Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped.
Job's response to devastating losses, juxtaposed with the truth of this passage from Romans, leads me to conclude that many of us have little idea what it means to worship. Our imaginings might include hand clapping, repetitive choruses, swaying banners and crowds, and liberal use of the phrase "the Lord." Or they might be quieter, with closed eyes, soft music, lots of candles, and quiet reverence. Indeed, worship does not necessarily exclude any of that. But Job is doing something else here.
I could go on and on, both because I have a lot of thoughts on it and because I can hardly be sure of most of them, but I think our lack of understanding often boils down to three factors (separately or in tandem):
- Real suffering, however it may manifest, is kept so far from our faith that when it comes, it not only undoes us (as it does Job), but also undoes our understanding of God.
- Our other efforts toward worship are so feeble, sporadic, and unfocused that they simply do not have the substance to hold up when faced with real suffering.
- We imagine God to be something less than He is (and usually, if we're honest, someone less than we are).
That's why real hope, and suffering endured in its context, is so incredibly beautiful. It's the fresh air we need in our cramped personal dramas (and even an open door through which we can leave them). We know it when we see it, and even in the midst of weeping and wailing, there is also worship, because God is God and we are coming to bring the whole of ourselves before Him.