I have recently been working my way through the Book of Job in the Old Testament. It brings one face-to-face with the fears of life’s potential; I immediately think of all the terrifying crises that could happen to anyone without warning. In a single day Job’s livelihood is stolen, his servants are either brutally attacked and killed by invaders or burned to death in a fire, and his children die all at once in the collapse of his eldest son’s house. Job then breaks out in painful, disfiguring sores, is rebuked and rejected by his wife, and he sits alone in utter misery. 

The interesting dialogue that takes up a significant portion of this Book is between Job and his friends. First Job’s friends sit by his side for seven days and seven nights, tearing their robes and putting dust on their own heads in sorrow for the bitter agony of their friend. Job then vents his anguish in the rawest and realist manner— “Let the day perish wherein I was born,…Let the stars of its dawn be dark; let it hope for light, but have none, nor see the eyelids of the morning; because it did not shut the doors of my mother’s womb, nor hide trouble from my eyes” (Revised Standard Version, Job 3:3,9). Job’s friends respond; they are probably overcome with sorrow for their friend and want to claim his suffering as their own responsibility to put an end to. One by one, they make grand speeches to Job, urging him to repent of whatever he has done to bring God’s wrath upon him. Though Job continually tells them that they are missing the point, his friends speak of how good God is and how the good will always live and the wicked will be punished. While they are not necessarily wrong, Job’s friends are speaking about matters that are not fully relevant to their friend’s circumstances. They, therefore, were not fully tuned in to what lay before them in the first place. 

So often in teaching, there is the temptation to be like the friends of Job. Feeling an emotional responsibility for the pupils at St. Benedict Classical Academy, it can be easy to take the position of the critic; the one whose mind is so fixed on ideal behavior and perfect procedures that he sees any hardships his students may be going through as a direct result of their own shortcomings. He stands to the side and fixates on each mistake or failure as something keeping the whole classroom from being the esoteric “well-oiled machine” that it could be. In the Bible in a Year podcast, Fr. Mike Schmitz points out that the best thing Job’s friends did for him was that they simply sat there in the dirt with him for seven days and seven nights. It is important to remember that in many tragedies, there may be nothing we can do for those who suffer, but our simple presence is in and of itself an invaluable consolation. Just as being an adult is difficult, being a child also comes with the full pain of original sin. As adults, we may have a greater vantage point on suffering due to more life experiences, but for children who do not have the same awareness, understanding, and self-sufficiency as adults, the process of growing up and going through change can be harsh and worst of all, confusing. As teachers, our occupation is to love like Christ, and Christ dove right into the full human experience in solidarity with us. He “had to walk that lonesome valley,” in the words of Delta Blues Singer, Mississippi John Hurt. Though Christ sometimes does not remove difficulties from our lives, He offers His silent, consoling presence in the tabernacle. Although I have not finished reading Job, I am starting to see that to be a good teacher not only means to instruct and guide, but also to accompany my students in their journeys, as one who has also trodden through the hardships and the joys of growing up.

AUTHOR: Peter Dowdy, History & Physical Education Teacher