Long ago, as a private in the Army, I volunteered for a job in my unit’s mobile generator section. That was an awful fit for me. It was a life full of wrenches and screwdrivers. I wasn’t mechanically inclined at all. I had signed on for it because that section lived in nicer, remodeled barracks that had semi-private rooms.
They assigned me an Army toolbox. My immediate supervisor handed me a manual, and told me to read it. There were some pictures inside with exploded graphics so I could see cogs and wheels, and internal pulleys with belts on them all broken into tiny pieces. Then they sent me out to service a 460 kilowatt generator. I opened the side of it (the only thing I knew how to do), loosened a filter bolt, and stood there, while reddish fluid slowly bled out and flooded the bottom of the machine. Though I had studied the manual, I had no idea what was happening, and just kept watching the event as though a huge metal dinosaur was dying.
I think sometimes this is our experience with theology. Because we have “manuals”—books, devotionals, commentaries, etc.—it’s easy to believe we have all the answers at our fingertips. We’ve got charts and timelines in full color, with every footnote we could ever want. Most of us develop a knowledge base that dwarfs our actual spiritual understanding. It’s like having a head too big for your body. In some bizarre cartoonish sort of way, we have to rest it in a wheelbarrow in order to push it around.
We’ve all been showered with an abundance of ministry resources, and, no doubt, we’re blessed to have it. But that doesn’t mean all mystery has been dispelled. We might have a detailed idea culled from Scripture about what God wants to do with individuals, the church, and the universe. High level blueprints of this type go a long way toward inspiring us. But when trials finally do become personal and stop being theoretical, nothing replaces the simple necessity of learning endurance.
Like that day at the generator, I knew what was happening because I had a manual and some verbal instruction. On the other hand, I didn’t know what to do with what I knew.
Sometimes in life, the only thing we can do is stand there and watch, pray, and wait.
Consider Job’s frustration in chapter 23:
8 “Behold, I go forward, but he is not there,
and backward, but I do not perceive him;
9 on the left hand when he is working, I do not behold him;
he turns to the right hand, but I do not see him.
10 But he knows the way that I take;
when he has tried me, I shall come out as gold.
11 My foot has held fast to his steps;
I have kept his way and have not turned aside.
12 I have not departed from the commandment of his lips;
I have treasured the words of his mouth more than my portion of food.”
Job knew that walking in the way of God was important. He treasured God’s words. He knew God was faithful, and righteous. His orthopraxy (right practice), and his orthodoxy (right doctrine) were accurate. Nonetheless, he was still disoriented. Anxiety grew in his heart as to what this omnipotent, omniscient God might do next :
13 But he is unchangeable, and who can turn him back?
What he desires, that he does.
14 For he will complete what he appoints for me,
and many such things are in his mind.
15 Therefore I am terrified at his presence;
when I consider, I am in dread of him.
In times of spiritual bewilderment, even the best and most correct concepts fail to mitigate frustration. Now for sure, you must have an accurate biblical structure in place. That keeps you from getting the wrong answers. But when it comes to specifics God has appointed for you, right teachings may still not give you any insider information. In fact, doctrine will seem maddeningly general.
We crave information about details. Yes, there are “many such things in His mind” concerning you–many intentions, many plans.
And very few explanations.
Our theological lexicon has greatly expanded since the time of Job. It includes love, the type demonstrated when Christ died for us on the cross. It contains descriptions of God’s transformational work through sufferings. Christ’s indwelling. The eternal purpose of God. Tribulations that lead to glory. That’s an enormous advance on the patriarch’s comparatively slim volume.
And still we’re mired in frustration.
What can we do? Well, look at a man who predated Moses. Who didn’t have a completed Bible. Who, in a certain sense, had only a keyhole view of God. Yet, he hung on.
Job grasped for dear life the little truth he knew.
And then waited.
