“‘I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. . . “
“I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.”
Job 42:3-6 ESV
One of our favorite family stories is about the time we took our four-year-old son to the doctor for a routine round of immunizations. The doctor was kind and did his best to explain what was about to happen and why it had to happen. Still, when the needle went into his tiny arm, there was a look of shock and betrayal on our son’s face that could have mirrored Caesar when Brutus stabbed him in the back. And with all the outrage and indignation a four-year-old could muster, he screamed, “YOU’RE A BAD DOCTOR!” It reminded me of the scene from Elf when Buddy got a shot.
It’s easy for us, as grownups, to do the same thing with God.
When pain comes—unexpected, sharp, and unwelcome—we’re quick to question his goodness. No matter how often Scripture reminds us that our sufferings are not the final word, no matter how clearly God tells us that what we’re enduring is not meaningless, we still recoil. We scrunch up our faces. We shake our fists. And we cry out, Not fair. Not right. You’re a bad God.
Job does that. Honestly. Loudly. Repeatedly. He doesn’t accuse God of wrongdoing, but he skates on the edge of questioning His character.
What’s striking about the end of Job is not that God finally explains himself. He doesn’t. God never tells Job about the heavenly courtroom of chapters 1–2. He never lays out the reasons behind Job’s suffering. He never answers the question why.
Instead, God does something better—and harder. He reorients Job.
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” (Job 38:4)
“Have you commanded the morning since your days began?” (Job 38:12)
“Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades?” (Job 38:31)
God is reminding Job that he is not being tormented by a capricious tyrant. He is being held by a Creator. Job may not understand the pain, but he also does not fully grasp the wisdom, power, and love behind it.
That’s why Scripture urges us, “Do not despise the Lord’s discipline or be weary of his reproof, for the Lord disciplines the one he loves” (Proverbs 3:11–12; cf. Hebrews 12:5–6). Discipline is not punishment—it’s formation. It’s not evidence of God’s absence, but of his attention.
The apostle Paul puts it this way: “This light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Corinthians 4:17). Paul isn’t denying the pain. He’s locating it. Compared to what God is doing—and where he is taking us—even our deepest wounds are temporary.
Like children in a doctor’s office, we often judge God in the moment the needle sticks. We mistake pain for betrayal and silence for indifference. We call Him “bad” because we cannot yet see what He is healing, strengthening, or preventing.
But the God who speaks at the end of Job is not distant. He is present. And in Christ, we learn something Job could only glimpse: the Great Physician does not stand above suffering. He enters it. He pierces us for our good, but He Himself was pierced for our sins (Isaiah 53:5)
One day, we will understand. One day, the tears will dry, the questions will quiet, and the sharp sting will be long forgotten. Until then, faith sometimes sounds less like confident praise and more like stubborn trust—clenched teeth, tear-streaked cheeks, and a whispered prayer that says, I don’t understand you… but I still believe you are good.
And maybe, for today, that’s enough.
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