his faith on feelings. But God judges the words of each by one's inner thoughts, judging which truly guide one's actions, knowing when He hears a humble spirit, rewarding ones with a contrite heart, honestly admitting they can never resemble God's image or attain His purity, acknowledging only He is holy.
Bystander: With God indeed opposing the proud, favoring the submissive, humble yourselves under His mighty power, waiting for His time to lift you up in honor, forgetting your cares and worries, giving them all to Him, knowing He cares for you, trusting after your suffering He will restore, support, and strengthen you, placing you on a firm foundation. Work hard, making every effort to respond to God's promises, supplementing your faith with a generous provision of moral excellence, supplanting moral excellence with knowledge, knowledge with self-control, self-control with patient endurance, patience endurance with godliness, godliness with brotherly affection, brotherly affection with love for everyone.
Job: If I am blameless and upright, what must I do to be holy? Were counselors ever there to show me? Where should I have looked to become righteous? Did not my time here prepare me to be wise? Was my advisor's tenures here longer than mine, assuring their wisdom would never be prideful nothingness, trusting it dwells with prudence?
Finegold: Wicked people writhe in pain, afflicted with anxiety, haunted by troubled souls, soothing their minds with numbing potions, awaking to hopelessness, hoping for some ending to their dubious prosperity, but unable to pull the chain announcing their demise, they remain in darkness, terrified to see any light, bidding defiance against the Almighty, hiding themselves in gluttony's garments, inhabiting empty nothingness, the barren desert of godlessness, isolated by obesity shielding them from dictates of tolerance. Could you be one such person?
Job: Do my friends not know me, distorting my blamelessness, giving me little credit for being upright, expecting more of me than from others, acknowledging none of my pleas, giving no credence to my arguments, crucifying me with abuse, wanting no more to visit me, expecting my time to end soon, probably hoping I will last little longer, never thinking it worthwhile to soothe my suffering.
Joseph: Listen to one who lost as much as you. Having never lost my love for God, waiting patiently for His directions, knowing His plans for me are good, I begin to reap benefits of His promise, placing me where I suffer no remorse for any afflictions, accepting the consequences He planned for my circumstances, being a servant as I will always be, a servant for the Lord and I faithfully honor His commands.
Bystander: Joseph has more opportunity for restoring his dignity, more than for Job, scarred with blemishes, afflicted with lesions, making him unacceptable and unwanted, to be avoided and never seen by others, imprisoned in dark shadows of shame, waiting for healing, thinking it would never happen, shouting to all unclean, unclean, warning others to stay away, a victim of the Almighty telling him, one never to listen, I will send ones deaf to eternal truths great trouble, all the things one fears.
Job: Indeed, chance favors you Joseph, seeing fate placed you as no slave but as a servant, probably honoring you more than before when you had to dodge your sibling's jealously, knowing the blessings of servanthood, and moreover, you have not lost your handsome appearance, once envied and detested by your siblings, but now helping in your acceptance by others, believing your fine face underlies a virtuous heart, guiding a worthy composure. My fate suffers, however, my thrashed being attracting no one to accept me, no one wanting to buy me as a slave, disfigured as I am with festering sores, wondering if they can ever heal, isolating me in desolation, a fugitive from creation's goodness, abandoned, never wanted to be visit by another human being. God has shriveled me up, making my appearance witness against me, my gaunt face peering out through a wounded facade, tormented and distorted by His wrath, descending on me with negligence of His mercy, transforming all people to be my adversaries, collecting me in their gaze to strike me with disgust, running from me, escaping before I can cry out, Why me. Having become a target for venomous gaping, shunned by uncaring others, ones created by God to be like me, I ask who else suffers my fate, dooming me to face and joylessly endure, wondering if there exists a place for sufferers to gather, hoping I would not be cast with wicked ungodly ones? Would God ever again choose one of His creations to be scorned and suffer as I, creating someone to be tortured and rejected, despised and sacrificed, transfigured to fodder for angry mobs, ending a life to appease the blameless multitude. I pray my distress would never be dispatched to oblivion, hoping my torments would be recorded in heaven's annals, sealed for the coming Day of the Lord, until a witness, examining my deeds, acting as my advocate, could justify uniting with a redeemer, maybe God if He chooses to change His mind. My counseling brothers, eager to lift me up with their words, reproving me with elegant pronouncements, can never be my witnesses in heaven, never knowing me as I trust I should be known, waiting to be revealed after I go the way of no return.
Reckoner: Discern what the Lord might be saying, Your injury is Incurable--a terrible wound, with no one to help you or bind up your injury, no medicine to heal you, leaving you abandoned, deserted by all your admirers, your allies having left you, no longer with any concern for you--following My plan to have you cruelly wounded, making you think I am your enemy, but for your many sins guilt is great, deserving the punishment you protest, your wounds without a cure.
Bystander: Fate doesn't always favor one with unwanted results, knowing it requires implementations on a person's volition, responding by seeking the Holy Spirit, inviting Him to breath in greater faith, inspiring one to know God, coming often as an opportunity disguised as suffering, testing one's patience, trying one's endurance, giving faith a chance to grow, blessing those patiently resisting enduring temptations, waiting for the crown of life promised by God. To many, prayer--maybe strange to your practice--is not practical but absurd. Do you hide your prayers from foolishness, protecting its practice from shame, so no one will accuse you of having discarded common sense and throwing reason to the wind?
Joseph: How great are my blessings, having the Lord at my side, seeing me through all turmoils, directing me by mysterious--sometimes alarming--visions, settling me with peace and accept things I cannot change, extending my patience to trust His plans, gracing me with opportunities I don't deserve, promising He will never leave me. For what more could I ask?
Job: Considering the fate of others here, I could yearn for either the butler's or baker's destiny, never knowing which to prefer, freedom for the birds to pick my brains, enslavement binding me forever to carry a cup, never knowing when time would surprise me again, imposing on my ruler's mind a jester to distract him for a freaky moment, sending me to some outback, home to beasts for savoring my corrupted body, fulfilling a sacrifice I am meant to be, achieving finality's injustice, waiting only for the grave to exalt me, promising to send me to a better place, knowing none could be worse than here, home to no sensible people, no one wise except in their own eyes, prudent in their own sight. Maybe this is the foolishness one must suffer to become wise, but I discern nothing coming of the foolishness dictating the destinies of the butler and baker. These thoughts scatter my reason, racking my heart, discerning nothing to love.
Reckoner: How long will you hunt for words, striving to vindicate yourself, believing some chosen words will be answered by God, meanwhile commenting on the follies of His human creations, directing their thoughts on foolish deeds, never understanding the wisdom of God, never knowing His economy with regard to the righteous and sinners. Listen up, you who tear yourself in anger. Do you desire the earth to be forsaken for you, praying for the Day of the Lord, waiting to meet God face-to-face, anxious to plead your case, trusting you will be vindicated as the world disappears, vaporized into oblivion?
Job: My light wants to continue shining, believing flames of my fire must keep burning, protecting me in its light, never thrusting me into darkness, never driving me from the world, trusting God to hear me and raise me from my p
light.
Reckoner: Your fire shines no more, the flame of yourself, flourishing once to make you prosper, your beacon of blamelessness, as all memory of you perishes, leaving you nameless, alone in the street, with no survivors thinking to mark your name, living with the ungodly, caring nothing for your plight, associating with the wicked, never seeing truth in their eternal darkness.
Job: Do you relish tormenting me, breaking me up with words, unashamedly wronging me, humiliating me, broadcasting my faults, judging me but never for breaking any laws, snatching judgment possessed only by God, brandishing your wisdom to condemn me and explain my suffering. Crying out violence overtakes me, justice never running to my aid, onlookers offer only silence, listening to your accusations, your explanations denying my blamelessness. You uproot my dignity but find nowhere to replant it, no garden willing to accept it, leaving its roots to shrivel, it's substance to rot, making me an alien crying in the wilderness, having become the bane of my