Hiobs Frau: Fluche Gott, und stirb!

Und seine Frau sprach zu ihm: Hältst du noch fest an deiner Frömmigkeit? Fluche Gott und stirb! (Hiob 2,9)

Fluche Gott
und stirb!
Was ist der Sinn
weiterzugehen?
Er hat alles genommen.
Was ist der Sinn
an ihm festzuhalten
wenn das der Lohn ist
für all deinen Glauben,
für all deine Treue.
Wenn sogar Gottlosigkeit mehr bringt,
warum noch glauben?
Warum noch leben
wenn er uns schon verflucht hat,
das Leben zur Hölle gemacht,
nicht mehr lebenswert?

Gott.
Ich verstehe nicht.
Ist das was du Liebe nennst?
Ist das wie du uns verdankst
für Glauben und Treue?
Ist das was wir verdient haben?

Was soll ich tun
mit diesem Loch in meiner Seele?
Ich klage an
gegen den Himmel,
rüttle an deinen Thron,
denn ich kann nicht mehr,
kann nicht verstehen,
kann nicht glauben,
ich mag nicht.

Wer hört meine Geschichte?
Wer heilt meine Wunden?
Wer lässt mich weinen, und tröstet mich?
Wer lässt mich fluchen und klagen
so viel wie ich muss
bis das Gift raus ist?
Wer
wenn nicht du?

Oh Gott,
der Gott der mich verwundet,
der Gott der mich heilt –
ich verstehe dich nicht,
kann dich manchmal nicht einmal leiden,
und doch
bist du mein Gott
den ich suche
sogar wenn ich dich hasse.

Ich kann nicht vergeben
was du getan hast –
hilf mir, zu vergeben.
Ich kann dich nicht lieben
weil du das zugelassen hast –
hilf mir, zu lieben.
Ich kann nicht vertrauen
der Hand, die mich fallen liess –
hilf mir, zu vertrauen.
Ich kann nicht glauben
an einen "Gott der Liebe"
der dieses Leid zulässt –
hilf mir,
Gott der Liebe,
an dich zu glauben.

Wenn ich es nicht alleine kann,
wenn ich ertrinke in der Finsternis
meiner Trauer und Wut,
rette mich vor mir selbst
und mach mich wieder dein.

______________________________________

[Übersetzung: 13. September 2021, Original: Job's Wife]

Wir haben im Konfirmandenunterricht heute Abend das Thema "Warum müssen Menschen leiden?" und ich dachte, eventuell baue ich dieses Gedicht irgendwo ein, und so habe ich es jetzt schnell übersetzt. Keine Ahnung ob ich es jetzt in der Stunde verwende oder nicht, aber jetzt ist es zumindest mal übersetzt. XD

Was mir wichtig ist aus dem Hiobsbuch: Es gibt keine Antwort zur Frage, warum Menschen leiden müssen - Gott gibt uns keine Antwort. Aber wir dürfen klagen. So habe ich auch dieses Gedicht geschrieben: wir dürfen klagen, dürfen Gott anklagen, dürfen fluchen, dürfen auf Gott wütend sein, vielleicht hassen wir Gott auch zeitweise wenn wir mitten im Leid sind. Gott hält das aus. Oft haben wir gelernt, solche Gefühle nicht auszudrücken, nicht nur nicht gegenüber Gott sondern auch gegenüber Mitmenschen. Lieber still in sich hineinfressen. Was nicht wirklich so gesund ist. Gerade die Geschichte von Hiob zeigt uns aber, dass wir klagen dürfen. Von Hiobs Frau lesen wir wirklich nur diesen Satz, Hiob selbst lässt aber so einiges raus, was wir uns vielleicht nicht getrauen würden, Gott zu sagen. Aber Gott hält es aus! Gott kommt damit klar, und er ist es auch, der uns trösten kann und mit der Zeit auch wieder zu sich führen kann. Aber wenn wir im Moment auf Gott wütend sind dann glaube ich dürfen wir das. Gott hält das aus.

Vom Buch Briefe die ich niemals schrieb von Ruth van Reken habe ich den Gedanken aufgenommen, dass wir manchmal "Gott vergeben müssen". Wenn man so aufgewachsen ist wie ich, dass Gott doch nie Fehler macht usw., dann kann das ein fremder Gedanke sein. Aber auch wenn Gott keine Fehler macht: vielleicht habe ich  mal Mühe mit etwas, das Gott zugelassen hat. Da kann es mir guttun, wenn ich Gott sagen kann: Ich fand das nicht richtig. Und da kann es entlasten, wenn ich Gott vergeben kann. Mehr als wenn ich das Ganze in mich hineinfresse in der Meinung "Gott macht ja keine Fehler usw". Das schadet der Beziehung zu Gott finde ich mehr als wenn ich das wie einen Fehler behandle. Gott kommt damit klar. Ich denke Gott hält in der Beziehung mit uns so viel mehr aus als wir oft meinen. Bei Hiob hat er ganz viel Klage und Anklage ausgehalten und Hiob am Ende recht gegeben.

Wir verstehen zwar nicht, warum Menschen leiden müssen, und Gott gibt uns keine Antwort. Aber wir dürfen klagen. Wir dürfen anklagen. Wir dürfen wütend und traurig sein. Und Gott ist in dem allem bei uns. Für mich ist Gottes Antwort auf das Leiden das Kreuz: Gott der mitleidet. Gott der mitten in das Leiden hineinkommt, es selber am eigenen Leib erlebt, und unsere Klage zur seinen macht, "Mein Gott, mein Gott, warum hast du mich verlassen?" Für mich ist das die "christliche Antwort auf das Leid", und das ist wohl keine Erklärung aber mir gibt es Kraft, wenn ich leide.

Bild von Albrecht Dürer.

Job's Sisters: The Abyss

"Then there came to him all his brothers and sisters and all who had known him before, and they ate bread with him in his house; they showed him sympathy and comforted him for all the evil that the Lord had brought upon him; and each of them gave him a piece of money and a gold ring." (Job 42:11)

Standing
before this abyss of pain.
What can I do?
The words that I speak
are but pebbles that fall
down
down
echoing
into its depths,
swallowed,
useless in its bowels.

Helpless I face this yawning chasm
that consumes and destroys
all attempts at consolation,
my oh-so-spiritual explanations,
every piece of well-meant advice.

The words that I speak
are but pebbles in my hand -
but pebbles can wound and maim and break
an already broken heart.

Standing
before this abyss of pain.
Am I afraid
that if I silently sit
and listen to your tortured tale
it might suck me down
down
down
into the mire of despair
alongside you?
Am I afraid
of sharing your hurt,
of bearing with you this agony,
of wounding my heart
for the sake of healing yours?

What can I do
but stand here by the abyss,
stand here by you?
What can I do
but silently hold you
and listen to your pain
until my tears fall
together with yours?
What can I do
but pour compassion and love
into the bottomless pit
until it is filled?

________________________________________________________________

[23. - 24. May 2016]

I only discovered Job's sisters in Job 42:11 "by accident" a few months ago. You see, there's a lot of women in the Bible who keep jumping at me from around corners just when I thought I was getting close to finishing with the challenge...

Job suffered a whole mass of misfortunes, one after the other, losing all of his possessions, his children and even his health within one day. His friends came to him and sat with him in silence in the beginning - then began trying to explain, to find reasons, to find something, anything sinful in Job's past to somehow explain why God would let something so terrible happen to him. The whole book of Job is basically about these discussions.

I think all too often we Christians act like Job's friends. We look for explanations, or try to give good spiritual advice (I do this too). Or if someone starts lamenting like Job, actually really fighting with God and even telling God off, we quickly try to correct them (well, I do). But does that really help them? God ends up telling off Job's friends. Job was just (even while yelling and complaining all the time), his friends, on the other hand, were in the wrong. Maybe they should have kept quiet, sitting beside Job in his suffering as they did at the beginning.

Job's sisters show up at the very end, after Job gets "rehabilitated" with God. They're at the start of his upward curve. There's not much about them, so writing this I decided to focus on the theme of comforting (since it says that's what they did, along with financial support that probably helped Job get going again).

I often find myself lost for words when I hear stories of suffering. Anything I could say feels meaningless. I know that this isn't always the case, that sometimes people need words. But I find that if I open my mouth too quickly, often the kind of things that come out are not what the person I'm speaking to really needs. Words can wound, whether on purpose or not, and sometimes our attempted "words of comfort" can cause just the reverse of what we want them to. I believe that the most important thing in supporting, comforting and counselling someone is to listen, to give them room to talk. To show empathy. This means making ourselves vulnerable, though - letting what we hear get to us instead of hiding behind advice and correct theology etc.

I think we need to be slower to words and explanations and advice, and quick to compassion in the sense of com-passion / Mit-leid, "suffering with".

Picture by William Blake.

Job's Daughters: Beauty from Ashes

Job 42:10-15

"He named the first Jemimah, the second Keziah, and the third Keren-happuch. In all the land there were no women so beautiful as Job’s daughters; and their father gave them an inheritance along with their brothers." (Job 42:14-15)

I grow from the dust of memories,
shadows that went before me,
the brothers and sisters I never knew.
I rise from the ashes of yesterday,
a new beginning after suffering and death,
a new morning that rises again.
I pour out sweet from the cup of bitterness,
a balm to comfort your tormented soul,
adorning your days of old age.

Sometimes I live
as though they did not,
forgetting that we
are not your only family.
Then I remember:
I am dancing on a grave
and there are still cracks
in your mended heart.

I cannot replace them,
the faces and voices
that still haunt your dreams.
I cannot fill the empty spaces
in our home and in your heart,
cannot drive out the memories
or undo the past.

But, precious father, I will try
to relieve your pain by giving you joy.
I will pour my love on you
and be somebody you can love
and tell your story to.
I cannot replace what you have lost,
but I can help you find purpose again,
raising beauty from the ashes,
letting life begin anew.

_______________________________________________________

[18. December 2015]

I based the first stanza on the meaning of the names: Jemimah means "dove" ("I rise from the ashes" - more the image of a phoenix but it is a bird...), Keziah means "cassia" ("I grow from the dust" - growing plant), Keren-happuch means "horn of antimony", antimony being a cosmetic. So yes, I'm taking a short-cut again and writing one poem for three girls, but I think it worked well this way...

I wrote this thinking about how on the one hand Jemimah, Keziah and Keren-happuch (and their brothers) were a new beginning for Job, while on the other hand they could never be a replacement for the sons and daughters he had lost. I imagine it would be odd, knowing that before one was even born, one's father had a different life, another family, which no longer exists and one can never get to know. Hence "dancing on a grave"...

I find William Blake's picture of Job and his daughters (above) very interesting (and very well thought-out): in the background, it shows Job's losses. So I think it fits really well to this poem. Things go well for Job in the end, and he receives a lot of comfort, not least through his daughters. But the past can't be undone. Still, that doesn't mean things remain dark and hopeless. Job has a chance to enjoy what he has now, and though it does not take away completely the pain of his loss, I think his new family does relieve the pain, giving him something new to live for, encouraging him again.

Job's wife's poem is here.

Mrs Job: This Gaping Chasm in my Soul

Job 1-2


Then his wife said to him, 'Do you still persist in your integrity? Curse God, and die.' (Job 2:9)

Curse God
and die!
What's the point
in going on?
He's taken all away.
What's the point
in holding on
when this is what you get
for all your faith,
for all your righteousness -
if even godlessness fares better,
why hold on to faith?
Why live
when He's cursed us already,
turned life into hell,
no longer worth living?

God.
I cannot understand.
Is this what you call love?
Is this how you reward
faithfulness and righteousness?
Is this what we deserve?

What am I to do
with this gaping chasm in my soul,
hurling accusations
up to heaven,
rattling at your throne,
because I can't take it,
can't understand,
cannot believe
anymore.

Who listens to my story?
Who gently heals my wounds?
Who lets me cry, and comforts me?
Who lets me curse and swear
as much as I need to
to get the poison out?
Who,
if not you?

Oh God,
the God who's wounding me,
the God who heals my wounds -
I do not understand you,
sometimes can't even like you,
and yet
you are still God
and I still need you
even when I hate you.

I can't forgive
what you have done -
so teach me to forgive.
I cannot love
the one who let this happen -
so teach me how to love you.
I cannot trust
the hand that let me fall -
so teach me how to trust again.
I can't believe
in a God of love
who allows this pain -
so teach me,
God of love,
to believe in you again.

When I can't do it on my own,
drowning in my darkness
of fury and despair,
Lord, save me from myself,
and make me yours again.

________________________________________________________________

[22. November 2013]

Job's wife only shows up once, for one little sentence (that seems to be hard to translate because some translations have a footnote saying the Hebrew actually is "bless God" - which I think would change how people view Mrs Job, quite a bit). I suspect she's generally received rather negatively because of her drastic comment. Though maybe we need to remember that Mrs Job was suffering just as much as Job was, had lost everything too, all her children, and now had a sick man on her hands (at least Job could sit around and mourn and fight with his friends over the cause of his suffering; Mrs Job, being a woman, probably still had responsibilities in the house and towards her husband and less time to think and dwell on what had happened!).

I suspect what most of us know best is the first two chapters of the book of Job. Try reading all of it; Job doesn't sound any more pleasant than this poem a few chapters on and gets pretty negative about God too!! It's not an easy book to read. This poem reflects a bit of what comes in some of the later chapters (esp. 3-8).

I hope it's not too "negative". ^^; But if you think one can't speak about or to God like this, I suggest you read Job first - because now that I've read chapters 9-10, I think this poem is pretty tame.

One sentence I need to explain: "I still need you / even when I hate you."
Yes, I almost changed that, not only because I expect it will bother some people, but also because I had some theological doubts about it (Does God help people who hate Him? Isn't hating Him the worst thing we can do? Doesn't precisely that cut us off from salvation? I'm sure there's even Bible verses for that...). Maybe we need to think more about what "hate" means, though. In this case I see it as an emotion that is there and that Mrs Job wants to get rid of and actually needs God's help to take away.

I tend to try and bring out something "good" or at least something one can learn from, when I write these poems. Sometimes it can clash with what I imagine the woman I'm writing about would have thought and felt. I tend to edge towards the provocative (yes, it's on purpose) - when writing about these women's feelings I sometimes can't not write things that sound provocative. :P I try something between being honest to what I imagine these women's feelings to be, and being careful not to step on anyone's feet. But rather than cutting out "I hate you", I felt I'd leave it in, because I think it belongs there and I think there needs to be hope for people who really have trouble in their relationship with God when they don't understand Him anymore.