A time to be silent, and a time to speak

When Job’s three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was. Job 2:11-13

Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15

There is a time for everything… a time to be silent and a time to speak… Ecclesiastes 3:1,7

When did things start to go badly wrong for “Job’s three friends” – his supposed “comforters”? Answer: When they opened their mouths and started to talk.

Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar have come in for plenty of criticism over the centuries, and no doubt rightly so (God himself wasn’t exactly soft on them!). But when tragedy after tragedy began to tumble in upon the head of their friend Job – let’s give them credit – they did exactly the right thing: they agreed together to visit him to give him comfort. According to the verses above, this was a costly and sacrificial thing to do: an act of true friendship.

When they first saw him they “sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights” (imagine that!) and “no-one said a word to him (imagine that!), because they saw how great his suffering was”. That was wisdom! That was sensitivity! That was love!

But… Once Job started to speak - self-pitying and, implicitly, questioning the goodness of God - they literally couldn’t keep their mouths shut; they felt it their duty to defend the justice of God. And they didn’t make a very good job of it, as the next nearly forty chapters of the Bible make clear.

They meant well, no doubt, so let’s not be too critical of them (nor, indeed, should we be too critical of Job, who felt the need to give vent to his misery; can we really blame him?). But the long debate did no good, and simply piled confusion on confusion.

Where are we going with this?

Nearly eight years ago my wife and I moved, in our retirement, to Nottingham. Never have we regretted this decision, for we have found the natives to be friendly (so to speak!), and the city as a whole to be welcoming. So you can imagine how we felt when, earlier this week, our adopted city was top of the headlines for the horrible killings of three people. There’s a solemn sense of sadness, shock and sheer disbelief over the city – and the real “locals”, of course, feel it even more acutely than we relative newcomers.

Making sense of such an event is no more possible than was the attempt of Job’s friends to make sense of his sufferings. They were not privy to what went on behind the scenes in chapters 1 and 2, and neither are we privy to the mind of God regarding this tragic event in Nottingham. So it really would be an act of folly to try and come up with some kind of explanation.

Yet… somehow we Christians often feel that we are under an obligation to say something. We torment ourselves with “I just didn’t know what to say” or “How can you comfort people in such shocking misery?”. To which the only “right” answer is the straight one: You don’t have to say anything. And you have no words of comfort to offer.

Romans 12:9-21 is a wonderful little passage. It has no doctrine or theology (nothing against doctrine or theology, of course, in their proper place), but is purely about how we as Christians should conduct ourselves in this suffering, weeping world. And the key verse is 15: “Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep”.

In other words, says Paul, do what Job’s friends originally did, and don’t attempt to say anything until the right moment comes – the Holy Spirit will make clear when that is. Just be there. Offer any practical support we can, of course. But shallow words of comfort, or clumsy attempts at explanation, are likely to do far more harm than good.

What’s called for is – guess what? – love, compassion, deep sympathy. And these characteristics are radiant and self-evident. The time for words will come – and yes, it must come, for as Christians our faith does equip us to offer a making sense of life and death. But it’s not now, in the time of rawest pain.

The novelist E M Forster was no friend of Christianity. One of his most famous quotations has a character referring to “poor little talkative Christianity”. Ouch! Is there rather too much truth for comfort in that? We stuff our services with words, some intelligible, some perhaps not, forgetting that our words are hollow if they are simply a cover for lack of Christ-like love. We are nervous of silence, of allowing people time to reflect and meditate, just to soak up the presence of God. Should we sometimes take a leaf out of the book of Job’s friends? – before they made the mistake of opening their mouths.

It looks to me, here in Nottingham, that Christian people, both as churches and as individuals, are attempting to demonstrate the love of Jesus to those who are presently in deep pain and confusion. What ultimate “good” it may do is known to God alone, and when and how he chooses to answer our prayers. But our business is simply to persevere in prayer and compassion. Lord, give us aching hearts!

Soften my heart, Lord, soften my heart./ From all indifference set me apart./ To feel your compassion, to weep with your tears./ Come, soften my heart, Lord, soften my heart. Amen. Graham Kendrick