Jon Huer writes

THE SEDUCTION OF JOB: Twenty Years Later   

A Dramatic Poem

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Job chooses poverty over dishonor.

JOB TO SELF: 

O Zorah, the light of my life, 

Whose love is a tonic to my bitter heart, 

Whose sweetness is a relief to my grieving soul, 

Whose forgiveness is a grace to my distraught spirit,

How lower can I prostrate myself in contrition 

So that you can see my sorrow to the world's edge; 

How deeper can my cry of despair reach 

So that you can hear my wailing to the end of time?

Through your sweetness is my transgression forgiven, 

And in your goodness even my wickedness finds mercy. 

A woman of all honor and no guile, 

Impervious to the foulness of man's corruption, 

You stand pure and unspoiled among the women of Uz. 

The king demands that I dishonor your name 

In order to save my possessions, 

Or choose to be dispossessed to bare bones 

So that your name will be spared of humiliation. 

How brutal is the choice that faces me; 

How exorbitant is the price you pay for my sins.   

Life will go on in poverty and destitution, 

But to dishonor your name through public scorn 

And the pain of private gossip‑mongering 

Is worse than to be damned without hope 

And to burn in scorching hell without death. 

O Zorah, your honor must be preserved at all cost, 

And my public trial avoided to save your dignity. 

Yes, we will surrender our great wealth 

To spare you from the greater affliction of shame.   

You lost your innocent trust in your husband; 

Now must you endure poverty because of him. 

What is the cause of your blunder 

That you should be chained with me?

How cruel is your fate bound with mine, 

How sordid is my deed in league with the Devil! 

In dirt and dust must we find our dwelling;

From tears and sighs would our sorrowful bread come; 

And the cold and wind should be our evening songs.   

O the curse of destitution, the haunting of emptiness! 

I have been wealthy long enough 

To be cursed by the forgotten memory of destitution, 

Yet to be haunted by the coming pain of emptiness. 

Being poor is the cold night without shelter, 

Being dispossessed the windy day that never ends. 

O the remembrance of my bread soaked in tears, 

Of my drink that filled the cup in my weeping,

Of the pain endured during the long day, 

And the terror of the night knocking on the door!    

By visions and dreams I am followed 

And in illusions of death and doom do I tremble. 

I awake from nightmares gasping for breath, 

Wondering about this vision and that dream, 

And shuddering with fear for the things to come.   

Mournful is surely that I shall lose all I own, 

For my wealth is immense and long enjoyed; 

Why I will lose all is more mournful still; 

For the loss is by own sin, and none other, 

And shame must shadow my sin and my loss. 

Loss by any means is sorrowful enough, 

Yet the sorrow's strength becomes manifold 

When caused by sin and accompanied by shame. 

How can I explain my misfortune to anyone, 

Where shall I find justification for my fall, 

And who but myself will take the blame for my loss?   

God gives and God takes away 

Why should I be grieving, tears in my breathing,           

That my riches would be no more? 

Was I not blessed with my wealth 

While it remained within my possession 

Perhaps longer than I deserved? 

Why should I hesitate giving it up, back to God 

From Whom all things come and to Whom they return?   

O the fearful memories of my days in poverty: 

The dirt and dust that were my house and home; 

The tears and sighs that were my prayers; 

And the cold and wind that chilled my bones! 

People said in scorn and ridicule, "There goes Job; 

He was once rich, but look at him now!" 

O how their scorn severed my heartstrings; 

O how my bitterness rose in their ridicule! 

If God had never rewarded me with riches 

At least I would not be so desolate 

With the pain of my coming want.   

In mercy and justice God rewarded me with His fullness; 

Now in my folly would I return to my emptiness. 

What the Almighty gave me in noble grace 

I must yield in shame and disgrace. 

But why is the delight of gains 

Always smaller than the sorrow of loss? 

Why is the gainer's gratitude so short‑lived, 

And why so never‑ending is the loser's lamentation?   

But what is wealth if not temporary, 

And who is God if not just? 

He enriches and deprives as He wishes 

And what knowledge of man can comprehend His ways? 

Naked we are born, and naked we die. 

In my heart's bitterness I will seek God's comfort,

And in my desolate longing shall I find His will. 

O the passing delight of my wealth that was, 

The looming tears of my poverty yet to come, 

And the sound of scorn and ridicule that will be‑‑

In prayers I receive strength and hope from God; 

But in sorrow and dread do I taste the evil of my sin.   

O still to be pitied is the man once rich, 

Now fated to become poor for his penance, 

Who weeps for his once‑great possessions 

That shall soon be only dirt and dust.

 Job's Sacrifice -- William Blake