~~/*\~~ Marco ~~/*\~~
Marco was working through his notes for the next meeting. The lessons were reasonably basic, and he knew them well already. Which freed up his mind to dwell on other problems.
This was something his wife had noticed. She came over and put a small plate with a slice of cake down beside his coffee cup, more as an excuse to start a conversation with him while he was busy. “You’re far away again.” She said gently.
Marco sighed and nodded.
“Thinking about your study with Cory?”
“His reaction was… fierce.” Marco admitted. “What I understand about his past, and his home life? It has him pushed down, more than aggressive. I must have touched a nerve somewhere. Something that really affected him, but I can’t guess what.”
“We never know half of what’s going on in people’s heads.” Carla told him, not for the first time. “People are complicated that way. You can’t blame him for reacting the way he was going to react, and you can’t blame yourself for stepping on a landmine that you never knew was there.”
“I know.” Marco admitted. “So what do I do?”
“Don’t punish yourself. Keep the lines of communication open. If that ‘nerve’ you hit is something he can’t work past, then he’ll never come back to the study. But if it’s something he wants to talk about, then he’ll come to you. Just make sure he can still talk to you when he’s ready.”
“Making peace is a necessity anyway, Carla.” Marco admitted with a wry grin. “We work together. I see him every day at the gallery, and he’s been avoiding me for a week. I don’t think anyone there has noticed, but sooner or later, we’ll have to speak again.”
~~/*\~~
That day came soon after, at the monthly budget meeting.
Christophe was going through the administrative reports, with Cory’s assistance. Cory handled most of the paperwork for the artwork itself. Christophe handled the budgets and day-to-day operations. Somewhere between the two, the Gallery had to turn a profit.
“So, do we fire the custodial staff, or close three exhibits?” Christophe summed up.
“Y’know, the last time you downsized one of the staff, I ended up doing most of their job whenever a school tour came through.” Cory pointed out. “There’s only so much ‘free work’ you can get out of people because they want to be helpful.”
“I know.” Christophe wasn’t any happier about it than he was. “But it’s a fact that money is the only thing that keeps rolling uphill.”
Cory let out a breath. “Three exhibits.” He picked up the gallery catalog. “Can I pick which ones?”
Christophe scoffed. “I know, everyone has their favorites. The problem is, it’s not about what we like. We get more revenue from one sale than we do from a fundraiser. We get less attention every year from people coming to see the Art that’s on permanent display.”
“And insurance rates keep going up.” Cory agreed. “So, if we don’t plan to send half a dozen of our people to the unemployment line?”
“The artists or owners will scream bloody murder at me.” Christophe sighed. “But when don’t they?” He tapped at his phone.
A moment later, Marco appeared at the door with a knock. “I got a text?”
Christophe waved him into a chair, not noticing Cory’s sudden tension. “Bloodletting season is upon us again, Marco. We’re down to how much more blood we can squeeze from a stone. If we can pick three exhibits that are expensive to keep on our walls, but unlikely to sell or draw visitors…”
Marco nodded, picking up a copy of the catalog himself. “Right. Anything I can do to help.”
Cory forced himself to sound casual. “You’re there longer than the rest of the staff put together before all the auctions. You see which pieces the buyers linger at, which ones hold their attention… We need to know which ones will likely never sell, and figure out how much we can save on our insurance by sending them somewhere else.”
“If anywhere else will take them.” Marco added. “There aren’t that many auction houses in town. They won’t take something they can’t sell.”
“That’s my job.” Christophe waved them off. “Your job, figure out which of our ‘assets’ have to be removed, either staff or exhibits.”
~~/*\~~
The meeting took most of the afternoon. Cory didn’t mind how long it took. The longer the meeting went, the less likely people would lose their jobs. Eventually, they sorted things out, and Christophe dismissed them.
“I feel like I’ve been through a boxing match.” Cory groaned as they headed out into the Gallery. It was empty, but the lights were all on, just past closing time.
“At least once a month, someone I know asks why the Gallery stays open at all.” Marco observed. “They demand to know why we spend money on such impractical things. Happens even more during the election seasons.”
“Then they need to change their definition of ‘practical’. There’s always been a connection between creativity and discovery.” Cory countered. “Every scientist or engineer who’s had to invent something new needs an imagination. Grey’s Anatomy was the defining medical textbook for years, long before photographs were invented. They needed photo-realistic sketches of people’s insides. You think the accountants could have provided that?”
“I’m sure the bean counters back then would have said that ‘medicine has been getting by just fine as it is, without any pictures’.” Marco drawled.
“They probably would at that.” Cory agreed ruefully. “In 1502, Sultan Bayezid II wanted to build a bridge across the Golden Horn waterway. It would have connected Istanbul to Galata, and expanded the capital of his empire. It was… a difficult project. Most architects couldn’t figure it out. DaVinci wrote to the Sultan and said he could build a bridge that would work, and even allow tall ships to pass underneath.”
“Did they build it?”
“No. Nobody’s sure why, but not long after, Istanbul was rocked by quakes, and the buildings came down…” Cory sighed. “In 2019, engineers at MIT found DaVinci’s letters, and the design for the bridge. They modeled it, and decided it would have worked, and would have survived the Quake.” He waved down the hall. “Monet was one of the first artists to use synthetic paints, and he got colors that nobody could ever make before. Galileo did watercolors of his lunar observations.” He was getting more worked up. “For that matter, ‘art’ is a bigger category than they give it credit for. The tablet computer was shown on Star Trek before anyone built it in real life. Even Jules Verne was working out what would be needed for a moon flight, a century before Apollo.”
Marco took the monologue in stride. “So you’d make the case that creativity doesn’t have to be practical to have value, because its value is something that can always go in other directions?”
“Isn’t that the whole point of this industry? Things are worth whatever people will trade for them.”
Marco smirked at that, as though he’d just said something very profound.”Art is like music, or movies, or even faith. It inspires emotion, cultivates understanding in ways that words can’t.”
“Well said.” Cory nodded, and discovered he’d forgotten to ‘be elsewhere’, as he had for the last few days whenever Marco came by.
Marco knew it too. He’d engaged in conversation on a topic that Cory cared enough to stick around and talk about, for just that reason. “So.” He said finally. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Cory looked away from him, towards the paintings, and then back again. “Yeah. I guess I have.”
“It’s your prerogative to do so, of course.” Marco said politely. “But do you mind if I ask why? If it’s about what happened…”
“Kinda.” Cory admitted. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”
“I was taken by surprise, but I’m not really offended. I’ve heard worse.” Marco returned. “If you don’t want to study with me anymore, then there’s no hard feelings. A lot of people decide not to keep going. But we still work together. There’s no reason we can’t still be friends.”
“Isn’t there?” Cory countered. “I’ve studied enough now to understand how important this particular topic is to you. It’s included in how you dress, how you speak to others, what movies you watch, what music you listen to… It’s your life. I’ve rejected your life as being ‘not for me’.” He finally looked at Marco directly. “How can you not take that as an insult?”
“Well…” Marco said carefully. “To be honest, I’m not sure what the problem you have is. What, about what you were learning, was so ‘off-putting’ to you?”
Cory’s first instinct was to run away again, but he couldn’t. The pain in his back lanced through him, warning that he wouldn’t get far. Can’t run, can’t hide. I guess I have to talk to him about it.
“Alright, fine.” Cory took a deep breath and confessed the reason. “I don’t think I’d be a good Witness. I’m not… holy. I’m not wise. I’m nothing at all.”
Marco’s head tilted. “Why would you think that?”
Cory was about to answer, when he suddenly remembered they were in the middle of their workday. “Um… not here. We’re at work, it’s not the time.”
“I agree.” Marco said crisply. “One more ‘study session’ then, in the usual place? After business hours?”
~~/*\~~
They met, had coffee, ordered some fries to go, and walked for a while until they found a bench in the park. It gave them privacy, and the useful distraction of things to look at during the difficult conversations. “It was that last study. It kinda set me off.”
“I noticed, but I couldn’t figure out why.” Marco nodded.
Cory had been debating how to say it, and somehow, a childhood story came pouring out. “My father is a recovering alcoholic. He’s been dry since I was eighteen…” He took a shaky breath. “When I was sixteen, he asked me why I never had friends over. I didn’t know how to talk my way around it, so I had some school friends over for a pool party that weekend.” He took another shaky breath. “My dad showed up, drunk, and went around to all my friends asking why they never came over before. He went down a long list of reasons why they shouldn’t be friends with me.” He wiped his face. “Then he puked in the pool. I didn’t hear from any of those friends again. And I never found any others. Nobody wanted to come by my house.”
Marco winced sympathetically.
“My father always made noises about getting sober. Sometimes he tried. Total success isn’t really what recovering addicts are built for. My dad fell off the wagon a few times before it stuck.” Cory wasn’t really talking to him now, just letting it pour out. “The last time he got wasted, it was the night I introduced my college girlfriend to the family.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She brought a bottle of wine to go with dinner. She was being a good guest. I didn’t tell her, you see.”
“And your father decided it would be impolite to refuse the gift?” Marco guessed.
Cory nodded. “He and my brother had a bit of a drinking contest. Two glasses in, he decided to switch to the harder stuff; which he happened to have hidden somewhere in the house. An hour later, he was telling my girlfriend why she should dump me, because ‘she could do so much better’.”
“How did she take it?” Marco asked gently.
“She dumped me that night.” Cory said, still very straightforward. Any emotion he had on the subject had burned itself out. “She insisted it wasn’t because of what he said, but because I kept the family shame a secret from her. She felt it was proof that I wasn’t serious about the two of us. On my better days, I even believe her. But she left, and I… returned the engagement ring I had bought for her.” He sniffed. “Well, my father is sober now, and it seems to have stuck. But it hasn’t made him any more… loving. Certainly not appreciative or respectful. I’m his greatest disappointment.”
“I’m sure that’s not-”
“No, it is. He’s told me so several times, when he was really bombed. Once or twice when he was cold sober.” Cory said, matter-of-factly. “He thinks I threw my life away because of the things I wanted to do, as a career. And he was right. I’m living paycheck to paycheck, when I could have been a success like him.” He scoffed. “He’s the family standard of success, financial security, and respectability. After everything he put us through, he holds himself as the high standard to meet. You believe that?”
It was clear Marco wanted to say something, but he didn’t interrupt, letting Cory get it all out.
“When you’re used to… not mattering at all. When your opinions never mean anything. To anyone. When people don’t just look past you, but actually dismiss you… When the people you love most actually change their mind on the spot because you agree with them. When your little brother is told to view you as a ‘cautionary tale’? Sooner or later you stop arguing the point.” Cory said simply. “Sooner or later, it isn’t even a question. You just… know it.”
“Look! I keep crying out, but I get no answer; I keep crying for help, but there is no justice.”
Cory looked back at him. “You always have to quote scripture.”
“It’s where I look when I want to understand my feelings, and find some hope for the future.” Marco shrugged. “Job was close to the breaking point, because of all the things he had lost. He gave in to his grief and self-pity, but he never gave up. He held onto the idea that God wouldn’t abandon him, no matter how low he was.”
“Nobody’s gonna write Bible verses about me, Marco.” Cory said flatly.
“Maybe not, but I don’t think that was my point.” Marco chided gently. “The point is that Job was right.”
“The people who know me best don’t think very much of me, Marco.” Cory said. No tears, no anger. He was long numb to this thought. “Why would God, who supposedly knows me better than everyone else put together, feel more appreciative? For that matter, when your own father can’t summon approval when he’s there in the room, why should God, when He’s so far above us all?”
“Job had visits from three close friends who all told him the same thing: That all his problems were his own fault, and that God was punishing him. None of them could say why, but they couldn’t get it through their heads that Job didn’t deserve the pain he lived through.” He took a breath. “Someone commits a crime, and then blames God when he gets arrested? That guy needs a look in the mirror. Someone crosses the street and gets hit by a car that runs the light? Not his fault. A lot of people go through hardships that they really don’t deserve. That’s not ‘God’s Grand Design’, it’s just life.”
“I’ll concede that, but how does any of that make me a good choice as a servant of God?” Cory countered.
“You’ve studied with me enough to know that the whole theme of the Bible, the overall point it makes, is that God loves us for all our faults. The whole Bible is a four thousand year story about the sheer effort that it took for Him to make sure that our lowest moments don’t count in our ledger. The whole message of the Bible is what God was willing to do, purely so that we could come to Him and be made perfect and wonderful and eternal. The way He always meant us to be.”
Cory didn’t answer. Didn’t even meet his eyes.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Marco noted the reaction. “You just told me that when people call you worthless, eventually you stop arguing. But when I say that God loves you, and that you matter? Your first instinct is to push against it.” He spread his hands wide. “Why are we so eager to believe the worst?”
“Habit.” Cory said without thinking.
Marco scoffed at that. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The world today is essentially designed to induce despair and rage. What Job went through in his time, we go through now, if somewhat more impersonally.” He pulled out his phone, flipping through Bible verses. “But the crowning achievement of Job’s life was when he was sick, broke, and being told by his loved ones that he should give up and pray for death. All he had to do was hold on.”
Cory wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or sob at that. “Well… you’re not wrong.” He said finally.
“Remember; your career, your health, your age? None of these things are what matter to God. In fact, God has particular love for the broken and damaged people.”
“Does He? Because I’ve been damaged for a long time. You’re the first one ever to mention Him at all.” Cory countered.
Marco’s head tilted. “Come to think of it, when we first started talking about this, your ‘roadblock’ was the fact that we were tiny on a cosmic scale, so why would God even notice us? Now I find out that feeling ‘beneath notice’ has been your problem for a while. Why do I think that this feeling was the real reason you never thought much about God caring about you?”
Cory finally looked away, unable to speak to that.
~~/*\~~
The two of them had returned to the cafe and ordered another coffee, but the cafe was filling up with people, and neither of them wanted to try and shout this conversation over a room full of voices, so they got their next round to go, and started walking again. They were headed, in a sedate way, in the direction of Cory’s home.
“You made the point a few hours ago that things are worth what people will pay for them. But when it’s something you love, it’s worth far more than that.” Marco said. “To my four year old niece, the most valuable thing she owns is a threadbare teddy-bear that I got at a second-hand shop. She saw it, she fell in love with it, and I bought it for her. Cost me a few coins I had in my pocket. She doesn’t go anywhere without it.” He gestured back and forth between them. “Our livelihoods are built on the idea that things like Art has more value than just the cost of the canvas and paint.”
“I’ll grant you that, but we aren’t paintings.” He gestured at himself. “Michelangelo wouldn’t carve a statue that looked like me.” He gestured at Marco’s phone, where the app was open. “I know enough about the standards you people set, and I know I can’t meet them. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive.”
“But you’ve studied enough with me to know about The Ransom. Isn’t that the whole point of Christianity? That Christ paid the price for all of us, so that our sins wouldn’t matter, and only the good was left behind? If you’re that important to God, then why wouldn’t you accept the gesture, given all He gave?”
“You keep talking about how important to God we are, but all I hear is more reasons He should be ashamed of us.” Cory returned. “Given ‘all He gave’? Shouldn’t He be more outraged by our actions, after making such an effort?”
“Knowing the lessons, and believing them in your heart are different things.” Marco conceded. “Look, why don’t you come and see for yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“You think you don’t have the capacity to be a Witness? Why don’t you come and meet some actual Witnesses; and see what convinced them?”
~~/*\~~ Job ~~/*\~~
The Boy walked through the town, listening. The Acolyte was spouting his false lessons about how Baal-Uz was giving a test to the people, challenging them to consider their faith. The three ‘wise men’ had returned to their post at the City Gates. They knew they had gone too far in their accusations of Job, but they weren’t about to tell the townsfolk that.
Most of the town was silent on the matter, though it had run through their minds more than once. Even those who acknowledged the virtue of Job’s endurance couldn’t help but vow they would never walk his path; given what he’d lost.
And unbeknownst to all of them, walking on a plane that humans could not perceive, there were many Spirit beings, taking a special interest in this strange stalemate between the Almighty, and the Resister. Satan had pushed Job to the very limits that God had set, defying anyone to believe that humans could ever have a part in God’s Purpose to redeem the world. A purpose that was still shrouded in mystery to the rest of them.
As the descendants of Israel lived in brutal slavery, Job was almost the lone voice of approval for Jehovah, and just by his suffering, that message was becoming terrifying to any who heard it. The Boy had to admit, it looked like the Enemy was winning over the many, by Job’s appearance alone.
Father… The Boy prayed. He can’t be right, can he? I can hear what the people are saying in the City, in the Market, and in their own homes. Your Name is being slandered. You are being given the blame for all of Job’s suffering. The Serpent surely knew this could happen. Surely You knew too… Why? Why take that kind of chance? Why give your enemies this kind of opening?
There was no answer.
The Boy looked across the City, with senses that humans couldn’t hope to understand. He wasn’t the only Angelic walking through the marketplace, hearing the gossip, listening to the slander. The Merchant wasn’t the only one of the Fallen, keeping pace, pushing people to be a little more slanderous. Some of them were even talking to the Angelics, pushing them to defend their God, in the face of this clear defeat…
Please, Jehovah God; I just want to understand… The Boy prayed, feeling uncertainty creep in for the first time since the Flood. Why?
~~/*\~~
“Please, Jehovah God…” Job prayed earnestly, almost desperately. “Elihu was right, when he reminded me that all Your ways are just, and that-” He hissed in pain, adjusting his stance to try and make his posture just a little less painful. The spike of agony that lanced through him wasn’t the first one to hit him that day, or even in the last hour, and spread his hands wide. “I just want to understand: Why?”
He had been praying that word ‘why’, over and over, with all his strength.
And then the wind started to blow.
Job winced, bowing his head in sudden fear. It had been a windstorm that killed all his children so swiftly. He’d heard their screams in every breeze since then. So had Mahala. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her retreat inside, tension radiating from her posture.
Job stayed outside, still unwilling to go inside with her. The sudden spike of fear from the wind was nothing compared to the insults from his social circle. He could wait it out.
“Job…”
Job looked up, confused. For a moment, he thought he heard…
“Job, my friend…” It came again. “Listen…”
Job fought his way upright. “My God?” His voice was quivering.
“I have a question that I need you to answer…” The Voice was rolling thunder and rushing waves, but it spoke with such warmth that Job felt like he was speaking to his own father.
“Y-You do?” Job was stunned.
And then Job was suddenly in a whole other place. He cried out as the world around him vanished, and he suddenly saw something far more magnificent.
(Author’s Note: I am taking liberties with this conversation between God and Job. There’s nothing to suggest that Job was ‘shown’ all this in a vision, only that God spoke the words. I am also leaning on the timeline heavily in this chapter. The Bible uses words like ‘And Then’ to talk about the sequence of events, but rarely how much time passes between events. Elihu mentioned the storm and wind growing in Job 37. In Job 38, Jehovah spoke out of the windstorm. A plain reading suggests that the four visitors were still in attendance when Jehovah spoke. Whether they were there or not, only God and Job were part of the dialogue. The conversation in Chapters 38 to 41 could easily have been held as the three false comforters were watching. I chose to have them be absent, and to have some time pass. The reason for this was to give all the side players more time to consider their perspectives. In particular, Mahala, and the Boy Angel. They were not mentioned in the Bible record of these events, which is rather the point of the series, so I gave them more ‘room’ in the story.)
Job had seen clouds before, but now he was looking at them from far above. He could see the shadows the clouds cast on the mountains, and the winds sending snow drifts from the peaks down to the plains… he could see the sunlight sparkling off the seas like a billion precious stones flowing together. He looked the other way and saw the moon, no longer the flat pale disc he had watched at night, but a sphere of intricate detail, as it circled a world so beautiful and expansive, but from this perspective seeming small enough that he could reach out and encompass it in his arms.
“Where were you when I founded the Earth? Tell me, if you think you understand.” The Voice came again, and while eternity stretched out in every direction, dwarfing him in the infinite; that Voice was somehow bigger still. The sound of it was enough to fill all of existence, and it was speaking to him alone.
Job was already weeping.
“You have built houses and dwellings for those you love, Job. You’ve personally made measurements, laid foundations, and laid the cornerstones. Who do you think did that for all the Earth, as all the Angels sang in joyful applause?”
“You did.” Croaked Job.
The universe around him changed again, this time the peaceful, infinite reach was gone, and Job was witnessing a chaotic scene. It was a storm beyond his comprehension, easily a thousand times stronger than anything he’d experienced from the ground. He’d been panicking at the sound of a sudden wind, dreading the memory of his children being slain by a sudden storm. But this didn’t give him fear. This left him in total awe. The malevolence of the wind and waves were something that spread out further than he could ever hope to see.
Somehow, and he didn’t know how, but Job knew he was witnessing the great Flood of Noah’s Day. It was a story he had heard, and related to his own children many times. But it was clear that his imagination of the event was nothing in comparison to the real thing. But as the rain hurtled itself down into the crashing waves, rolling like mountains as far as the eye could see, wrapping the world in gloomy darkness and downpour, somehow the Voice was even greater.
“And who was it that barricaded the sea? Who was it that wrapped the earth in clouds, and told the waters how deep they would go? When the waters receded, who was it that decided how far the oceans should go, and no further?”
All at once the storm swept into the east, and the dawn broke, banishing the gloom and lighting a floodplain that stretched the breadth of the world. Job could see the land masses starting to rise into mountains as the waters receded.
“Have you ever commanded the morning, Job? Have you ever summoned the dawn, or declared that Light should come to be? Who was it that shook the wicked away from the entire Earth? Have you ever transformed the Earth like clay on a potter's wheel?”
“No, my lord!” Job cried out. He wasn’t frightened, or intimidated. He was awestruck, reverent, and worshipful.
Behind him, the storm was retreating, still full of its fury, lightning crackling and roaring as it lit up the sky. But somehow, Job knew the lightning was firmly under control, dancing and snapping at someone’s will. The strike was quicker than any viper, but went not a hair further than was acceptable.
“Do you know the laws governing the heavens? Or can you impose their authority on the earth? Can you raise your voice to the clouds, and cause a flood of water to cover you? Can you send out lightning bolts? Will they come and say to you, ‘Here we are!’”
It wasn’t a condemnation. God was saying something to Job that he hadn’t said to other men. Job fought to clear his eyes, and take it all in. He’d need to remember this for the rest of his life, however long it lasted.
The world around him changed again. This time Job was back on the ground. The plains spread out around him, vast and uninhabited. A few desert trees cast shade for a pride of lazy lions. Somewhere on the horizon, a cloud was dropping rain, far enough that Job couldn’t even smell the rain on the wind. The lion cubs were jumping around in play, and somewhere, there was the caw of a raven, picking at the bones of some animal’s forgotten meal.
“Can you hunt prey for a lion? Or satisfy the appetites of their cubs? Who prepares food for the raven, when its own young cry out to God for something to eat? Who feeds them, Job? Would any man remember to bring rain on lands where humans have never walked? What of the animals that are great and mighty, yet still undiscovered by man? Do you know the places where mountain goats make their homes, or where the mighty animals of desert plains can find every blade of green grass to eat, in all the lands that no human has ever drawn on a map? Look! Are they going hungry?”
Job was looking, enjoying the privilege of being walked through Creation. “No, my God. I will admit, I’ve never even thought of such places.”
“In that case, Job; my loyal servant: I have a question that I need you to answer.”
Job nodded, already knowing where this was going. “Yes, My Lord.”
“Should a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? If you would reprove me and my Judgments, do so now.” The Voice was powerful enough to shake apart the universe, but Job knew he was being chided, like a child throwing a tantrum being teased by a patient father. “Would you call my justice into question…”
~~/*\~~
“...or would I condemn Him, because I was so sure I was in the right?” Job repeated the conversation later on.
Mahala was listening to all of this, uncertain. Arit was rapt. “What did you say?”
“What could I say?” Job laughed, eyes bright. “I bowed, and agreed that God could do all things. Nothing was impossible for Him to do… and more importantly, for him to understand. There’s so much I don’t understand. It’s right that He is making such choices. I took back every word I spoke in defiance, or in disagreement.”
Mahala was unmoved. “So… What I’m hearing is that He didn’t tell you why all this was happening. Or that it would stop. Or what you had to do next.”
Despite himself, Arit glanced at her. She’d come back, but she hadn’t really healed. Her stoicism was almost her defining characteristic now, closely tied by grief. Arit had returned with another parcel of food. As always, it was pretty basic; and mostly stale. He’d been bringing scraps enough to keep Job and his wife fed for weeks now. Mahala had a few other people offering pity, but the stigma around Job was strong enough to keep them living an inch from hunger.
And yet, Job had changed. He was still scratching, almost unconsciously. His expression was as calm as it had been in the old days, his eyes clear and unclouded by grief of anger. “He showed me His creation! All the things that He has made, just as he made all of us! He showed me so much! The Behemoth, in all its size! The Leviathan with all its power!” He came back to the moment, looking at them both earnestly. “You’re right.” Job admitted to his wife. “He didn’t explain why. But I learned the only thing I needed to know.”
“What is that?” Arit asked immediately, knowing that all their lives hung on the answer.
“He spoke to me.” Job said simply. “And that means He remembers me. If this horror story was at His command, He would tell me what to do to change it back. If it was beyond our strength to carry, He would have lightened the burden. But He spoke to me. Directly. And that means I am still His.” He actually laughed. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I got wrapped up in my own problems. I was feeling sorry for myself enough that I was starting to judge myself as more ‘right’ than God, like I had to be the main priority. I know why there’s suffering in the world, and it’s always been enough to know the Truth in the face of other people suffering.”
Mahala was silent for a moment. “He didn’t speak to me.”
Me either. Arit thought, but he knew what Mahala was thinking about. She had left. So had he, and now the only thing that had built up Job in some way had bypassed the two of them. Or he’s gone completely mad…
“I know.” Job said gently. “But I told you that His promises were for anyone who wanted to follow Him. You had a chance to live more comfortably, in a physical sense. All you had to do was reject me; and Jehovah, and pretend to serve some false god. You passed the test, my dear. Mine is still going, apparently.” He blinked back tears of relief. “I’ve never really understood everything. Nobody has. I’ve understood why there was suffering since the day I learned Jehovah’s name. My faith was sufficient when it was other people suffering.” He looked hard at his wife. “You know why?”
“...because God will leave none of His creations behind.” Mahala said in a small voice. It was something she’d heard from her husband before. Something she’d even appreciated and agreed with a few months before.
(Author’s Note: Job’s wife went through almost everything he did, but she is barely mentioned in the record. That put me in a difficult spot with her journey. For instance, the Bible says that Job’s extended family didn’t come to help him until his test was over; but what about his In-Laws? They aren’t mentioned at all. And we know that false comforters, Elihu, and Jehovah all had words with Job, but she wasn’t mentioned in those dialogues. This is my solution; to have Job convinced, and relaying everything said to the people who are still on his side; but have them less sure. What is known is that Job was blessed in return for his endurance, including more children, so it’s likely his wife stayed with him. Her journey in this story is all my own invention; as is Arit.)
“That includes us, my love.” Job promised. “No matter what happens. He spoke to me. He remembers. None of this happened without His knowledge. He will call, and I will answer Him. And when He calls, it will be for something wonderful. Amen.”
~~/*\~~
“Amen.” The Boy whispered, tears of relief on his face.
The Merchant was disgusted. “He cheated.” He said gruffly. “He was supposed to keep His hands off this one. Those were the rules.”
“The rules said that Jehovah couldn’t protect him, or rescue him from anything The Liar brought upon him. He never promised to stay totally silent, or to stop loving Job.”
(Author’s Note: There are two points that need to be made clear for this whole sequence. First, there’s the fact that Angels were not given the entire ‘Plan’ right from Eden. 1 Peter 1:12 says: “It was revealed to them that they were ministering, not to themselves, but to you, regarding what has now been announced to you by those who declared the good news to you with holy spirit sent from heaven. Into these very things, angels are desiring to peer.”
That shows us that God’s whole Promise was revealed progressively to His spirit creatures, just as it was to the Earthly Servants. The May 15 2009 Watchtower says: ‘The angels also set an example in patience. Though they are intensely interested in knowing God’s sacred secrets, they are not privy to all of them… So, what do they do? They wait patiently until God’s due time for his “diversified wisdom” to “be made known through the congregation.”’
The Second important point to remember is that the ordeal of Job began when Jehovah called all His spirit beings together, and Satan attended also, to make the challenge to Jehovah, as described in Job Chapter 1. This is important because it meant that Satan had access to heaven, or at least the means to communicate with them.
On the subject of ‘Bonds’, the Insight book says: “God has restricted the disobedient angels in ‘eternal bonds under dense darkness.’ (Jude 6) They are also said to be delivered into ‘pits of dense darkness.’ (2Pe 2:4) Scriptural evidence shows that they are not denied all freedom of movement, inasmuch as they have been able to get possession of humans and even had access to the heavens until they were cast out by Michael and his angels and hurled down to the earth.”
Jehovah’s Witnesses accept that this event began the ‘Last Days’, and happened in 1914. So if Satan ‘and his angels’ did battle in heaven, then it suggests Satan was still recruiting angelic beings to his side; or at least attempting to; but this is partly my own supposition since the Bible is less clear on how many demons there are, and/or when they turned against Jehovah.
Chronologically, Job’s ordeal happened while Israel was still in bondage in Egypt. The Messiah was promised to come through the line of Jacob, and all of Jacob’s descendants were in chains. If the Angels were not made privy to all the details of God’s Plan for restoring the world; then the story of Job has a whole extra layer. Before all the spirit creatures, Jehovah was demonstrating His faith in His servants, when their reasons for trusting Jehovah’s Purpose were at their legitimately lowest point.)
The Merchant scoffed and turned to The Boy. “I suppose you feel like this is a victory?”
“For Job? That’s between him and Jah. For me? Yes. I hate to admit it, but I was actually starting to listen to you for a moment.” The Boy unslung his instrument, and tightened the strings. “I knew the truth of this little ‘contest’. But I had some of the same questions Job had. Nothing wrong with that. All intelligent creatures have questions. But only one being in the universe has all the answers. If He knows everything, and I don’t, why should I put my own thinking above His? And if Job can understand that, now of all times, then what’s your excuse?”
The Merchant let out a hiss and left him then. The Boy played a sweet tune, singing a song of praise and hope.
~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~
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