Scripture Daily

Context No. 4154 of 4322 · Job

Context · Reflection

Job 2:6-13: in context

6The LORD said to Satan, “Behold, he is in your hand. Only spare his life.” 7So Satan went out from the presence of the LORD, and struck Job with painful sores from the sole of his foot to his head. 8He took for himself a potsherd to scrape himself with, and he sat among the ashes. 9Then his wife said to him, “Do you still maintain your integrity? Renounce God, and die.” 10But he said to her, “You speak as one of the foolish women would speak. What? Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?” In all this Job didn’t sin with his lips. 11Now when Job’s three friends heard of all this evil that had come on him, they each came from his own place: Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite; and they made an appointment together to come to sympathize with him and to comfort him. 12When they lifted up their eyes from a distance, and didn’t recognize him, they raised their voices, and wept; and they each tore his robe, and sprinkled dust on their heads toward the sky. 13So they sat down with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his grief was very great.

When Job is struck with painful sores and reduced to sitting in ashes, his three friends hear of his suffering and come to be with him. And their first response, before they open their mouths to speak, is exactly right. Seeing him from a distance, so disfigured by suffering they hardly recognize him, they weep, tear their robes, and then sit down with him on the ground for seven days and seven nights, saying nothing.

Later, when they begin to speak, they will say much that is wrong and unhelpful. But their initial ministry, their silent presence, was a real gift to Job. Job's friends did not, at first, rush to explain his suffering or offer advice or cheerful platitudes; they simply came, and sat with him, and shared his grief in silence. Sometimes the real comfort we can offer someone in deep pain is not words, which often ring hollow or even wound, but presence, the willingness to sit with them, to grieve alongside them, to be there. Presence itself is a gift, and often a greater comfort than any words.

When someone I know is in deep suffering, am I willing to offer the gift of presence, sitting with them and sharing their grief even in silence, rather than rushing to explanations, advice, or platitudes that often ring hollow?

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