Job 1: The Blameless Servant

There was a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job; and that man was blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil. — Job 1:1

The Righteousness of Job: A Pastoral Confession

The Book of Job does not begin with suffering—it begins with righteousness. That is not a narrative accident. It is the theological heartbeat of the entire book. We are introduced to Job not in the ashes but in the light of divine approval. He is “blameless and upright,” a man who “fears God and shuns evil.” This fourfold description is not merely human observation—it is the divine verdict of justification by faith. This is not Job’s résumé but God’s declaration.

And herein lies the first realism with which pastoral care begins: righteousness does not mean the absence of affliction. In fact, it is precisely the blameless whom the Accuser seeks. Job’s piety is not a shield against pain; it is the very reason Satan targets him. The court of Heaven speaks a truth we so often forget: to be declared righteous is not to be immune to suffering. Rather, it marks us as Satan’s target. “Indeed, all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution” (2 Timothy 3:12).

But we must pause to consider what Scripture means when it calls Job “blameless.” The Hebrew word used is תָּם (tam), which does not mean “sinless.” It means “complete, whole, sound.” Job’s righteousness is not moral perfection, but integrity born of faith. This aligns with the doctrine of justification by faith, which runs as a subterranean stream beneath the narrative.

As our Confessions say, “Furthermore, it is taught that we cannot obtain forgiveness of sin and righteousness before God through our merit, work, or satisfactions, but that we receive forgiveness of sin and become righteous before God out of grace for Christ’s sake through faith when we believe that Christ has suffered for us and that for His sake our sin is forgiven and righteousness and eternal life are given to us. For God will regard and reckon this faith as righteousness in his sight, as St. Paul says in Romans 3[:21-26] and 4[:5]” (AC IV). The righteous live by faith—even before the Law of Moses (see Galatians 3:17-18), even before Christ’s incarnation. Job fears God and trusts Him. That trust is his righteousness.

Luther saw this clearly. To paraphrase from a 1529 sermon, in Job we see an outstanding example of how God deals with His saints, not according to their sin, but according to His own hidden counsel. Luther’s insight reveals what Job teaches by experience: the believer’s life is not governed by karma or mechanical justice but by the mysterious will of a gracious God who hides Himself. Job is not suffering because he sinned; he is suffering in spite of his righteousness.

The Scene in Heaven: A Glimpse into the Invisible War

The first surprise in the text comes not from Earth, but from Heaven. Beginning in verse 6, we are ushered into a divine council. The sons of God present themselves before the LORD, and “Satan also came among them.” This is no mythic tale; it is theological unveiling. We are given a privileged glimpse into the invisible war that rages around the saints of God.

Satan—הַשָּׂטָן (ha-satan), “the accuser”—does not question Job’s morality but his motives. “Does Job fear God for nothing?” (v. 9). This is a legal attack. Satan is not tempting Job yet; he is accusing him. He is challenging the very foundation of faith. If faith is simply a transaction—obedience in exchange for blessing—then it is not faith at all. Satan’s logic is brutally simple: remove the blessings, and Job will curse God to His face.

The Lord’s response is not an admission of weakness but a demonstration of Job’s authenticity. “Have you considered My servant Job?” (v. 8). This is not divine negligence; it is divine confidence. The Lord knows Job’s faith because He has given it to him. He permits Satan to strike, but only within limits: “Behold, all that he has is in your power; only do not lay a hand on his person” (v. 12). The Book of Job presents Satan as a dog on a leash—he can only go so far as God permits him. The heavenly court, therefore, is not a power struggle between equals—not a yin and yang. It is the courtroom of the Judge who allows testing not to destroy but to reveal His truth.

The Lutheran tradition has always emphasized that faith is tested, not because God is cruel, but because Satan is real. The Christian life is not lived solely in peacetime. As the Confessions say, faith “resists the terrors of conscience and encourages and comforts terrified hearts. Such faith is not an easy matter, as the adversaries dream. Neither is it a human power, but it is a divine power. Through faith we are reborn and overcome the devil and death” (Ap IV, 249-250).

Job is not passive; he is not a pawn. He is a warrior undergoing spiritual warfare, but he is a warrior whose strength lies not in answers, but in faith—faith that clings to the Word.

Catastrophe and the Confession of Faith

Verses 13-19 form one of the most harrowing sequences in all of Scripture. The blows fall like thunder: the Sabeans steal oxen and kill servants; fire from the heavens consumes sheep; Chaldeans raid the camels; a great wind crushes the house where Job’s children are feasting. One after another, the messengers arrive, each announcing death and devastation. It is tragedy in stereo—unrelenting, unbearable.

And then, silence.

The text says, “Then Job arose, tore his robe, and shaved his head; and he fell to the ground and worshiped” (v. 20). Worshiped? This is an unexpected response for such a ruinous situation. He worshiped not because he understood or felt peace, but because he believed. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD” (v. 21).

Here is the theology of the cross in its rawest form. Job does not excuse God. He does not pretend the pain is less than it is. He does not deny God either. Instead, he worships with a broken heart. He confesses God’s sovereignty in the midst of chaos. This is not resignation—this is faith. It is the cry of one who knows God remains God even when all else is taken.

The verse concludes with words every sufferer should hear: “In all this Job did not sin nor charge God with wrong” (v. 22). That is, Job did not accuse God of injustice. He did not curse God, as Satan had predicted. Job is not stoic. He is shattered. Yet he remains faithful.

The Pastor at the Ash Heap

What does this mean for pastoral care?

Everything.

When the pastor stands beside the bed of a grieving widow, or sits across from a young father who’s lost his job and his joy, or listens to the unanswerable cries of the chronically ill, the Book of Job becomes more than history and wisdom literature. It becomes the grammar of Christian hope.

Pastors must not rush to interpret suffering—that is every Christian’s initial response. Job’s friends will do that soon enough. The faithful pastor listens, waits, sits in the ashes, and reminds the sufferer that God is not absent in the silence. The very presence of the Book of Job in Scripture is proof that our cries are heard.

What can we say, then, to the suffering saint?

• You are not being punished. Christ bore the punishment for all your sins.
• You are not forgotten. The Lord who called Job “My servant” calls you His child.
• You are not alone. The Church has a long tradition of crying out with Job, and Christ Himself has joined you in lament.

The Lutheran reformers often insisted suffering should drive us to the Means of Grace. For it is there, not in explanation, that comfort is found. As Luther said, “When the devil throws our sins up to us and declares that we deserve death and hell, we ought to speak thus: ‘I admit that I deserve death and hell. What of it? Does this mean that I shall be sentenced to eternal damnation? By no means! For I know One who suffered and made satisfaction on my behalf. His name is Jesus Christ, the Son of God.’”[1] This is the response of Job before Christ, and the Christian after Job. It is the response of faith.

The Storm is Coming

Job 1 is the foundation of the book. The rest of the book cannot be understood without it. Job’s suffering is not arbitrary, neither is it retribution. It is a battleground where the righteousness of faith is tested, not to destroy it, but to vindicate it. Job does not yet know what we know. He does not see the court of Heaven as we’ve been given to see it—that is the dramatic irony of the entire book. Neither does he hear the conversation between God and the Accuser. He knows only loss, yet he confesses and worships. Therefore, we also begin here—in the ashes, yes, but also in faith.

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[1] Martin Luther, Luther: Letters of Spiritual Counsel, trans. and ed. Theodore G. Tappert (orig., 1960; reprint, Vancouver, BC: Regent College Publishing, 2003), 85.