09-NOV-2025 When the World Does Not Make Sense
Written by: Sean Alan Morris
Texts: Job 19:23–27a; Luke 20:27–3
I want to begin this morning not in ancient Scripture, but somewhere a little closer to home.
Imagine someone in our own community. Someone respected. Steady. Kind. Helpful. The sort of person you point to when you say, “That’s a good one.” The kind of person you’d trust with your house key or your kids or your secrets.
Now imagine that person’s life suddenly comes apart.
Not over years. Not gradually. But all at once.
The kind of loss that makes the prayer chain go into overdrive.
The kind of loss that becomes the topic in the grocery aisle, quietly, in the tone we use when we are trying to sound concerned but also… curious.
You’ve heard that voice before. We all have.
“Oh we really must pray for him.”
“Well… to be honest… I always wondered if something was going on.”
We don’t mean harm by it. Most of us don’t, anyway. We’re just trying to make sense of something that feels senseless.
Because if there’s a flaw somewhere in the story,
if there’s a cause,
if there’s a misstep,
if there’s a hidden detail,
then the world is still orderly.
Predictable.
Safe.
So this is where I find myself with Job.
Scripture tells us Job is righteous. Upright. Blameless. The model of faithfulness.
Still, I have to confess to you: when someone is described that way, a part of me narrows my eyes just a little.
Really?
Blameless?
In this world?
No sharp corners anywhere?
No bad days?
No mistakes that left bruises on someone else’s heart?
I find myself thinking:
There has to be more to the story. People don’t lose everything for no reason. And maybe I want there to be a reason. Because if Job did something wrong, then the world still makes sense.
But if Job is innocent and he still ends up in ashes, still ends up grieving, still ends up scraping wounds with broken pottery, then suffering can come to anyone.
And that is terrifying.
So without meaning to, I start looking for the flaw in Job, the crack in the foundation, the hidden sin, the moral explanation.
Not because I want to judge him, but because I want to protect myself.
Which is exactly what his friends do in the story.
They might start gently:
“Job, think back. Is there something you haven’t told us?”
“Job, maybe this is a lesson for your growth.”
“Job, things don’t happen without reason.”
And the more Job repeats, “I did nothing to deserve this,” the less they can believe it. Because if Job is innocent, then the universe is not fair. And if the universe is not fair, then our safety is not guaranteed.
So the friends decide: Job must be guilty.
It was here, in the text, I realize I was ready to decide the same thing.
Now. We need to talk about something hard.
Job suffers because of a wager.
A challenge.
A dare between God and The Accuser.
It is not punishment.
It is not correction.
It is not the result of sin.
It is, if we are honest about it, a bar bet.
“I bet he’ll curse you.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Go ahead. Test him.”
I don’t know about you, but that does not sit right with me. It makes something in me flare up, because this is God. The one we are told is just. The one we are told is love. The one we are told we can trust. Yet in this story, God allows a good man to be crushed, just to prove a point and It feels outrageous.
The Book of Job does not hide this.
It expects us to notice. It expects us to wrestle. It expects us to say,
“This is not fair.”
And that honesty, that refusal to pretend everything is okay, is part of why this book is in our Scripture in the first place. It is not a story that explains suffering. It is a story that gives us permission to tell the truth about it.
Here is what Job does next:
He cries out.
He protests.
He demands to be seen.
And God does not punish him for it. In fact, at the end of the book, God says Job is the only one who has spoken rightly. The ones who defended God, the ones who blamed Job,the ones who tried to explain suffering so they could stay comfortable, they are the ones God corrects.
Which brings us to our world.
We live in a time when the wealthy display their comfort like it is proof of virtue.
Where the powerful protect the system because it benefits them. We are told to admire success and quietly suspect the suffering. We are told that blessing looks like wealth; that poverty must be failure.
So, as a result, many of us feel something rising inside us:
A slow pressure.
A shared knowing:
“This is not just.”
Our faith demands a choice.
We can be like Job’s friends: defend the system, protect the powerful, blame the wounded, and call that piety.
Or we can be like Job: tell the truth, stand in the ashes, refuse to surrender dignity, and demand that suffering be seen for what it is.
Job does not get heard because he is composed. He gets heard because he refuses to lie.
Because Jesus says:
God is not the God of the dead.
Not the God of the finished.
Not the God of the silenced.
God is the God of the living.
The breathing.
The aching.
The wrestling.
The ones who have not given up.
So here is our call for today and this time: When someone suffers, resist the instinct to look for fault. Sit with them.
When someone is struggling, do not gather the gossip. Gather the courage to show up.
When the world tells you to admire the powerful and distrust the vulnerable,
emember Job.
Suffering is not noble and it is not shameful. It is simply real. What matters is how we show up for one another when it comes.
So speak truth.
Refuse easy answers.
Defend dignity.
Stand with those the world would explain away.
Because God is in the ashes, not on the throne of the argument.
God is with the living.
Amen.
This sermon is shared freely for personal reflection. If you’d like to use it elsewhere, please reach out to the author through the church office.
