The Neighborhood Podcast

"What Disciples Do: Disciples Live By Faith" (November 9, 2025 Sermon)

• Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing

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Preaching: Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing

Text: Job 19:23-27a

What if the most faithful move in a season of suffering isn’t finding the right answer but recovering a sense of awe? We turn to Job’s defiant confession—my Redeemer lives—and follow it through hard questions, imperfect counsel, and the unsettling moment when God speaks from the whirlwind. Instead of a tidy explanation for pain, we receive a summons to amazement that reshapes how we see ourselves, our neighbors, and the world’s wounds.

We sit with the honest ache of “why do bad things happen to good people,” dismantling easy versions of retributive theology and naming how denial masquerades as faith. Job teaches us to keep praying and keep protesting, even to the point of “suing” God, because covenant can carry lament without breaking. A Holocaust account of believers who put God on trial and then rose to pray grounds this theme: faith can argue with God and still choose fidelity. Along the way, we hear from Walter Brueggemann on the limits of moral certitude, and we explore how being right often crowds out being amazed.

From there, the path turns practical. Wonder is not escapism; it is fuel. Attention leads to astonishment, astonishment to gratitude, and gratitude to generosity that feeds neighbors, confronts harmful ideologies, and builds repair in public life. Cultural touchpoints from Wicked help us picture how unlikely conversation partners can change us for good. If you’re weary of thin answers but hungry for a living hope, this conversation offers language, courage, and a sturdy practice of awe.

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SPEAKER_00:

Please bow your head for the prayer for illumination. Redeeming God through the power of your Holy Spirit connect us to eternity through our hearing of your word. That we might know your living presence and seek to do your will. In Jesus' name. Our first lesson comes from Psalms 17, verses 1 through 9, and we'll do this responsively. Hear a just cause, O Lord. Attend to my cry. Give ear to my prayer that from lips free of deceit. From you, let my vindication come. Let your eyes see the right. If you try my heart, if you visit me by night, if you test me, you will find no wickedness in me. My mouth does not transgress. As for what others do, by the word of your lips. I have avoided the ways of the violent. My steps have held fast to your paths. My feet have not slipped. I call upon you, for you will answer me, O God. Incline your ear to me, hear my words. Wondrously show your steadfast love, O Savior of those who seek refuge from their adversaries at your right hand. Guard me as the apple of the eye. Hide me in the shadow of your wings from the wicked who despoil me, my deadly enemies who surround me. Holy wisdom, holy word. Thanks be to God.

SPEAKER_01:

Friends, we continue our What Disciples Do sermon series. And today we are wrestling with this text from the book of Job, chapter 19, verses 23 through 27. Let us listen again for what God is saying to God's church. Oh, that my words were written down. Oh, that they were inscribed in a book. Oh, that with an iron pen and with lead they were engraved on a rock forever. For I know that my vindicator lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. Friends, holy wisdom, holy word. Thanks be to God. Let us pray. Amen. All right, friends, there is an obsession in the fearing household currently, and their names are Galinda and Alphaba. It's all we talk about. So this is what you're getting in your sermon today. Why does wickedness happen? This question, part philosophical and part theological, is the one posed to Galinda the Good Witch at the beginning of the musical Wicked. It comes amidst the show's opening number, No One Mourns the Wicked, in which the people of Munchkinland are rejoicing that Alphaba, the so-called wicked witch of the West, has met her demise. The play then rewinds and goes back to recounts how Alphaba and Galinda with the G became unlikely roommates at the University of Shiz, where the two of them become unlikely conversation partners in answering for themselves and for the audience the question: why does wickedness happen? But long before that existential question brought pink and green together like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun. Another screenplay, a collection of poems, you and I know as the book of Job wrestled with that same profound inquiry. Job, of course, was not wicked. On the contrary, he was about as far from wicked as it gets. A man of integrity, Mr. Rogers on steroids, Mother Teresa to the max. He was the kind of guy that would give the shirt off of his back if he knew it would help someone. Job was as righteous, as anti-wicked as they come, but a life of integrity does not shield one from suffering. My apologies to the Enneagram Ones Among Us. That's a very tough pill to swallow for the perfectionists among us. Job loses everything: his family, his health, his wealth. You know, Frederick Nietzsche once famously said, to live is to suffer. To survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. The book of Job is a collection of poems describing one righteous man's search for meaning amid his suffering. When we seek meaning in the midst of wickedness, we all need conversation partners. We need conversation partners because answering the question, why do bad things happen to good people, is an existential inquiry that's far too big for any one person. No, Galinda needed Alphabet, and vice versa. And Job too needed conversation partners as he wrestled with his suffering. Today's scripture appears in the middle of the largest section of the book of Job, chapters 4 through 25, where Job's three friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, share their thoughts on the manner, on the matter, each failing to convince Job of their arguments as to why this suffering has been brought upon him. And in response to the second of these conversation partners, Job says the following that we read today, for I know that my vindicator lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth. After my skin has been destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold not another. Now, the NRSV translate this is, For I know that my Vindicator lives. I suspect you might be more familiar with the translation, I know my what lives. Redeemer. Yep, that's the one. I know my redeemer lives. That was the title of a beloved hymn written by English Baptist minister Samuel Medley, exactly 250 years ago today, or this year. And coincidentally, it was originally sung to the tune Duke Street, which is the same tune we'll use in our closing hymn, as well as the postlude that Dr. Bill is going to play for us, a piece that he himself arranged back in 1988. But it back in 1775, Samuel Medley wrote this hymn, which some of y'all might recognize. What comfort this sweet sentence gives. He lives, he lives, who once was dead. He lives my everlasting head. I know that my Redeemer lives. It's remarkable, really, that this triumphant text, this triumphant hymn, was first inspired by the words of a man who had every reason to shake his fist at God in despair. Job had done everything right, but he lost. Years later, in a galaxy far, far away, Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise would express this messy reality with this proverb that's my favorite. That is life. Job knew this reality all too well, although admittedly, it took him a long time to accept it. Sometimes it takes us a long time to accept to accept such things. Who among us doesn't know the struggle to hold the reality of wickedness in one hand and the existence of God who we trust is both all-powerful and all good in the other? Remarkably, Job was able to stay faithful amidst wickedness. We might be amazed with his perseverance, but I hope we don't do so to the point that we forget that we are doing the same thing right here and right now. You and I are gathered today because we all know that our Redeemer lives. That's what worship is all about. Yes, make no mistake, evil surrounds us, and our Redeemer lives. Yes, snap benefits are being denied our neighbors, and our Redeemer lives. Yes, as Job goes on to say in just a few chapters later in the book, the wicked live on, reach old age, and grow mighty in power, and yet we still affirm that our Redeemer lives. So the question then becomes: how did Job keep the faith, and how might we do the same in such hectic times? How did disciples live by faith when all seemed so unstable, so unkind, and so very messy? Well, let's start with what the book of Job has to teach us about what faithfulness is not. First, faithfulness in the midst of wickedness is not about denying reality. Job doesn't deny his suffering or pretend that everything is okay. Faith isn't about burying our heads in the sand and ignoring the messiness of the world and the complex reality of evil. Don't get me wrong, friends, optimism isn't a bad thing, but optimism is not the same thing as faith. Faith is diminished when it is divorced from reality. Conversely, faith is strengthened when it is clear-eyed and focused on the broken places in the world where Christ is calling us to serve our neighbor. So, first, faithfulness in the midst of wickedness is not about denying reality. And secondly, faithfulness in the midst of wickedness is not about withholding our pain from God. The character of Job is a masterclass in maintaining open communication with God, even when we might be tempted to turn inward and shut down. You see, Job's three friends offer him overly simplistic arguments to explain his suffering. Each of his friends suggests a form of retributive theology, which holds that suffering is a direct response of someone's actions, good or bad. On the other hand, Job's wife maintains her husband's innocence and instead encourages him to curse God. Caught between these two arguments, Job eventually decides to confront God with no small amount of audacity. Job brings before God a lawsuit. That's right. Job sues God. How many of you have ever wanted to sue God? Okay, yes. Job sues God, asserts his continued innocence, and demands an explanation from the Almighty. Job doesn't passively accept his circumstances, so faith then is being ominous with God, both in our praise and in our anger and in our despair. 7,000 Jewish businesses were demolished, 30,000 Jewish men were arrested and incarcerated, and Kristallnacht is widely regarded as the official transition to open violence against the Jewish people, a threat that many of them still feel in our very country. The noted Jewish scholar, Nobel laureate, and Holocaust survivor Ellie Wiesel once recounted a poignant moment as described by Martin Thielen when he writes, a group of men in his barracks in the concentration camps decided to have a trial. A trial unlike any you've ever heard of before. These men decided to try God for the horrors of the Holocaust. They had been men of faith, but their faith had profoundly disappointed them. So they decided to put God on trial for abandoning the Jewish people. Young Eli Wiesel was asked to witness the proceedings. The charges were brought. The prosecutor listed them one by one. God's people had been torn from their homes, separated from their families, beaten, abused, murdered, burned in incinerators. A defense was attempted, but in the end, God was found guilty of abandoning his people, maybe even guilty of not existing. When the trial was over, a dark and profound silence fell on the room. A few moments later, the men realized that it was time for the sacred ritual of evening prayer. And at this point in the story, Ellie Wiesel recounted a remarkable fact. These men who had just found God guilty of abandoning them, these same men, began to pray their evening prayer. So, friends, that's that's faith. It's a messy thing. Faith doesn't search uh sugarcoat the horrors of the world. Sometimes faith means putting God on trial and demanding answers to the unanswerable, but then it picks itself back up and keeps enduring and trusting that the silence of God isn't a permanent verdict. So what faithfulness is then, in the context of the book of Job, is amazement. Faithfulness in Job is amazement. When God receives Job's summons and takes the witness stand, Job makes the prosecution's case. I've been righteous and you've been cruel, Job asserts. Answer yourself, God of creation. Now, here we wish that God would come clean and finally explain to Job the reason for his suffering, but God provides no simple explanation, for there is none to be had. Instead, God invites Job to the spiritual practice of amazement. Famously, God says to Job in chapter 38, Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? God goes on to describe various aspects of nature, from the creation of the earth to the behavior of wild animals. God says, Who provides food for the ravens when its young cry out to God and wander about for lack of food, excuse me, of food? God reminds Job of both the complexity and majesty of the world and the limits of our human perspective. Some of us, I'm sure, might find such a response inadequate, and I honor those feelings because there are times when I also share them. I hold that thought in one hand and in the other, I stubbornly choose to hold amazement and wonder. When I myself am daunted with the enormity of the world's grief, I take the wisdom of the book of Job and take Mary Oliver's instructions for living a life. She famously said, if you want instructions for living a life, pay attention, be astonished, and tell about it. Ultimately, Walter Brugman asserts, Job's journey of faith is about surrendering his moral certitude and understanding that his integrity and righteousness don't save him, God saves him. This is what Brugman had to say on this topic on a sermon on this passage at my alma mat or Columbia Theological Seminary. Brugman once said, the battle to be fought in the church now, in our society generally, is for speech and faith that will sustain us. Job and even more his friends are model or models of ideological certitude. That kind of moral certitude, however, does not ultimately, does not matter ultimately, because we are not saved by our virtue. No one can stand in the whirlwind, in the face of the whirlwind on a soapbox of virtue. Virtue has many ideological faces in our society, and they all kill. It may be the overscrupulousness about sexuality and piety and all those treasured old-fashioned virtues. Or it may be the ideological agenda of the right, getting things settled about prayer in public schools or homosexuality or the Panama Canal. Or it may be the strident programs of the left and being correct about abortion and welfare and divestment. Whichever party we belong to, we hold it all dear and precious, and we brood in our virtue, confident that the others are without credibility. Job learned what we all learned sooner or later. Virtue does not suffice. Integrity does not give life. Being right is no substitute for being amazed. Being right is no substitute for being amazed. If you remember nothing else from this sermon, remember those words. Say it aloud with me. Being right is no substitute for being amazed. That's what faith is all about, especially when wickedness tries to suffocate our theological imagination. We keep returning time and time again to amazement. And if we think that this is some meaningless, abstract theological exercise that's a waste of time when people around us are losing their snap benefits and don't know where their next meal is coming from, remember this. Amazement inevitably leads to gratitude. And gratitude, in turn, inevitably leads to generosity. And generosity is what heals our world. Generosity is what feeds our neighbors. Generosity is the fierce gentleness that stands fearlessly between those who suffer and the violent ideologies that assail them. So, friends, let us be faithful practitioners of wonder in a broken world. Because that's what disciples do. We'll return in closing to our wickedness conversation partners, Alpha and Glenda. At the end of the musical, the two enemies turned friends, frenemies, we might call them, sing the number for good, in which they say goodbye to one another, ask forgiveness for the times that they've hurt one another, and stand in awe and wonder at what they've learned from each other. Stephen Schwartz wrote these beautiful lyrics, like a ship blown from its mooring by the wind off a sea, like a sea dropped by a skybird in a distant wood. Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But because I knew you, I have been changed for good. Friends, together, you and I are disciples, imperfect and generous, capable of both great good and deep wickedness on this journey of life. And perhaps we can learn from Alphaba and Glinda and all those who open their hearts to the spiritual disciplines of wonder and gratitude that being right is no substitute for being amazed. In the name of God, the creator, redeemer, and sustainer, may all of us God's children say.