By Paul Lima

In researching a speech I have to give in October, I had cause to read the Book of Job. I was awed by what I read. My examination of the Book of Job proves, beyond a doubt, that Job was a freelance writer. He just used the word "God" where he meant "Editor" as he did not want to offend his Editors. But I broke the code!

For those of you not familiar with Job, he was a righteous, hard-working man. And his Editor -- euphemistically referred to as "God" or "Almighty" -- battered him with many grave afflictions. What broke the camel's back? I believe that Job had a 5,000-word investigative feature reduced to a 250-word filler, without a kill fee.

At long last, Job spoke out. I am reprinting portions of what he said, having done little more than replace God and Almighty with Editor. (Please note: There are even a couple of references to an organization that eventually morphed into PWAC!)

JOB SPEAKS:

What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.

Can a mortal be more righteous than his Editor? Can a man be more pure than his Editor? I would appeal to my Editor; I would lay my cause before him.

Blessed is the man whom my Editor corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Editor. For he wounds, but he also binds up.

If only my anguish could be weighed and all my misery be placed on the scales! It would surely outweigh the sand of the seas -- no wonder my words have been impetuous. The arrows of my Editor are in me, my spirit drinks in their poison; my Editor's terrors are marshalled against me.

Oh, that I might have my request, that my Editor would grant what I hope for. What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient? Do I have the strength of stone? Do I have any power to help myself, now that success has been driven from me?

Teach me, and I will be quiet; show me where I have been wrong. How painful are honest words! Like a slave longing for the evening shadows, or a hired man waiting eagerly for his wages, so I have been allotted months of futility, and nights of misery have been assigned to me.

Remember, O my Editor, that my life is but a breath; my eyes will never see happiness again. Therefore I will not keep silent; I will speak out in the anguish of my spirit, I will complain in the bitterness of my soul. Why have you made me your target? Have I become a burden to you?

But how can a mortal be righteous before his Editor? Though one wished to dispute with him, he could not answer him one time out of a thousand. His wisdom is profound, his power is vast. Who has resisted him and come out unscathed? Who can say to him, 'What are you doing?' My Editor does not restrain his anger; even the cohorts of Rahab [evidently the genesis of PWAC] cowered at his feet.

How then can I dispute with him? How can I find words to argue with him? Though I were innocent, I could not answer him; I could only plead with my Editor for mercy. Even if I summoned him and he responded, I do not believe he would give me a hearing. If it is a matter of strength, he is mighty! If I say, 'I will forget my complaint, I will change my expression, and smile,' I still dread all my sufferings, for I know my Editor will not hold me innocent.

I loathe my very life; therefore I will give free rein to my complaint and speak out in the bitterness of my soul. I will say to my Editor: Does it please you to oppress me? Do you have eyes of flesh? Do you see as a mortal sees?

Are all these words to go unanswered? Is this talker to be vindicated? Oh, how I wish that my Editor would speak and disclose the secrets of His wisdom.

I desire to speak to my Editor and to argue my case with my Editor. I could make fine speeches against you and shake my head at you. Yet if I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away. Surely, O Editor, you have worn me out.

My Editor assails me and tears me in his anger and gnashes his teeth at me; my Editor fastens on me his piercing eyes. All was well with me, but he shattered me; he seized me by the neck and crushed me. He has made me his target; his archers surround me. Without pity, he pierces my kidneys and spills my gall on the ground. Again and again he bursts upon me; he rushes at me like a warrior.

I have sewed sackcloth over my skin and buried my brow in the dust. My face is red with weeping, deep shadows ring my eyes. My spirit is broken, my days are cut short, the grave awaits me. My eyes have grown dim with grief; my whole frame is but a shadow.

My days have passed, my plans are shattered, and so are the desires of my heart. How long will you torment me and crush me with words? Ten times now you have reproached me; shamelessly you attack me. Though I cry, 'I've been wronged!' I get no response; though I call for help, there is no justice.

He tears me down on every side till I am gone; he uproots my hope like a tree. His anger burns against me; he counts me among his enemies.

Is my complaint directed to man? Why should I not be impatient? Can anyone teach knowledge to my Editor, since he judges even the highest?

If only I knew where to find him; if only I could go to his dwelling! I would state my case before him and fill my mouth with arguments. I would find out what he would answer me, and consider what he would say. But he stands alone, and who can oppose him? He does whatever he pleases. He carries out his decree against me, and many such plans he still has in store. That is why I am terrified before him; when I think of all this, I fear him.

My Editor has made my heart faint; my Editor has terrified me. The churning inside me never stops; days of suffering confront me....

[The Editor let Job go on at some length, but finally, he stepped out of the shadows. Or, as the Book of Job puts it:]

Then the EDITOR answered Job out of the storm. He said:

Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me.

Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Do you send the lightning bolts on their way? Do they report to you, 'Here we are'? Does the hawk take flight by your wisdom and spread his wings toward the south? Does the eagle soar at your command and build his nest on high?

Will the one who contends with his Editor correct him? Let him who accuses his Editor answer him!"

Then Job answered his EDITOR:

I am unworthy. How can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth. I spoke once, but I have no answer. Twice, but I will say no more."

Then the EDITOR spoke:

Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me. Would you discredit my justice? Would you condemn me to justify yourself?

Who has a claim against me that I must pay? Everything under heaven belongs to me.

Then Job replied:

I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted. Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.

    [Okay, if Job's capitulation has you truly depressed, read on. There is an Epilogue.]

Epilogue:

After the Editor had said these things to Job, the Editor accepted Job's prayer. The Editor made him prosperous again and gave him twice as much as he had before. The Editor blessed the latter part of Job's life more than the first.

He had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen and a thousand donkeys. [That is equivalent to 25 buck-a-word feature articles per year for the rest of his life!]

After this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation. And so he died, old and full of years.

(Paul Lima is a freelance writer, writing instructor and media interview trainer. He is a member of the Toronto Chapter of the Professional Writers Association of Canada. You can read samples of his business and periodical writing, and more about his writing and media interview training services, online: www.paullima.com) 

Paul Lima
VP Communications
PWAC Toronto
www.pwactoronto.org
© 2003 Paul Lima 

---