power of destruction and of hatred, of corruption, of death. “I come from going to and fro on the earth and from walking up and down in it.”

But God speaks: “Hast thou considered my servant Job?” Satan’s brow darkens, his arrogance is deflated. Yes, he has certainly noticed him. How could he help but notice him? A man who refuses to give in to evil like everybody else does, this man who resists him and who will obey God alone, this man who will have nothing to do with him. This man who checks his power. Indeed he has noticed him!

Thus do we learn, brethren, that we are not the only judges and spectators of our actions and of our lives. The latter are not, as it were, sufficient unto themselves. They are looked upon from somewhere, they are being noticed from above and from below, by angels and by men. They are for God or for Satan. They reflect a certain glory, God’s glory or Satan’s, a certain concern for God’s honor or for Satan’s, for God’s joy or for Satan’s. A single individual, loving and serving God, checks Satan’s power. What is at stake is greater than our own interest or any human interest—what is at stake is nothing less than the very glory of God.

The Challenge Of Satan

But Satan refuses to acknowledge defeat, and returns to the attack: “Doth Job fear God for nought? Hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side?… But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face” (1:10, 11). The gauntlet is thrown down. Satan pretends that Job’s love for God is not a true love, but an interested piety which would not resist the strain of ruin. In that case God would in fact have no worshiper whatsoever on earth. Love would not be loved. God would not be served for his own sake, but for reward only.

If Job gives up under the blows raining down on him, if he revolts or curses God, if Job’s love fails because God’s care of him seems to have been withdrawn, then Satan triumphs and God is vanquished. If Job remains faithful in the face of suffering, then the Enemy is confounded and God has won.

Job unknowingly is becoming, in the eyes of the heavenly onlookers, the champion for God’s honor and the defender of his glory. Could there be a stranger tournament? Job fights on God’s behalf, quite unaware of the tremendous issues at stake. Satan exhibits his confidence in the outcome: “We shall see if he does not curse thee to thy face” (Job 1:11, French version).

So it happens that grief and ruin strike Job. His riches, his children, his health, all in turns are taken away from him. Messengers come running to bring the dreadful news. Broken by grief, he bows down and worships: “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Look at him now, sitting on a heap of ashes, devoured by “loathsome sores,” covered with dust—a wretched creature if ever there was one. He suffers, complains outrageously, roars under the crushing pain. But he does not doubt. And in the background of hidden causes, they wait expectantly. Invisible spectators wonder what will be the end of the struggle. Who will win? God or Satan? Love or revolt? Love for God, or for self? At last the fight is over—God has won!

The Continuing Conflict

Thus, brethren, behind our human acting there is a back stage where fights take place away beyond our understanding. We know neither the secrets nor the details thereof, we are actors in it without knowing the whole story. But this we do know, since the Bible tells us: our humble and patient faithfulness glorifies God. Who knows whether upon such inexplicable circumstances concerning our lives or the lives of our loved ones, God’s divine glory is not at stake!

When in our sorrowing lives we have counted up what can be attributed to our own responsibility, our own carelessness, or a physical incapacity, yet find, deep in our sorrow, an incomprehensible element for which we cannot account, let us think that this mysterious misfortune is a chapter in the continuous heavenly battle.

God must win, Satan and his numerous company must know that God is loved for himself, because he is the Father, he is loved apart from all the mercies or the blessings he grants us, he is loved even when we think ourselves forsaken by him, he is loved in the dark ordeal of suffering, even when he smites us. It must become evident, despite the tragic reality of our lives, that God is above health, riches, or even the physical presence of our loved ones. It must become evident that our faith stands over and above all separations, all anguish, all grief. Then will God be truly glorified.

For what brings glory to God is not only great external actions, enterprises of evangelism, the pouring out of charity or generosity. It is also the obscure labor of the never-failing faithfulness.

It may be that in that great day of complete revelation, when at last we will understand the secret of our destiny, we shall learn that the most shining jewels of our Lord’s crown have been polished by this slow process which pain exercises on the soul. We shall perhaps know why Adolphe Monod of the “Adieux” is greater than the Adolphe Monod of the powerful preaching in Lyons, Montauban or Paris; why Vinet praying at the bedside of his epileptic son, is greater than the Vinet of the articles in the “Semeur”; why Pascal of the “Pensees,” those sublime scribbles jotted down amid headaches, is greater than the Pascal of the “Provinciales.” We shall discover that a certain sick man, nailed to his bed of suffering for years, has done more for God’s cause than that preacher overflowing with activity and zeal.

What counts is that throughout the darkest night we should remain unyieldingly attached by faith to God, refusing despair at all costs. The tragedy of all human lives is but a small part of the tragedy of our enormous universe. God fights for his sovereignty, and he wants to banish Satan out of the world. He seeks among men instruments with which to effect his victory.

And lo, above the dark struggle, rises the sign of the Son of Man. The Christ of the pierced hands passes through our cities, our discussions, our business. He passes by, a new job, utterly dispossessed, forgotten, penniless, homeless, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, ready to face even the anguish of Calvary.

He has nothing. Yet his poverty blazons forth with a wonderful power. He is full with the fullness of God. In him Satan has no part whatever, for Christ has renounced all that would be a basis for the enemy’s maneuvers. He is completely selfless, and considers only the will of his Father. He passes by, calling men to leave all and follow God only, as he himself did. He shows the purpose of that suffering which tries to frighten us, tries to separate us from God, and make us believe that God is powerless, unjust or indifferent to our plight, or that he does not love us. Grief would inveigle us into joining the camp of the rebels, the doubters, the malcontents. Those who are close to us may say like Job’s wife: “Curse God and die.” Pious friends will crowd round and suggest that we look into our souls, and seek to convince us to espy in our tragedy a chastisement or a divine forsaking.

It matters not, let us turn away to prayer. God is stronger than our grief, and above all our defeats. Of us he asks but one thing: that we remain trusting and strong, making constant affirmation of the many I knows of our Christian assurance, and with an unswerving obedience acknowledging him as Lord. Only thus can we witness to the total sovereignty of the Father upon the disputed battlefield of the world. Only thus shall we be instruments whereby the glory of God may burst forth in the heavenly places wherein mysterious battles are fought.

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