On Having ‘Job Friends’

“Men at ease have contempt for misfortune,” Job 12:5

I had a Job friend once. It took me a while to realize it. It started during the time leading up to my separation from my abusive now-ex-husband. I had been struggling with it for years — multiple marriage counselors, reaching out to friends for advice, trying to figure out what I could and should do… When the shiz finally started hitting the fan, I had one friend in particular who responded to me in ways like “…are you really submitting enough?” “…are you sure you’re respecting him like you should?” And my stories to her of desperation were met with askance-eyed, tight-lipped smiles of “I love you, but…” 

Eventually I started getting knocked upside the head with references to the book of Job. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s about a man whom God allowed to be tormented by satan, so satan proceeded to destroy Job’s family, home, finances and health. He’s left miserable, lonely, destitute and hopeless. Three godly friends of his came to sympathize with him, and it all seemingly started off well, as they sat with him on the ground without doing anything for a solid seven days. This seems like a very compassionate ‘mourn with those who mourn’ kind of gesture. Then they started talking. The majority of the story is those three friends telling Job that he must clearly have deserved everything that was happening to him, that he was somehow to blame, and then Job defending himself. Toward the end there was one young man who gave some good advice, and then God basically said He was super pissed at the three friends, and that Job should pray for them and make sacrifices on their behalf so they could be forgiven. In other words, He was tempted to smite them all, but was being nice.

When I finally started pondering this at that time, I realized how it related to my own situation, having this friend telling me I must have done something to deserve what was happening in my marriage. And it was encouraging to feel that God was not actually in agreement with or pleased with the patronizing, critical, unhelpful feedback I was receiving. Conveniently, this friend also started finding herself being reminded of Job, although her interpretation was that she was the ‘good friend.’ Everyone thinks they’re the good friend. 

A current close friend of mine has recently been going through a similar situation, and he, too, has been blessed with a Job friend. When he explained to this friend of his about the abuse and misery he had been living with for so long, the friend responded by sending a long missive pleading with him to reconsider his position so he can be 'restored.' If not, this friend mournfully explained, he would be forced to cut him out of his life. Which is basically verbatim what Job’s friends kept saying to him. And saying to him. 

The parallels and unlearned lesson seem painfully clear. And unfortunately, I think this is all too common. Look for a person going through a terrible situation and you can often find (I hate to say it, but especially within the church) someone telling them they must have done something to deserve it — or, in a watered down phrasing, that if they didn’t do A, B, C, things would be better — which means the exact same thing, it just makes the person saying it feel nicer and more logical. Like they're just trying to reasonably point out the flaws in the way the person has been acting, which, again, is the exact same tactic of Job's friends. In fact, in Job, they seem so genuine and concerned and knowledgeable and persuasive that it often goes over my head at first just how crappy they are being to him. But that's coming from a serial apologizer. Plus there's the added benefit of it being super clear they were being jerks to him based on the fact that God said they were being jerks to him, which spares me the necessity of doubting my interpretation. 

This whole tired, 'helpful' unhelpful judgement parade happens to people in abusive relationships, people who have been sexually assaulted or sexually harassed, people who are struggling to get by financially. It happens to people who are victims of racial profiling and physical assault, and even murder. “You know, that’s unfortunate, but…” “If you hadn’t…”

“Men at ease have contempt for misfortune.” If we translate that into our modern context, it would read “People who have privilege look down on those who suffer from the lack thereof," or, more generally, "People whose lives aren't that difficult look down on those whose lives are." People take their own privilege for granted, and then blame those around them suffering from the imbalance created by their not-God-given legs-up in life. Blaming the poor, blaming victims of assault or abuse, blaming the victims of the crooked system. Or even as simply as looking at those in lower socioeconomic classes or living in poorer regions of the world as somehow being deserving of their situations. It's prideful and disgusting and very, very common.

The story of Job is, in large part, a very early tale of victim blaming, and the ending is a clear example of God calling out victim blaming as a clear and blatant sin. How many people within our country, our culture, reply to anyone going through a trauma with censure of some sort, often doled out in trappings of holiness and claims of wishing for better circumstances for those who have unfortunately made such bad choices — those people who carry such inherently flawed morality/judgement/work ethic — those people who are so different. I've heard the victims of terrorism in Syria being blamed for their genocide because they didn't do a better job of fighting the terrorists off. Black people are blamed for... basically everything, no matter what happens to them. This is not compassion. This is not love. This is not helpful. That is what the book of Job, I believe, was attempting to make clear. 

Regardless of the arguments, the eloquence, the logic, the reasons and refutations. God had the final word and God was clear: the things those 'friends' said were pronounced untrue. 

Peace,

S.B.T.


Find me on Google+

The (Hopeful) Rise of the Sensitive Man

Sensitive men can change the world. 

My children are some of the many to be enchanted by Mr. Rogers. For decades there have been boys and girls who found in Mr. Rogers a loving adult — someone safe, gentle and compassionate. He was someone who worked to understand them and encourage them; that was Fred Rogers’s goal in creating his show — to provide a loving example and friend for children who might not have any others, and to teach them to understand, acknowledge and manage their feelings. 

When Mr. Rogers appears on the screen, my children smile. They wish he could be one of their friends, and envision him as someone they really know. In reading The World According to Mister Rogers, I discovered that Fred Rogers himself created a character for his show — Mr. McFeely — based on his own grandfather, whom he remembers as kind, loving and influential in his own life. And, as strange as it may seem for a grandfatherly figure we grew up with, (and yet how relatable) Mr. Rogers himself related most to the character of Striped Daniel Tiger, who was a shy, small and nervous tiger cub.  The cycle, it seems, repeats itself. And Mr. Rogers's legacy lives on today in a great way. 

Recently, as I have been repeatedly listening to Sufjan Stevens’ album Carrie and Lowell, I am impressed by the emotion and power behind the song “Eugene,” about a grandfatherly man Sufjan befriended as a boy. The impact of the man Eugene is plainly still sketched, painfully, beautifully, indelibly on the man Sufjan. In particular, the song reminds me of my dearest childhood friend — an old man named Mr. Windey. From the time I was a tot until Mr. Windey passed away, his was the home I wanted to visit. His was the lap I wanted to sit upon; his was the belly I wanted to drum. He was a safe place — warm, gentle, lively, and always excited to see me. I wonder how many of us have had our own Eugene. And how many haven’t. 

The most influential people throughout my life, both emotionally and in terms of strengthening my belief in myself, have been the caring, compassionate men I have met along the way. The occasional friends and teachers who saw something unique in me and called it out. 

Craig was the pastor who lead youth trips during all of my middle school and high school years. I just saw him again a week ago. He always felt to me like a father, and is one of not very many people who has been around for a lot of the less-proud moments and seasons in my life, yet never let those things color his view of me. He has always respected me, valued me (along with the many youth he befriended over the decades), called me higher, and has been neither stingy nor dishonest in the praise he has given — praise delivered with a discerning stare — almost sharp, Dumbledorian — and a warm heart. 

There was David, who led the trip I took to Uganda. David is a beautiful man, one I am proud to call a friend. Big and strong, he loves people, is passionate about fighting for human justice around the world, and is brought to tears more easily than almost anyone I have met. Seasoned by his great sensitivity, David has a clarity of vision that is unwavering (unless change is called for by greater understanding). He was another who called me out — called me to a special side-trip in Uganda where I would end up sharpening my public speaking skills and strengthening my self assurance. 

There was Pastor Moses — an entirely unforeseen friend who in many ways colored the Uganda trip for me. He appeared one day, immediately bringing me encouragement about my giftings after hearing me speak, and providing a soft, gentle, kindhearted friendship and belief in me that I will carry with me for the rest of my life, though I may never interact with him again. 

In the trip I recently took to Canada, I was again surprised by a contact/new friend in that place who provided a similar service. Sandy is a big, strong, First Nations man, used to northern winters and hardship of many kinds. But what is most striking about Sandy, alongside his size, is his gentleness. He has great sensitivity and compassion for the people around him, devoting his time and energy to better the lives of the people of his hometown, dropping everything and hurrying home when the community finds itself in a crisis, helping out however he can, and reaching out with his large hands to tenderize the hearts of those who are not yet familiar with the dynamics of that region and people group. There is a fire in him when it comes to injustice, and with that is a patience and a gentleness, and a smile that comes alongside his bass voice that conveys how much he wants people to be happy and well provided for. 

There is something about good men that impacts people. Each time a man stops trying to prove himself, stops trying to conquer, to overpower, to rule, and instead focuses on how best he can benefit those around him, the world changes a little. Each man who is able to live in such a way can season countless lives — old and young — with the love and strength that comes from being valued, rather than being dominated, and with expressions that encourage understanding rather than overriding. 

There is nothing manly about not using one’s mind, not using one’s heart, not understanding, listening, empathizing, helping and showing compassion. The loss of those things is not manly in any sense; it is only sad. 

Certain Bible verses returned to me the other day, seemingly out of nowhere: “Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them.” Ephesians 3:19 NIV, and “Fathers, do not exasperate your children.” Ephesians 6:4 NIV. I am a firm egalitarian, and as such I believe that neither women nor men have more authority in any situation. I believe women and men are meant to balance each other, in whatever enigmatic way (still pondering that…), but I do believe, and I think it is clear in the context of these sorts of verses, that men can either royally mess things up, or allow things to flourish. As a woman, if I am not having to fight for my own rights, for the respect that I am due as a human, for the voice I need to have in this world… when I don’t have to fight for those things and can instead just be, I will have so much more to give. I will have so much more energy not being wasted on fighting for basic rights, fair treatment, and my own inherent value and validity. That energy can be poured into creating new things, structuring and strengthening established things, and giving the brain and heart power I have to the many people I interact with each day. 

The same is just as true of fathers and the children they raise, except that children are even more impressionable, and as such even more squashable. Paraphrasing a rhetorical question posed by the creators of the television show, Lost: “How many people don’t have father issues?” So many people are crushed or embittered as a child, and often by a father. I think that is what that verse is pleading fathers to avoid. I believe the meaning behind it is the same as a similar verse: “Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged.” Ephesians 3:21 NIV. 

Unfortunately, men, as a group, have become known as generally the most power-hungry, the harshest, the most overpowering, and the quickest to abuse their authority. Asshole-ishness tears the world apart. And unfortunately men have the longest history of established asshole-ishness. What can cure this? When men come to understand that they don’t need to compete to show who can break the most things, who can force their way with the most success, who can give the least of a shit… If more men can realize that these things are not strength, they are pettiness, selfishness and weakness of character… 

Sensitivity is strength, because it carries the sorrow of others. It doesn’t make the easy, self-centered choice of refusing to meet the eyes of a person in pain. 

Parents need to raise their sons to understand how crucial it is to empathize, to show compassion, to genuinely listen to and care for others. Fatherhood is a glorious position and opportunity for helping form the hearts and minds of others. The same can be true of friends, neighbors, grandfathers, uncles, coworkers, employers, and the people we pass on the street. This influence that we have needs to be taken more seriously than almost anything. Each one of us can, and will, do some percentage of building up and some percentage of tearing down with the things we do and say in our lives. Let us work to make sure the weight is far in favor of the benefit of individuals, because as go individuals, so goes the world. 

"Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always takes strength, not weakness. It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets. It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and to reach out for help and comfort when we need it." - Fred Rogers 

I will close with one last thought. Regardless of anyone’s political ideations, there is one clear dichotomy in the presidential election at this point, and it becomes even clearer when one begins to look with the lens of what true manliness can be, compared with how far it has fallen in many ways. It doesn’t take much to see that Bernie Sanders is someone who, in general, as a stance of character, integrity, and value, looks to help those who have lived different experiences from his own, who looks to understand and empathize with those who are different from him. Compared with that, it is painfully obvious that the current leading Republican candidate is the polar opposite of this — a man who works only for his own elevation in every sense. Bernie Sanders makes a point of reaching out to and helping those who have had it more difficult than he has. Perhaps that is what men’s muscles are actually for.

Peace,

S.B.T.

Find me on Google+