When Piety Matures

“There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.” Job 1:1

I am quite fascinated by the portrait of Job, the perfect man. He had high standards. He feared God and despised sin. Yet, he was not cold and distant. He did not condemn his children’s feasts. Job knew the meaning of enjoyment. He was a cheerful, respected, old wise man. We learn later in the book that people found it easy to come to him for advice and help.

Some scholars argue that Job suffered of some type of obsessive compulsory disorder, that he was obsessed with perfection, and that his trial was meant to heal him of that mental illness. Based on textual evidence, I don’t personally think that was the case. I imagine it was a pleasure to be around old Uncle Job. In his presence, cheap conversations and jokes died; people would go silent (Job 29:7-10). Yet, there was such kindness and warmth about his person, that it awakened irresistible attraction. Others felt blessed by his presence (verse 11). He was scrupulous in his relationship with God, yet his religiousness radiated in a way that was congenial, delightful, and even charming.

The first chapter of Job reminded me of a portrait I read in high school of an old-time travelling preacher during the Great Awakening. David Brainerd gave his heart to God early in his youth, and served Him untiringly until bloody coughs claimed his life at the tender age of 27. Brainerd’s portrait serves as a good example of a piety that grew into maturity.

“When Brainerd suddenly rode into view on the River of Frustration, my heart waxed heavy. I saw he was dying! No longer the carefree boy I dreamed. The furious devotion which earlier had lighted his face, now seamed it with furrows of care. He coughed a great deal, his body was distressingly thin, his cheeks sunken. Though young in years, the sun and the moon seemed darkened, and the clouds returned after the rain.

“He rode in the manner of a man riding to get from one place to another, having no interest in either the horse or its gait. He appeared as fastidious as he did in student days; but there is a difference between old clothing carefully brushed, and the same garments student-new.

“He is the same–but different. Voice is still high, but the morning ring has all but departed from it, and a little huskiness has appeared. Folks once thought his ways a bit too prissy: it did not sound good for a boy to talk about ‘affectionate melting in church services,’ or ‘meeting with sweet ministers,’ or ‘hoping that some dear creature might be saved.’ He still talks that way, but you no longer resent it. His travail has purchased for him the right to talk any way he pleases…. Once he was sensitive to profanity. He still is. We now wonder if we have not lost something by working up a callus against cursing. He is still ‘peevish and provoked by misdemeanor in church services.’ Now we sense that carelessness in such matters could be more culpable than indifference.

“He is the same–but different. Once he seemed disfigured by an inflexible application–‘never easy, under any circumstances, unless doing something for God. He never had time for small talk; all conversation must be profitable.’

“But today, though just as serious, he has become ‘remarkably sociable, pleasant and entertaining in his conversation… meek, modest, humble… far from stiffness or affectation in speech and behaviour. He seems to dislike such things.’ (Edwards, Summer of 1747.)

“One can find in the Memoirs just where he began to put off the hard, unbecoming glaze of precocious piety–

“‘He had been too severe in eliminating amusements: now he employs such diversions in living effectively to God. That is, he had lived long enough to find that deep-down piety took no injury from sunshine.’

“He is the same–but different. Once he was fired by ‘party spirit.’ Now, though he holds his views as tenaciously as ever, he has developed an excellent rule for steering a course in a world of conflicting religious view. […]

“He is the same–but different. Once his lips were full and relaxed: now they are held in a firm line. Full lips could indicated a spirit ruled by casual or even whipped-up emotions; emotions summoned for a given task, then laid aside when the need is past. Like the young dominie who found a proper pulpit ardor impossible unless he softly played ‘Hearts and Flowers’ on the piano just before he went to the sacred desk. […]

“Well (our heart speaks), we did rejoice in the idea of Brainerd as a noble, though untempered youth, but this veteran of the Susquehanna is the one we select to remember. We admired the boy, but we love the warrior.

“Young Mr. Brainerd, still winsome in the dew of his youth, must have been a pleasant person to contemplate. But this man of sorrows, who has broken his hands on hard realities; this horseman we found just before it was too late, is the Brainerd we cherish!

“There he sat upon his steed, every inch a prince! Small wonder I knew not what to say to him by reason of admiration!

“He bore upon his person the marks of his travail: those nights in the wilderness when darkness came down like ink. Sometimes he lost his way; every step was distressing as he rode over the rocks, down the hideous steeps, across swamps, extreme pain in his head, sickness in his stomach, not a star in sight. Sometimes, by the abundant grace of God, he came to a house; sometimes he lay out the whole night. One who did not approve of men like Brainerd, wrote: ‘He was personally indifferent to any hardships, utterly committed to God and to man. And that kind of man is entitled to our respect!’ Ah, but such things have a way of breaking down the smooth mask of youth, engraving it with a maze of care lines, even before youth has departed!

“And he bore upon his person the ineffable lights of his ‘permanent frames’! At first, he laid hold upon great convictions, and possessed them in his heart; then his great convictions laid hold upon him and possessed him body and soul!

“Those who consorted with him at the last testified that it seemed as if the beauty of Another, whom he served and whose he was, mantled him from top to bottom. Even in his voice! As he talked, you suddenly became aware of the voice of Another.”

(Richard Ellsworth Day, Flagellant on Horseback, Lewisville, TX: Accelerated Christian Education, 1994, pp. 228-231)

That phrase, “the hard, unbecoming glaze of precocious piety,” struck home. I could immediately relate it to my own beginnings in the Christian life: a “first love” that was fiery, impassioned, vehement, but not particularly pleasant–crude and immature, tainted with youthful ignorance and most probably, unconscious selfishness.

But, do you know what? Jesus’ disciples were like that, too. They had a crude, immature love for Jesus. James and John wanted to bring fire from heaven. They asked to be seated in places of honor in the new kingdom. Peter cut a servant’s ear. Moses killed an Egyptian. And here’s the paradox: they all did the stupid mistakes they did, because they wanted to follow Jesus. But their love and devotion was imperfect and immature. It was tainted with sin.

I was amazed when I first read Ellen G. White’s commentary on James and John’s selfish request: ‘Jesus bears tenderly with them, not rebuking their selfishness in seeking preference above their brethren. He reads their hearts, He knows the depth of their attachment to Him. Their love is not a mere human affection; though defiled by the earthliness of its human channel, it is an outflowing from the fountain of His own redeeming love. He will not rebuke, but deepen and purity.” (The Desire of Ages, p. 548)

Perhaps that’s the reason for all the animosity towards the concept of perfectionism. the ones advocating victory over sin often don’t realize their need to grow beyond that crude piety. If they would allow Christ to deepen and purify their love, we would see more of the piety of Job–a religion that radiates love, joy, and peace, without compromising standards.

Job had high standards. He did not change them in order to please other people. But he lived them in a way that made religion attractive. His piety reached a certain level of maturity that clothed him with beauty, the beauty of Another.

I want to be like Job. Moreover, I want to be like Jesus Christ, whom Job knew and whose example he followed.

This, however, is not the highest level of maturity that piety can reach. It’s only as it were the very beginning of maturity. The rest of the book of Job is a testimony to the fact.