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Homemade
Nehemiah 3
It takes just one egg to start. One egg in a measuring cup. Beat it very well. You can add a drop of yellow food coloring if you feel sensitive about the color of the dough. Or, you can use an egg that a chicken laid this morning, and the dough will be the perfect golden hue your heart knows is right. If you would like to skip past this recipe, please click here.
Next, add water to the egg to equal one cup of liquid. Mix the water into the egg. Dump the one cup of golden liquid into a medium to large mixing bowl. Now, add flour. Just a little flour at a time. Keep adding flour and stirring until you can’t stir it anymore with a wooden spoon. That’s all you need to start: egg, water, flour, and some effort.
Add a little more flour and knead the dough with your hands until it feels right. You’ll know when. Trust yourself in this. Once you’ve handled and coddled the dough enough, it’s time to let it rest. Tuck the ball of noodle dough into a bowl for a small nap while you work on the rest of the meal. I would cover the bowl tightly with Saran-wrap to keep it from drying out. I also talk to my pasta and bread doughs. This is not required for the recipe, but it does soften the cook and gentles the process. A simple, “there you are, dear. You rest here while I make the broth,” can go a long way in readying your own heart for the task at hand.
You will need a picnic ham, otherwise known as an “end.” It has a bone running right through it, and the bone is filled with marrow. This type of ham end has plenty of fat and skin. It isn’t pretty; it isn’t tied up with a string; it isn’t spiral cut. You’ve hopefully already roasted it with potatoes and maybe green beans for a previous meal. This is the part that’s leftover after you’ve had your ham dinner. Lower it into the bottom of your largest stock pot, one with a lid. Cover the ham end with water, and bring it to a boil. Then drop the heat to medium-low. Cover the pot, leaving one edge of the lid off a little to let the steam escape. You’ve already done more than you really wanted to do for this dinner, and you aren’t done yet.
The smell of ham is going to fill the house. When your family walks in after school or work, they’ll sniff deeply. Ah, the smell of real love in a pot, simmering slowly. By this time, the water has diminished and the broth is a rich, golden color from the fat. Aha! A point I should have made earlier: Do not remove the fat or the skin from the ham. You need the fat to flavor the broth.
You should taste the broth now. Sometimes, the saltiest hams make a plain broth, and a little salt may be needed. You can remove the ham bone after the broth tastes just right, and set it aside to pick any remaining meat off in a little bit. Add a little water to the pot if it’s less than half way up. Turn the heat up to medium and put the lid back on.
Peel and wash at least six fist-sized potatoes. White or golden is fine; Russet are also good. Cut each one into bigger than bite-sized chunks. Make sure the ham broth is bubbling a little before you drop the potato chunks into the pot. Watch for splashing broth.
Now the star of the dinner, the noodles. Uncover your beautiful ball of eggy pasta dough. You’ll need some flour on a large board (or counter). Cut the dough ball into four pieces. Roll out the first piece until it is very thin. If it gets sticky, add a little more flour. Using a pizza cutter or a sharp knife, cut the thin dough into 2 inch strips and then into 2 inch squares. You can play around with the size and thickness until you find your favorite. Repeat this with the other three pieces of pasta dough. After every noodle is cut (good luck finding a place for them to lay while you finish cutting all of them!), start dropping them into the bubbling ham broth on top of the potatoes.
You’ll need to let the pasta cook for twelve minutes, probably. I stopped using a timer for the noodles, so I’ve forgotten. It’s an egg noodle. Cook it as long as you would cook an egg noodle. Stir it every now and then so the noodles don’t stick together. While the noodles and potatoes cook in the ham broth, pick the ham off the bone, and add it to the potatoes, noodles, and broth. You can also add any leftover ham pieces from when you made the roast ham dinner. Let the ham cook in the broth for ten or so minutes, until it’s warmed all the way through.
Now you get to taste it again. First a noodle. Is it al dente? Does it feel like a perfect pasta pillow? Do you immediately want to eat another one? Then they’re ready. Try a potato. The potatoes need to be “mashable,” so fork tender they almost fall apart, but watch out! They’ll be hotter than hot. And finally, try one perfect bite with a noodle, potato and a piece of ham. This combination should make you smile immediately. When you serve this to your family, you can recommend they mash the potatoes in their bowl for a thicker, creamier soup.
Congratulations! You have successfully made Pennsylvania Dutch Pot Pie. It doesn’t have a flaky pie crust. It wasn’t baked in the oven. This is the mystery of this dish. It’s a soup called a pie. You’re welcome.
I did not learn to make this Pennsylvania dish from a cookbook or a recipe card. I learned at Gram’s elbow in her kitchen first, and then with her at my elbow in my own kitchen after I was just married. Gram is my husband’s grandmother. She and Pap welcomed me into their kitchen for meals and instruction on cooking before my husband and I were even married.
Gram didn’t seem to measure anything when she made pot pie, but it always turned out perfectly. I suspect she added an ingredient when I wasn’t looking, and I’m pretty sure it was real love. Long after I learned to make it on my own, she shared a recipe card with me. It had three ingredients on it: egg, water, flour. She forgot to list the love.
Speaking of recipes, I have no less than five spiralbound, church and community cookbooks. I counted to be sure. It seems like I had more than this at one point, but a few were probably tossed during a January purge one year. A quick glance through any one of these collections of recipes yields some intriguing results. For example, “Aunt Charlotte’s Corn Cake,” “Frozen Mud Pie,” “Death by Chocolate,” and “Lazy Man’s Stuffed Cabbage.” And that’s just one book.
I found Helen Packer’s version of Pennsylvania Dutch Pot Pie in another book. She omitted the egg. I suppose you could make the noodles without the egg, but why? She also slices the raw potatoes before dropping them into the broth instead of cutting them into large chunks. Her grandchildren probably think her way is the right way. That’s as it should be.
In the same cookbook as Helen’s Pot Pie recipe, I found a tender memory: a recipe for corn casserole. On page 89 is Ruth Hertzler’s recipe for “Baked Corn.” Next to the title it says in parentheses, “My Mothers [sic].” There’s a big stain on this page from all the times my own mother made Ruth’s Baked Corn. One cook passing her ideas down to another. It feels like we connect to the past this way. Ruth and I have this thing in common: both our mothers made baked corn the same way.
The part that strikes me about these precious cookbooks is that every recipe has a name. I recognize some of the names from my childhood and some from recent years. Some are strangers, but, each recipe has a name attached to it. It isn’t just “Baked Corn.” It’s Ruth Hertzler’s mother’s corn. The names are just as fascinating as the recipes, creating a curiosity about the man or woman who shared it.
In Nehemiah 3 we find a list of names of those who rebuilt the wall of Jerusalem from the Sheep Gate (v. 1) to the “Muster Gate and to the upper chamber of the corner” (v. 31). To start, Eliashib, the high priest, Zaccur, the son of Imri, the sons of Hasanaah, Meremoth, Meshullam, and many, many more. As you read the chapter, notice the connections made between sons and fathers, names and positions, names and locations. The Lord wants the reader to know exactly who He is talking about. It isn’t just Ruth Hertzler’s Baked Corn; it’s her mother’s recipe. It wasn’t just Shallum who repaired; it was “Shallum, the son of Hallohesh, ruler of half the district of Jerusalem” (v. 12). Of special note in this case is that Shallum repaired alongside his daughters. This reminds me of Proverbs 31:17 – “She dresses herself with strength, and makes her arms strong.”
Note also the verbs used to describe their work! The people didn’t just repair, they rose up, built, consecrated, “set its doors, its bolts, and its bars.” They also laid beams, rebuilt, and restored. They brought the wall back from its state of destruction and disrepair that had caused such heartache to Nehemiah (Nehemiah 1:4-11). This rebuilding and restoring was long, hard work. But none of them were alone. They built shoulder to shoulder, side by side.
I am so glad some details of the people who built and repaired are included. There weren’t just servants and common folks who picked up hammers and stones. The priests, Levites, nobles, rulers, and governors also worked. Some additional occupations listed are goldsmiths, merchants, and perfumers. I’ve already mentioned the daughters of Shallum, but there is one more crew of interesting rebuilders that require honorable mention: the men of Jericho. They built next to Eliashib, the high priest (v. 1-2). How redemptive to see men of Jericho working alongside God’s people to rebuild the wall. Remember the wall from their ancestors’ hometown? Recall that God Himself levelled that wall. Yet, here they are, decades after their great grandfathers saw God’s hand of judgment, picking up stone after stone, setting each one carefully to restore the wall of this holy city, Jerusalem.
I’m not going to pretend that a stock pot full of ham pot pie is the same as the God-given work of rebuilding the wall of Jerusalem. It’s close, but not quite the same. I also would never say a cookbook holds as much weight in naming names as God’s own Word! His Word is wonderful, true, pure, and always righteous. I will say this: in whatever work God has called you to or placed you in, work at it with all your might to bring Him glory. Are you building architectural wonders? Teaching small children to read? Baking bread for your family dinner? Opening your home to the needy? Fixing car engines? Mowing lawns? Writing operational procedure documents for your company? Whatever it is, friend, you are called to work in holiness, in obedience, and for God’s own glory. This is how we build.
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When Home is Broken
Nehemiah 2
I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but appliances don’t last forever. Well, unless it’s a vintage dryer passed down from your great grandmother. I’m speaking from experience. Early in our marriage, my husband and I were the grateful recipients of Grammy Rebstock’s old brown dryer. It was an absolute dinosaur, but I have yet to find a dryer that makes my jeans as soft. The door latch broke on it, but instead of buying a new dryer, my thrifty husband added a little bolt to it so the door would stay closed while each load tumbled. When we moved, the dryer stayed behind. Last I heard, it was still drying jeans perfectly. They don’t make them like they used to.
But in general, one can’t expect to find a perfect appliance that lasts for decades. They break. They’re built to break. Between the two of us, my husband and I have replaced the heating element in my oven, the drain hose on a dishwasher, the belt on a washing machine, and the lightbulbs (repeatedly) in multiple refrigerators, microwaves, and ovens. The companies that create the appliances also make replacement parts. It’s how they guarantee customer value over the lifetime of the appliance. And then, of course, there’s the final straw, when the appliance is not fixable. Time for an upgrade! To the tune of $1,999 (for a new Samsung dryer) or more.
I’m struck by the fact that replacing a line of wire on two poles in your backyard costs less than $20, and washing dishes by hand saves money and gives you time to think about your day. Plus, the household often will leave you alone if you’re washing dishes by hand lest they be conscripted to help dry. Solo time after a busy day? Yes, thank you!
I remember washing dishes as a teenager on my tip-toes, elbow deep in sudsy hot water. If you’re short and you don’t know what you’re doing, the water will drip down your elbow as you pass a dish from the soapy dishpan to rinse it. You have to stand on your tip-toes to stay above the drip zone. According to my parents, during one of these after dinner dish washing sessions, a small mouse crept over and stood on its hind legs to sniff the grass stained sole of my bare foot. The mayhem that would have ensued had I known it was a whisker away from touching me! I shudder to think what would have happened if I had lowered my foot at the wrong time.
That particular sink was in the kitchen of the old farmhouse at the end of the electric line in Amesville, Ohio. There was no insulation in that old house. You could see daylight through the exterior walls in some places, and the bitter cold of January was enough to make me go to bed with a hat, gloves, and a coat some nights. For all it’s quirks and failings though, this house was where our family fell in love with each other again, where we retied broken bonds and healed deep wounds. This old house held our hearts gently and left room for us to be angry, or sad, or joyful, or disappointed. I was twelve when we moved in. That was also the year my grandfather died. Our family stepped into a season of mourning. Some places hold you together while you fall apart. As it turns out, a family can’t be repaired as easily as a broken door on an old dryer. There are no mail-order replacement parts for a hurt and broken family.
I have rich memories in that farmhouse of mom baking cookies in the small kitchen, the smell leaking from room to room. Memories of me curled up on our brown plaid sofa, book in hand, while rain was drumming on the old roof shingles, and my brother and dad played guitar on the front porch. What a porch that was! It wrapped around two full sides of that old farmhouse like a hug. My sister and I washed our hair in the rain water that gushed from the downspout on the creek-side of that old porch. And, my mom waged war with the black snake that took up residence under that same side. I could spend this whole post on my memories from this precious place. As Amy Grant sings:
“If these old walls,
Jimmy Webb “If These Walls Could Speak”
If these old walls could speak
Of things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin’ week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.”The memory of that place is dear to me because it represents a wall rebuilt, a family reconnected, a home patched and mended. We were broken when we moved in on a December day, shell-shocked a little, busted up, and uncertain. And yet, somehow, by God’s grace, our family gathered close between those walls and windows. We picked up a stone that had fallen and placed it just so, then another. Little by little we rebuilt a broken wall and lived to tell the tale.
When I read Nehemiah chapter two, I see a man with purpose, surveying the wall of the city he loves, finally seeing with his own eyes the damage that was done and the repairs that had to be made. It was a big task, bigger than one man, bigger than the remnant of people. It required divine strength. Nehemiah takes account of the damage and reports to the leaders in Jerusalem.
“Then I said to them, ‘You see the trouble we are in, how Jerusalem lies in ruins with its gates burned. Come, let us build the wall of Jerusalem, that we may no longer suffer derision.’ And I told them of the hand of my God that had been upon me for good, and also of the words that the king had spoken to me. And they said, ‘Let us rise up and build.’ So they strengthened their hands for the good work.”
Nehemiah 2:17-18As they strengthened their hands for the work God had for them, God strengthened them. Isn’t it great that our feeble attempts at doing the right thing have the gracious hand of God behind them, pushing us, lifting us, enabling us? The Psalmist clarifies this building paradox: “Except the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain that build it.” (Psalm 127) We build, but God really builds.
When God commissioned the people of Israel to build the tabernacle in the wilderness, He gave clear instruction that the people who would create the items for worship would be skilled and enabled by Himself. He chose men by name to embroider and carve and cast and create. Maybe we think God gives impossible tasks to us. Maybe we think He likes to frustrate us with our own inabilities and weaknesses. But this is not the case. God empowers us to obey; He holds our hand while we hold the hammer.
“It’s bigger than we thought
It’s taller than it ought to be
This pile of rubble and ruinsThe neighbors must talk
It’s the worst yard on the block
Just branches and boards where walls stoodDid it seem to you
Like the storm just knew
We weren’t quite finished with the roof
When it started?So we build
Nichole Nordeman “We Build”
We build
We clear away what was and make room for what will be
If you hold the nails, I’ll take the hammer
I’ll hold it still, if you’ll climb the ladder
If you will, then I will, buildI’m still rebuilding. Or rather, God is still working, reframing, raising the scaffold again to reach those spots that I can’t reach up high, tearing down the mess I make to make something good. His work is good. His house is good. His walls are safe. And His plan and way are best.
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Coming Home
Nehemiah 1
I woke up this morning with a sense of happiness and contentment. Usually, I wake up with a heavy feeling, thinking about my list of to-do’s for the day or re-hashing past conversations and feeling shame. I’m told this is due to undiagnosed ADHD. I’m not sure about that. Whatever the reason, I didn’t wake up like that this morning. Today, I woke up happy. Why? My son is home from college for the weekend, and I’ve missed him.
He said it feels different. Home feels different. His dad and I explained that’s a normal feeling. Going away to college is a huge change, and coming home is affected by that change. It isn’t a bad thing. He is in the process of untangling his connections here in our home so they can be extended to a new home in the future. It’s an odd process, this nest-leaving. Some of those tangled roots are deep, and the uprooting is a bit painful and uncomfortable. Mostly for me, his tearful mom.
As I stated in my last post, I’ve experienced homesickness my whole life – always looking for the dirt that will feel just right for my roots to relax and extend into. I understand the strange feeling of coming “home” after moving away. It smells a little different. It sounds weird, noises you don’t quite remember. The light hangs oddly in the room you sleep in, the room that used to be yours but now feels like an extra room in your parents’ house. But, all of this is good. It’s an ongoing reminder that this world is not our home.
C. S. Lewis spoke of this in his classic Mere Christianity. The chapter called “Hope” describes the longing we have for Heaven, saying, “Most people, if they had really learned to look into their own hearts, would know that they do want, and want acutely, something that cannot be had in this world. There are all sorts of things in this world that offer to give it to you, but they never quite keep their promise.”
And of course, I can’t omit his most famous line from this chapter, a quote that settles into my brain like water for thirsty house plants: “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”
We were made for another world. We were made for Heaven, and it calls us! Every time I open the front door to let my moose-sized Labradoodle out for a jaunt, I hear this call towards home. It’s in the way the leaves let go suddenly from a tree limb in fall, the way ice forms long teeth along the porch roofline, and in the way hummingbirds come back to the same hook for red water even if the feeder isn’t there yet. Home pulls at my torso, right where my heart beats at close to 105 bpm (why is mine so fast always?), and it causes a brief catch in my breath – a longing that can’t be answered even on the brightest summer day. Maybe you’ve felt this, too? A rush of fondness for a place you haven’t seen yet, a forlorn, empty feeling, but not sad – no. Very full and happy, because this empty feeling reminds us that Heaven is real! We are looking for that city (Hebrew 11:8-10; 13:12-14), the city made by God and planned for us to dwell in, where Jesus is.
Nehemiah knew homesickness; it was his constant companion. He lived in exile, in the city of the enemy of his people, there by God’s sovereign plan, but homesick still. And then, a visitor from home arrives! Nehemiah asks about the remnant, the exiles who have been able to return and start to rebuild the temple and the city. And the answer breaks his heart. He weeps and mourns for days, and then he prays. He confesses sin, his own and the nation’s sin together, “…we have sinned…we have acted very corruptly…”
And the lesson that I grab from this prayer is so simple – let your sorrow lead you to prayer. Let your homesickness, your longing for Heaven, your displaced, exiled, uncomfortable feelings press you into prayer.
The weekend with my son at home ended. On a Monday, I drove him to meet his ride back to campus. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying on the thirty minute drive to the gas station. I asked a couple of light-hearted questions and then asked how I could pray for him. He had a speech that week, so I promised to mention him to the Father. I parked at a pump so I could fill up my tank. He pulled his bags out of the car, his trombone, a basket filled with freshly washed clothes, his backpack. Such an ordinary exchange! No one could see that my heart was wide open, tears lining up behind my lashes. I grabbed a quick hug before he climbed into the passenger seat of his friend’s car. I told him I love him, got back into my car, and watched them pull away, whispering to myself, “Wait until he can’t see you…just wait.” Then, I cried the whole way home. I was praying for my son through the tears, not that he would move back home and never leave, but that God would let him stay right where he is. What a strange journey this is, parenting adults! I miss them all so much, but I want them to be exactly where God has them. Even here, in this odd place between a full house and an empty nest, homesickness settles into my chest like a chronic case of bronchitis, heavy, tight breaths.
At the end of the first chapter of Nehemiah, there is a desperate plea for God to show mercy and give Nehemiah favor in the sight of the king. See, Nehemiah fully intended to ask King Artaxerxes to allow him to go home and help his people rebuild. It was a big ask. It meant the king would lose something valuable and trusted, someone valued and trusted with the king’s very life. Verse eleven just casually drops this information like a scene at the end of part one of a two-part mystery series. You can almost hear the dramatic pause before Nehemiah records, “Now I was cupbearer to the king.”
I guess, stay tuned until next time. And consider this…
“How lovely is your dwelling place,
Psalm 84: 1-4 (New Living Translation)
O Lord of Heaven’s Armies.
I long, yes, I faint with longing
to enter the courts of the Lord.
With my whole being, body and soul,
I will shout joyfully to the living God.
Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow builds her nest and raises her young
at a place near your altar,
O Lord of Heaven’s Armies, my King and my God!
What joy for those who can live in your house,
always singing your praises. Interlude” -
Homesick
An Introduction to a Study in Nehemiah
I have lived in nineteen different places in my lifetime, five different US states, and (for one memorable summer) a single Canadian province. That’s nineteen front doors. Nineteen back yards. Nineteen kitchens and nineteen different neighborhoods. When I think of the number of neighbors I’ve known over my lifetime, the weight of moving settles over me like a thick blanket. To be clear, the act of moving – wrapping all the glasses and plates in old newspaper, boxing up the family knick-knacks and collections, the endless books, clearing out each closet, filling boxes and labeling them using a sturdy black Sharpie to note room and contents, loading the furniture and boxes and bins onto a U-Haul moving van – that is the easy part. The hard part is finding yourself again after the move, after the boxes are unloaded and unpacked, after the furniture is placed in strange rooms that smell weird and foreign. I was from 2828 6th Street NW just yesterday, now I’m from 4295 Chesser Road. Does 2828 me still have the same life as 4295 me? Am I the same?
I remember leaving a small pink hair barrette in my closet at 2828 6th Street NW when we moved. I thought it would indicate to the family moving in that this was a good room for a little girl. I close my eyes and can still see it on the wood floor, small and insignificant. It was the start of a trail of breadcrumbs I left for myself to find home again. I left a hole in my bedroom door on Chesser Road. I had covered it with a poster for several years so my parents wouldn’t see the evidence of a really bad sibling argument. They saw it on moving day. That poster was the last thing in the house, and I was an anxious mess all day, waiting for them to notice it, hoping they wouldn’t. They did. I left a bicycle behind in South Carolina, unwillingly, I might add, with the neighbor girl. It was a red bike. Another breadcrumb. There was the full bucket of freshly picked New Brunswick blueberries dumped on purpose down the hill in the Wallaces’ back yard. I can still see the bucket tipping in my five-year old hands, the blueberries spilling out and rolling like a tiny blue rock-slide down the hill in front of me. They are long gone now, eaten by birds or little critters, but the memory is a signpost or milestone for me – that was bad day. I left myself a breadcrumb warning, “This is not a place to call home.”
My grandmother grew up a short distance from where I live now. She told me stories of climbing the mountain up the road from their two-story duplex and swinging back and forth on the baby birch trees. She also told me about a handmade wooden canoe that they used as a sled one winter on that mountain. It hit a tree and broke in half. There were ten children, so they lived on both sides of the duplex. Her memory of that house, even when she was in her nineties, remained clear. Two sets of stairs. Two kitchens. An attic where her mama hung laundry to dry. If her mama was hanging laundry in the attic and one of the kids yelled for help, Mama Fisher would have to run down one set of stairs and up the other to get to the needy child. That house is gone now. I drove by the spot recently and saw a vacant lot, as if the place never existed. In her later years, my grandmother often would sigh and say, “Oh, Honeygirl. I just need to get home. There’s so much to do.” But, the place she loved is now gone, and grandma herself has flown Home.
And so we get to the true point of this post. Heaven. Home. Our real Home. Not the mint-green aluminum-sided craftsman on 6th Street NW. Not the three bedroom brick-faced ranch on Chesser Road, or the foursquare farmhouse without insulation at the end of the electric wires in Southeast Ohio. Not even the current farmhouse with its red metal roof and cheery woodstove in the living room. Home is ahead. It turns out that trail of breadcrumbs I was leaving behind me was pointing me forward all along.
Before he was a prophet in Israel, Samuel was a small boy. He was born in Ramah, by God’s gracious intervention on behalf of his mother Hannah (I Samuel 1:1-20), and Ramah was the setting of his early years. But Samuel spent most of his growing up years in the tabernacle at Shiloh (I Samuel 1:21-28), ministering before the Lord in service to Eli, the priest. When Samuel was old enough to leave his mother, Hannah and Elkanah took him to Shiloh and dropped him off. I just took one of my sons to college and left him there this fall. He’s three and a half hours away. So many tears on my part, and he’s an adult! I’m sure Hannah was mourning even in her joy. Did she cry the ugly cry like I did as we drove away from campus? Even though the tabernacle was only 15 miles from her home in Ramah, it wasn’t as if she could load up the family mini-van on the weekends and go visit her boy.
What I want to note is this bit of information found in I Samuel 8:15-17. The account says, “Samuel judged Israel all the days of his life. And he went on a circuit year by year to Bethel, Gilgal, and Mizpah. And he judged Israel in all these places. Then he would return to Ramah, for his home was there, and there also he judged Israel. And he built there an altar to the LORD.”
“For his home was there…” Even though Samuel spent his growing up years in Shiloh, at the tabernacle, his home was Ramah, and it was to Ramah that he always returned. I’m sure there are lines and boundaries and ancient land reasons behind this fact. But there is also the childhood connection to mother and father in Ramah. It remained Samuel’s home, and he continually returned to it over the years of his service. And God recorded it for us to know. It’s a small fact that matters.
I remember returning home to 2828 6th Street NW for a very brief visit. I don’t remember the details of why we were in Ohio on that particular day, or what made my dad think to drive down our old street, but there we were, rumbling over the brick road to see the old place. It was exactly like I remembered it, mint-green siding and white trim. I was completely surprised and excited to see that my neighbor friend Michelle was outside with her dad and sister as we pulled up to our old house. I eagerly jumped out of the car and ran up her driveway to say hello. I’m not sure what I expected from her, but the blank stare and frozen body were not it. I said my awkward pre-teen hello and goodbye and quickly got back into our family car. My dad’s question floated back from the front, “Is that what you wanted?”
No. Not at all. I wanted to have a moment where Michelle and I remembered being little, riding bikes around the neighborhood, picking grapes off the vine on the neighbor’s fence, climbing trees. Instead I got a frozen look and awkward silence. I was no longer from 6th Street NW. I had certainly changed and grown. The place I loved was not the same either. Every now and then, I do a quick Google maps search to see if the old craftsman is still there on that brick street, to check if the County Fairgrounds are on the map, or if the city has turned them into a parking lot, and to see if the surrey racetrack and stables next to the fairgrounds have survived progress. So far, it’s still there. Although, I’m pretty sure the racetrack isn’t used anymore, and the jockeys and horses have left the stables.
In her song “My City Was Gone,” Chrissie Hynde laments the progressive changes liberally applied to her hometown, Akron, Ohio. I echo her sentiment in verse two:
“Well, I went back to Ohio
Song by The Pretenders ‧ 1984
But my family was gone
I stood on the back porch
There was nobody home
I was stunned and amazed
My childhood memories
Slowly swirled past
Like the wind through the trees
Ay, oh, way to go, Ohio”Chrissie and I aren’t the only transplants to lament the conditions of our hometowns. Let me introduce you to Nehemiah, son of Hacaliah, an Israelite exile in the city of Susa, cupbearer to King Artaxerxes. Nehemiah hears news from his homeland (Judah), news that is so discouraging he fasts, mourns, and prays for days (Nehemiah 1:1-4). The news is, “The remnant there in the province who had survived the exile is in great trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates are destroyed by fire.”
Imagine the heartbreak he felt hearing that his beloved city was destroyed, the people in danger, and in shame. The rest of the book of Nehemiah outlines his efforts to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem. It’s a fascinating read, one I’ll be digging into over the next few weeks (I hope you’ll join me here as I study it). I am especially drawn to the comforting promise Nehemiah calls to mind in chapter one.
“Remember the word that you commanded your servant Moses, saying, ‘If you are unfaithful, I will scatter you among the peoples, but if you return to me and keep my commandments and do them, though your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there I will gather them and bring them to the place that I have chosen, to make my name dwell there.’”
Nehemiah 1:8-9This gathering home is a great source of strength and comfort for God’s people. God has gathered, is gathering, and will gather His children home. We are not Home yet. The breadcrumbs point forward.
I have found myself pouring over the breadcrumbs I’ve left behind, trying to re-experience the sounds, smells and sights of home, maybe even to fix the broken parts so memories can feel safer. For example: the dumped bucket of New Brunswick blueberries. My oldest son lives in Nova Scotia now, so we frequently drive the long road through Maine to see him in summer. There’s a blueberry stand on that road. I have bought no less than six, and probably closer to ten quarts of roadside blueberries from that stand. I eat them right from the newspaper wrapped carton as we drive towards Calais, Maine, and the Canadian border. I have yet to find a better tasting blueberry. Does it change the childhood memory? Not at all. But, it does offer a salve for the dumped bucket wound. And it lets me love blueberries again.
I also am on the hunt for the taste and smell of honeysuckle. We used to pick it off the neighbor’s tangled shrub on 6th Street NW, pull the bottom off the bloom (the trick was to get the “honey” to come out with the stamen) and suck the nectar out. I have yet to discover the right plant. It’s almost as if my childhood memory is based on a sense of smell and taste buds I don’t have anymore. Pretty sure there’s some science behind that thought. In her book, The Place You Love is Gone, Melissa Holbrook Pierson writes: “But it’s the recollection of those childhood smells and sights that really gets you. They have an edge, a vibrancy that makes you wonder if maybe you really died some years ago and now just wander your world as a ghost with no nose…the child is closer to the ground by a few feet, closer to all perfumes that emanate from the earth. And his senses are not yet ground down by age.”
This hunt for familiar sights, sounds, smells and tastes can cause an emotional deluge. One Spring, I drove from my old farmhouse in Pennsylvania to my mother’s home near the Pennsylvania border. She loaded her suitcase into my van and settled herself into the passenger seat. I made sure her seatbelt was on correctly (it wasn’t), and turned the radio on. Mom and I sang along to the radio, and she bobbed her head to the rhythm. We were headed, by way of hilly West Virginia, to our old home in Southeastern Ohio. If you haven’t taken a road trip with your own mother and you can, what is stopping you, and what are you even doing with your life? It was so much fun! We had a strange and somewhat scary detour in West Virginia due to a bridge being completely gone. No bridge. The highway ended and dropped off without much warning, just one squad car near the drop-off, and its lights weren’t even on. After surviving the back hills of West Virginia (cue the banjo), it was a relief to pull into the driveway of our friend’s Ohio home. I snapped a selfie in her front yard to capture the odd feeling of standing feet away from where my old house used to sit, an old two-bedroom trailer that had since been sold and moved.
I was delighted to be in familiar space. The air felt right; the sun was in the right spot, and the trees were familiar. But the true emotions didn’t leak out until Sunday morning when mom and I entered our old church. I stepped through the door under the bell tower – was the rope still there? I can’t remember now. Then we walked through the double doors into the sanctuary. Muscle memory is real. My whole body turned to the left to get a piece of gum or candy from the guy who sat in the back just as I had for years growing up in this country church. I burst into tears when I saw him still there, smiling at me. I felt like I stepped into the front door of Home. Worship with those saints was so sweet that day.
Elyse Fitzpatrick talks about moments like this and calls them “thin places.” She describes moments and places on earth that draw our heart’s attention to our true Home, Heaven. In her book Home: How Heaven and the New Earth Satisfy Our Deepest Longings, she says, “The church on earth is the doorstep of the church in heaven. No, it isn’t heaven on earth…it is still located here on this dark planet, with its roots in dirty soil, yet it is the shining portal through which we catch glimmers of golden light, hear whispers of the angelic choir’s refrains, and smell the aroma of breaking bread.”
There is something powerful and quieting about coming home. We drive the highways and streets of our hometown and turn left to head up the familiar country road. There is the sheep farm with the brown faced sheep and the blue farmhouse with the potager garden to the side. The road narrows after that, and a blind curve reminds the driver to pray without ceasing. Another stretch of road, a right turn up the curving dairy farm road, left at the top, and left again. And there it is – the road down into the hollow we call home. It means a warm woodstove in winter, and the sweet greeting waggles and barks of an overgrown Labradoodle. It means table fellowship with loved ones and a cozy spot to read God’s Word. This home is where we practice real Home, where our children have learned about the place waiting for us. I hope we have created a thin spot here for them, where heaven is made more real.
The prophet Isaiah describes our true Home as a place where we will be comforted, at rest, surrounded by beauty, taught by the Lord, experiencing peace and no fear. The Lord says to His people:
“O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted, behold I will set your stones in antimony, and lay your foundations with sapphires. I will make your pinnacles of agate, your gates of crystal, and all your wall of precious stones. All your children shall be taught by the LORD, and great shall be the peace of your children. In righteousness you shall be established; you shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear; and from terror, for it shall not come near you.”
Isaiah 55:11-14 -
Friends, Fortunes, and Family
Job 42:7-17
The Lord Gives
God gave Job seven sons and three daughters, great fortune, many servants, the respect of others, close friends, and a righteous character. Job was described as a very wealthy man with 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 yoke of oxen, and 500 female donkeys. Job was a great man, “the greatest of all the people of the east” (Job 1:3). Job is described by God Himself: “…there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil…” (Job 1:8).
The Lord Takes Away
And then, it was all gone. The wealth, his dear children, his servants, all of his animals, and finally, his own health. All that remained was discomfort, pain, deep sorrow, a broken wife who encouraged him to be bitter against God, and dust and ashes. Job sat in his sorrow for many days. His friends sat with him; at least there was this small comfort of close friends being nearby, grieving with Job. Then, this too was gone when his friends opened their mouths and spilled out judgment.
Blessed be the Name of Lord
This word of broken praise was pressed from Job’s lips when he heard that his children were all killed in a fierce, sudden wind storm. The house where they were celebrating collapsed in the storm and crushed them all.
“Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. And he said, ‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.”
Job 1:20-21Restoration and Reconciliation
At the end of Job’s written story, God doubled Job’s blessings. First, the lord brought reconciliation between Job and his friends. God confronted Eliphaz with the sin of them all, and he commanded them to have Job offer sacrifices for them and pray for them. The Lord accepted Job’s prayer for his three friends.
“My anger burns against you and against your two friends, for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.”
“And my servant Job shall pray for you, for I will accept his prayer not to deal with you according to your folly.”
Job 42:7-8Second, the Lord brought Job’s fortune back to him. He doubled it – 14,000 sheep, 6,000 camels, 1,000 yoke of oxen, 1,000 female donkeys. Now that is no simple homestead, friends! If Job was a great man before all of his suffering, he was even more so after.
Third, the Lord restored Job’s family to him. No, his children who had died in that terrible storm were not returned to life to sit around Job’s table with him. Job had to wait to see them again in Heaven. But God restored his family relationships, beginning with Job’s relationship with his family of origin – his brothers and sisters.
“Then came to him all his brothers and sisters and all who had known him before, and ate bread with him in his house. And they showed him sympathy and comforted him for all the disaster that the LORD had brought upon him. And each of them gave him a piece of money and a ring of gold.”
Job 42:11This is such a comforting verse in the story of Job. Relationships matter. Time together around the table, breaking bread together, matters. Job had previously lamented that everyone he loved and cared about had abandoned him including his relatives and closest friends (Job 19:13-19). But the Lord restored those relationships and brought healing to Job. He is done with the active attack against him at this point, but he still had sorrow over what was lost. It was meaningful mourning. And God allowed his family to come around him and comfort him.
Finally, the Lord restored Job’s immediate family by blessing him and his wife with ten more children, seven sons and three daughters, Jemimah, Keziah, and Keren-happuch. They were considered the most beautiful daughters in the land. Job blessed his daughters with an inheritance alongside their brothers.
“And after this Job lived 140 years, and saw his sons, and his sons’ sons, four generations. And Job died, an old man, and full of days.”
Job 42:16-17Job Points to Jesus
This is the end of the written story of Job. But the story isn’t just about Job. Do you see the connection to Jesus in the character and story of Job? We know Job’s story must point to Christ in some way because Jesus, after His resurrection, reminded two of His followers on the road to Emmaus that all of Scripture tells about Him (Luke 24).
Do you see the connection to our Heavenly Father? He points to His beloved Son, proclaiming Him as His very own (Matthew 3:17) and commanding us to listen to Him (Matthew 17:5). See how the Lord points to Job as a righteous man (Job 1:8)? “Have you considered my servant Job?”
Do you see how Job remains upright in suffering, even in losing almost everything? See also how Jesus suffered for us though there was no sin in Him at all (Isaiah 53), giving up His own life, and leaving us His perfect example (Isaiah 53, I Peter 2).
Can you trace the connection between the final end of Job – a double blessing and full restoration – and Jesus’ victory over death and the grave? Consider Philippians 2 where Christ is highly exalted after laying down His own life for us. Let your heart burn (Luke 24:32) when you read Scripture – every part of it – as it points you to the Savior. It is HIS story.
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Who Can Say?
Job 40, 41, 42: 1-6, and Proverbs 30: 1-9
Agur, son of Jakeh recorded his oracle (Proverbs 30), his prayer, his request of simple things for a simple man. I ask the same. Lord, if You could work these things into my head and my heart, press them into the threads of my being, make me like this, Lord. Like Agur, I ask…
“Two things I ask of you; deny them not to me before I die: Remove far from me falsehood and lying; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is needful for me, lest I be full and deny you and say, ‘Who is the LORD?’ or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.”
Proverbs 30:7-9Before Agur asks for an honest heart and tongue, before he asks for just enough and not too little, before he asks for integrity and trust and contentment, he shares his weary heart. Weary with himself, worn out and tired, mentally tapped out, lacking wisdom even while desiring it, and truthful about his lack of understanding of God Himself – the Holy One. His words sound familiar, like the words of God to Job:
“Who has ascended to heaven and come down? Who has gathered the wind in his fists? Who has wrapped up the waters in a garment? Who has established the ends of the earth? What is his name, and what is his son’s name? Surely you know!”
Proverbs 30:4I get excited reading the words about the Son right here in Proverbs. A glimmer of salvation in the words of this weary man! For a brief second, the spotlight swivels to Christ, and it catches my breath in wonder.
How can I explain the Holy One or His Son in words that can be typed from a qwertyuiop keyboard? I agree with Agur – my words are lacking, and my understanding is insufficient, or rather, non-existent. “I have not the understanding of a [human]. I have not learned wisdom…” (Proverbs 30:3). But also, how can I not talk about Him? He has sustained me and redeemed me, calling me by name. When one is in love, one can’t stop talking about the one they adore. I think Agur speaks from a heart of love for God. He praises God for His perfect Word, for His protection and shelter (Proverbs 30:5). Then he exhorts, echoing similar stern warnings found in Deuteronomy 4:2; 12:32; and Revelation 22:18.
“Do not add to his words, lest he rebuke you and you be found a liar.”
Proverbs 30:6So, now…with the grateful love I have for the Holy One and with the warnings to not add to His words ringing still, I will tell you what Job learns at the almost end of his story. First, God challenges Job to a wrestling match of arguments:
“Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? He who argues with God, let him answer it.”
Job 40:2Can you imagine? Job responds the only way one could respond, with deep humility and a contrite heart. I was too quick to speak, Lord! I don’t have a good answer for You! I’m shutting up now. What could I even say? And God answers Job’s humility, not from a still small voice like Job could have wanted, but out of a literal whirlwind, a tornado of fierce wind and word: “Dress for action like a man; I will question you, and you make it known to me.”
God questions Job about power. This reveals to Job that he is completely unable, without understanding or wisdom regarding the Holy One. God presses Job to examine his inability, telling him to robe himself with majesty as the LORD does (Psalm 93), to pour out wrath on the proud like God does, to bring the proud low and humble them. And Job is silent because he cannot. And you cannot. And I cannot.
God gives a couple of object lessons in power (Job 40:15-40:34). First, Behemoth. A great, terrifying beast! If you can read this passage and picture a hippo, I don’t know if we can be friends. Fine – it could be referring to a hippopotamus. It could also be a description of a dinosaur that is now long gone. Some say it could be an elephant. I’m trying to picture the elephant’s floppy, long, thin tail as a cedar tree. Hmm. But the point is this – Job would have been awed by the creative, sustaining power of God Almighty in the creation, care, and control of this powerful animal. I choose to picture a dinosaur when I read the passage, but truthfully, I would be completely terrified if I came across a hippo or an elephant in the wild; they are, after all, wild animals. Only God has perfect power over them.
Next, God describes Leviathan. I’ve read chapter forty-one multiple times, and I always see a dragon; it breathes flames (v. 18-21)! We can argue that dragons are mythical creatures that exist only in stories. That may be (probably is) true. And, even so, God told Job about a huge, iron-scaled, sharp-toothed, fire-breathing, sea-dwelling beast. No one dares to oppose this creature. No one can tame it or control it. It’s impossible to kill with swords, clubs, arrows, or stones. This is no Don Quixote windmill. Again, the animal is not the point here. The power of God is the point.
“Lay your hands on him; remember the battle – you will not do it again! Behold the hope of man is false; he is laid low even at the sight of him. No one is so fierce that he dares to stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me? Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Whatever is under the whole heaven is mine.”
Job 41:8-11God makes it crystal clear to Job and to us, reading now in the year of our LORD, 2025: God is God alone; there is no one that has given anything to God or contributed to His power. He doesn’t need anything; He doesn’t need us. He is self-existent, self-sufficient. He is I AM. And we are not. So let’s respond as Job has, with humble praise, with submission and awareness of our condition before the Holy God. Job quotes his own proud words in his humble confession. He remembers the ways he argued with God, and he repents.
“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’
Therefore, I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
‘Hear, and I will speak; I will question you, and you make it known to me.’
I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore, I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.”
Job 42:1-6This is the almost end of Job’s story, the part where Job sees God for who He is and is humbled. Job has suffered so much tragedy and loss with God’s allowance. Does it hurt to think about this? Does it cause us to doubt God’s love and goodness? Job has mourned and sorrowed. He has grieved deeply, dipping into the lands of depression, wishing he was no longer alive. And now, faced with God Himself, his suffering seems so small. Is it okay for the Creator to un-create? Is it right for the Sustainer to stop sustaining? God says of Himself, “Whatever is under the whole heaven is mine.” And God can do whatever He wants with His things. Are we able to accept His sovereignty in all areas of our lives?
When we find ourselves in times like these – suffering, loss, calamity and trial – can we say with Agur, “Every word of God proves true; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him,” or, are we stubborn, stiff-necked, angry, proud, taking up our weapons to fight back against the movement of God in our life? Set your weapons down, friend. Stand in awe before the Holy God. Be breathless in wonder at His mighty deeds.
“Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.”
I Peter 5:6-7 -
You Don’t Even Know What You Don’t Know
Job 39 and Psalm 73
“Do you know…?”
“Do you observe…?”
“Can you number…?”
Questions can soften a hard heart. Sometimes. If the heart has a crack, even just a little one, big enough for the truth to seep in, sometimes the question reaches in through that crack, pulls the stony pieces of the heart out of the way, and grabs hold of the soft part of the heart, the part that hasn’t died yet. It wrings out the confession, the tears, and offers deep relief even.
I sat across a table from a dear friend recently, and she told me that she believes everyone is just three questions away from tears. Three perfect questions that get to the real heart of the matter. When we talked about loved ones we’ve lost, her eyes welled up and tears spilled out. Her heart is tender; it leaked out of her eyes and into our conversation. It didn’t even take three questions, just a name. Lord, let me be that tender!
God asks Job some heart-softening questions: Do you know…can you see…can you even count…? He gently (majestically!) leads Job to the only answer possible. “No, LORD! Have mercy on me; I don’t know! I can’t see! I have lost count of all Your wonders.” Well could Job have said with the Psalmist:
“When my soul was embittered, when I was pricked in heart, I was brutish and ignorant; I was like a beast toward you.”
Psalm 73:21-22God gives Job a visual of natural events that Job would not have known about or seen. The wild goats – had Job ever watched them give birth? Did he know how long their gestation period is? Can he tell what happens to their young once they grow up and wander away on their own? Does Job have any clue about the life and times of a wild donkey? How about the wild ox? Can Job train the wild ox to do his work for him and then trust the ox to complete it without oversight? The point? These all exist for the glory of God. God created them to bring Him joy and glory. What Job does or doesn’t know about them is meaningless to their well-being. That is all in God’s hands.
God asks Job about the ostrich. She lays her eggs in the sand with no thought about their safety. Who watches over them? Who indeed. God sees each egg and cares for its well-being, development, food, growth, life. He sees it hatch. He sees the mother abandon the eggs in fear because she lacks wisdom. And God is the one who made her this way, because it pleases Him.
“The wings of the ostrich wave proudly,
Job 39:13-18
but are they the pinions and plumage of love?
For she leaves her eggs to the earth
and lets them be warmed on the ground,
forgetting that a foot may crush them
and that the wild beasts may trample them.
She deals cruelly with her young, as if they were not hers;
though her labor be in vain, yet she has no fear,
because God has made her forget wisdom
and given her no share in understanding.
When she rouses herself to flee,
she laughs at the horse and rider.”God describes the majesty of the war horse to Job – does Job get it? Can he know the mind of the horse in battle as the swords and shield flash and clang and the captains shout their orders? What about the hawk and the eagle? Does Job know how they soar at great heights, how they dive for their prey, how they build nests on high? God knows all His own creation, every cell, every hair on the horse’s mane, every feather in the eagle’s tail, every instinct of His many created animals. God understands and cares for their every need. What can Job offer here? How has Job sustained the life of every created thing let alone his own life? The message is clear – God alone is sovereign over all His creation. God alone has power over all His own creation – power to care, to see each need, to provide, and to protect. God alone understands all this. And since God understands it, cares for it, sees it, knows it, then God alone can be trusted to care for, see, understand, know Job. And me. And you.
We are all just one conversation with God away from a humbled heart, all just a handful of words away from confession. Let His words sink in through the cracks in the hard parts. Let His kindness, care, knowledge of your need overwhelm you with humble gratitude. He sees you. He knows about that spot in your armor that got a nick in the last battle. He knows about the wound underneath it that still smarts when you move a certain way. He knows what wakes you up in the middle of the night, scared, breathless, heart racing. He knows, and He cares. Do you believe this? Do you trust Him – the One Who watches over the ostrich’s abandoned eggs – do you trust HIM with your broken, seemingly abandoned heart? Are you willing to let go of the grip you have on that deceptive feeling of control, the imagined power you think you have? Are you able to let go of it? Right. Me too, friend. That grip is really a battle-weary hand cramped around the weapon we fashioned to protect ourselves from further hurt. Let’s drop our weapons, run to the Father, and let Him carry us.
“Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”
Psalm 73:23-26 -
The King Speaks
Job 38
The rain is falling outside. It’s hitting the metal porch roof on this old farmhouse. I have the window open so I can hear its music, lovely and comforting. God promises His people in Hosea and in Joel (see Hosea 6:1-3 and Joel 2:23) that He will come to them like the early, gentle rain and also like the latter, driving rain. Nourishing, cleansing, refreshing, sustaining rain.
But the Lord doesn’t come to Job with gentle rain. He speaks to Job out of a whirlwind. Here is the King of kings, arriving on a tornado-chariot with questions that would make Job’s heart melt and his bones dissolve. How does Job survive this encounter? Only by God’s grace.
God Himself answers Job. This is mercy – to have a multitude of questions, unbearable struggles, deep heartache, and to ask God about it; to ask, “Why, Lord?” and “How long?” And then, for God Himself to answer. His presence is the best answer, God speaking, knowing, seeing, hearing. When the storm is blowing, and the waves are rolling into the boat, the best plan is to curl up next to the Savior in the boat. There, we are safe.
God answers Job’s questions with questions. “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” And God confronts Job – stand up, man! “Dress for action like a man; I will question you…” Questions bring conviction in a willing heart.
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements – surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?”
Job 38:4-7I love the visual of the stars singing together at the beginning as God created the world. So much joy! C. S. Lewis does an excellent job of describing a similar scene in his book The Magician’s Nephew, as Aslan sings Narnia into existence and the stars join in.
Job did not hear the stars sing at the beginning; no human did. The song was glorious on its own – no audience required, though the angels were present and shouted with great joy. Job also was not present when God set a boundary for the sea He made. “This far shall you come, and no farther…” And Job was not present when God created the morning, the sun that breaks on the horizon and rises in the east. “Have you commanded the morning…?”
Job had no deep sea diving experience. He had not walked along the bottom of the Challenger Deep at the south end of the Mariana Trench, 35,800 some feet below breathable air (described HERE). But God knows what is there. Every inch is known to Him, and nothing is hidden from Him, not the depths of the oceans or the depths of our own hearts (Psalm 139:7-12; Hebrews 4:12-13). Even if Job could have glimpsed the deepest parts of the ocean (v. 16), or the farthest reaches of the expanse of space (v. 19-20); even if he could have walked on the surface of the sun and seen how the planets move around it, how solar events cause the impressive northern auroras on earth, even if…he would still have been unable to comprehend it (v. 18), control it, direct it (v. 20), explain it, create it, maintain it. Only God.
And what of us? We see farther into space now than Job ever did. We have taken submarines to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, we have explored deep parts of the earth, the surface of the moon, of Mars, and seen pictures of cosmic bodies that would have paralyzed Job and his friends in wonder. Are we more in awe of God than Job? Has our advanced technology drawn us closer to the Creator? We think we know so much, but there are still many unseen wonders on our planet alone and countless more in the universe.
Consider the snow, the hail, the frost and ice. What do we know about the architectural design of each snowflake? The water wraps itself around a speck of dust and freezes in perfect symmetry, and we think we know about snow. Explain why rain falls in one area and not another. The earth needs rain to grow and thrive. Humans need the rain to water their crops and fill the wells and waterways. Yes, we know about the science; we know HOW it works, but why does it even exist?
And even more, are we able to make the constellations move in the night sky? They do move; they have. We have a new North Star every 26,000 years – in roughly 12,000 years, Vega will once again be our North Star, and Polaris will be demoted (You can read about it HERE). God is unsurprised by this – He planned for it, He has a name for every star in the heavens (Isaiah 40). Yet we think we understand the movements of the stars and planets.
“Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades or loose the cords of Orion? Can you lead forth the Mazzaroth in their season, or can you guide the Bear with its children? Do you know the ordinances of the heavens? Can you establish their rule on the earth?
Job 38: 31-33We wander about on our planet, examining the wonders of His hands like children on a field trip, trying to grasp the complexities of a pinecone with its perfect equation of scales and spirals. When Fibonacci discovered this golden sequence of numbers, did he also think he had power over it in creation? Did he imagine for one second that he could create something as pristine as a pinecone or a seashell? God has placed it there for our enjoyment, our amazement, and His glory. We should be left speechless, humbled, amazed.
But still we question His ways. Rightly could the King of the Universe ask us, could ask me, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?”
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Behold, the Lamb of God!
Job 37
These are the words of Elihu about his God. These are the words of a man who believes that God is King, that He made all things, knows all things, deserves all the praise. These are the words of a herald, a messenger who broadcasts the coming of the King. Over a thousand years later, another messenger will proclaim Jesus’ coming. He is “the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,” John the Baptist (John 1:23). John also heralds the King of kings. Of Jesus, he says, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”
Elihu, like John, understands he is not worthy of this King. Chapter thirty-seven begins with Elihu’s declaration of humility, “At this also my heart trembles and leaps out of its place.” He is overwhelmed at the voice and power of God in the thunder, the lightning, the snow, the driving rain, beasts of the earth, the cold – the breath of God – ice, all of God’s wondrous works. He exhorts Job to consider all this, to consider the power of God in creation, to consider the purpose of God in his care and correction of His own creation. He points Job to the sovereignty and power of God:
“Teach us what we shall say to him; we cannot draw up our case because of darkness. Shall it be told him that I would speak? Did a man ever wish that he would be swallowed up?”
Job 37:19-20We aren’t even able to look at the blazing sun that God has created (v. 21); how could we expect to face the sovereign King in His glory (v. 22-24)?
I am brought back to the Lamb of God. John heralds His arrival, proclaims the coming King who would be the perfect Lamb, slain for us. A spotless lamb, without blemish. Jesus is our humble Savior, afflicted, pierced, a man of sorrows (Isaiah 53). And He is the “Lamb who was slain,” worthy of all worship (Revelation 5).
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”
Revelation 5:12It’s lambing season. The sheep farm down the road from us will soon have tiny, adorable lambs skipping around the farm yard. They are Tunis sheep, brown faced with creamy wool, bred mainly for their meat. That’s the hard part – the thoughts of the sale barn and impending slaughter have to be pushed back in my mind. I’ll pretend for awhile that they get to stay with their flock, growing fat on the grass over the summer. Then, the day comes, when I notice there are far less lambs in the fields.
Jesus wasn’t this kind of Lamb, small and helpless. He was silent before his accusers, yes, calmly taking the blows, the thorns, the weight of the cross. But His purpose was clear in front of Him; He walked in authority to His death, laying down His own life. When John the Apostle sees Him in Heaven in the revelatory vision, he sees a slain Lamb that is worthy of worship. Meek, mild, gentle, and powerful beyond our comprehension. This is hard for us to imagine. Hear John’s description:
“…and I began to weep loudly because no one was found worthy to open the scroll or to look into it. And one of the elders said to me, ‘Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals. And between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders, I saw a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain…”
Revelation 5:4-6aStand with me for a moment in your mind, eyes riveted on Jesus, the Lamb of God. Do you see the King? He is God Himself, wrapped in glory, awesome in might, the only One worthy to open the scroll, worthy of our worship – our focused, un-distracted worship. Pause for one moment as you consider the glory of our King. We can say with Elihu:
“God thunders wondrously with his voice; he does great things that we cannot comprehend.” “The Almighty – we cannot find him; he is great in power; justice and abundant righteousness he will not violate. Therefore men fear him; he does not regard any who are wise in their own conceits.”
Job 37:5, 23-24There is none like our God. He is beyond our understanding; He is glorious in might and in holiness. Paul says of Him,
“who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen.”
I Timothy 6:16And so, with Job and Elihu, and the rest of creation, we wait. We wait for the appearing of the King. Job and his friends are about to hear the voice of God Himself, the voice that thunders from unapproachable light. The voice of the King, of the Lamb, of the Beloved Son. Hear Him (Luke 9:35).
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Elihu as a Herald
Job 36
“Hark, the Herald angels sing!” It’s the very last day of February in a Leap year. The Christmas season is long past. Carolers, churchgoers, and choirs have been harking and heralding all winter. But now, the bright excitement is quiet, and we have landed squarely at the end of the coldest month. March is revving up to come in “like a lion.” Winter is fading. It’s still cold and windy out; snow and ice are common decorations on the trees and roads, but the air has some life in it. Almost like Spring really will come again this year like it always does. Before we jump into brave daffodil season, let me just bring you back to the cozy warmth and blazing light of the heralding angels for a moment:
They came as messengers for the King. “He really is coming! Get ready! Go see Him!” They heralded His glory and majesty and then described how the astonished shepherds would find Him – in a feeding trough, wrapped in swaddling cloths, just born, with the vernix freshly washed from his very human skin. The angels announced the King in glory…then the shepherds found Him in humility (See Luke 2 for a summary).
Elihu can also be seen as a herald. He’s been preaching the glory, majesty, and power of God to Job and his three friends. Chapter thirty-six and thirty-seven are his final words, his final announcements: Elihu has more to say on God’s behalf. The following are his comments about God in list form.
- He is our Maker (v. 3).
- He is righteous (v. 3).
- “God is mighty” (v. 5).
- He does not despise us (v. 5).
- He has full-strength understanding, complete wisdom (v. 5).
- He judges the wicked (v. 6).
- He cares for the afflicted (v. 6).
- His eyes are always on the righteous (v. 7).
- He sets up kings for the seasons and times He desires (v. 7).
- He judges wicked rulers and tells them their fault/wrong (v. 8-9).
- He gives ears to hear His instructions and correction (v. 10).
- He blesses the obedient (v. 11).
- He condemns the wicked and rebellious (v. 12-14).
- He delivers the afflicted in their affliction (v. 15).
- He teaches the afflicted with the adversity they face (v. 15).
- He blesses his people and provides home and food for them (v. 16).
Then Elihu gives some counsel, insight for the afflicted, encouragement to not turn to iniquity in the midst of affliction, but to allow it to teach, allow it to instruct. He says of God:
“Behold, God is exalted in his power; who is a teacher like him? Who has prescribed for him his way, or who can say, ‘You have done wrong’?”
Job 36:22, 23Next, Elihu exalts God as the Creator of all things; His power evident in all He has made. He heralds God’s might and wisdom in making the earth, the weather, the depths of the sea. He reminds Job and his friends that God is the One that sends rain, clouds, lightning…
“Behold God is great, and we know him not; the number of his years is unsearchable. For he draws up the drops of water; they distill his mist in rain, which the skies pour down on mankind abundantly…He covers his hands with the lightning and commands it to strike the mark. It’s crashing declares his presence…”
Job 36:26-33“I love you, O LORD, my strength. The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies…he sent out his arrows and scattered them. Then the channels of the sea were seen, and the foundations of the world were laid bare at your rebuke, O LORD, at the blast of the breath of your nostrils. He sent from on high, he took me; he drew me out of many waters. He rescued me from my strong enemy and from those who hated me, for they were too mighty for me.”
Psalm 18: 1-3, 14-17Hold on, Job. The King is coming. He will stop your enemy in his tracks. He will draw you out of many waters. He will restore you. He will comfort you. He will heal you. But first…He will teach you in your affliction. He will reveal Himself to you in power and in might.
Hold on, friend. The King is coming! Your affliction is not the end of the story. God is not astounded by your trouble. He isn’t confused or uncertain. He gathers his arrows to fight on your behalf, against sin, against your enemy. He came first incognito, humble, wrapped in human skin so that He could conquer sin, death, hell, the grave, and deliver us into His kingdom of light (Colossians 1). He comes next as conquering King, victorious already, riding on a white horse, the Word of God Himself (Revelations 19). Hold on, friend, as He holds you, and be taught by Him in righteousness and trust.
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Christina Grubb 