A Story and a Problem
Try to read this story as if it were today, not yesterday. Separate the wood (the underlying issues of eternal significance) from the trees (the details that prevent us from getting there). Try to enter into the experience of those who first heard it, not analysing it but rather, like a piece of music, taking it as a whole and enjoying it.
First, Job and his world. Here is a man who lives in something of a fantasy world not unlike the American Dream. It is the only world he has ever known. He imbibed it with his mother's milk, never questioned it and practised it with unswerving devotion, carefully covering not only his own back but that of his children even with no evidence to justify it, and it had served him well. So what happens when this world collapses? Try to get inside Job's experience. Wear his shoes. What are his family going to think . . . his friends say . . . or the wider community whisper? And where can he turn for help?
Second, his friends. The Hebrew word (usually translated 'friend') lends itself to other translations so no need to confine your thinking to personal friends. Think of them simply as 'companions' or 'fellow-travellers', helped by the fact that we know nothing of their background. What is clear, however, is that they come from the same tradition, united by a common purpose 'to comfort and console'. And they start well — they simply sit in silence and 'hold his hand'.
Third, the reaction. When the silence gets too much for Job he blows his top and they quickly join in the fray. What he says is of little substance. Suddenly finding himself in a situation of which he has no experience, basically he wants his life back. Not silence. Not comfort. Not even explanations. He wants that world of fairness and justice he thought he had always lived in and if he were to meet Yahweh that is clearly what he would tell him. But the friends are not listening. They too are out of their depth. Notice how the exchanges flow.