In pondering altars to the unknown god, two works of art have come to my mind. These aren’t quite altars, but they still resonate with me. Both artworks remind me of the story of Job.
Job Rebuked by his Friends, 1805
by William Blake
Job, the suffering saint of the Old Testament, is a difficult story to wrestle with. By no means have I suffered like Job — thank God — yet I connect with Job’s plight and his questioning of God. Job’s is a struggle with doubt. The call of his wife rings in his ears: “Curse God and die!” as Job asks God, “Why do I suffer like this?” (my paraphrase). To which Job does not get a straight forward answer.
The first artwork which reminds me of Job’s story is a piece of music. I have heard it said the music you listen to between the ages of 16 and 25 will stick with you your whole life. Well, I’ve been thinking about the good ol’ days of music. You know, before Spotify. When musicians and bands used to make albums instead of just catchy singles. A well made album could be a journey, much like a collection of poems or a novel.
As I ponder Job and suffering and doubt I keep returning to David Bazan’s album Curse Your Branches.
Curse Your Branches, 2009 (album cover)
by David Bazan
If you followed Bazan and his rise to fame as a Christian singer then this album would be disconcerting. The Chicago Reader once described this album as a “breakup album” in which Bazan dumps God.
My own experience of this album came the year it was released, which was the same year I graduated from college. I spent the following year and half unemployed, applying to over 300 jobs before I stopped counting. It was a hard time and this album shaped the words of my own personal woes. Overall, though it might be considered a break up album, the songs are about Bazan’s extreme disappointment with the disconnect between the promises of Christianity and the realities of his life. Usually breakups involve two parties throwing the punches (hopefully not literally) yet this album does not include the voice of God. He is silent as Bazan throws insults and accusations with each song.
Bazan’s doubt struck home in my heart. You see, I thought I went to college to get a degree, which would then get me a job. I did what I was “supposed” to do. William Wright-Swadel, director of career services at Duke, observed of the ‘09 graduates: “The kids for whom it was a catastrophic event are those who believed that they did everything right. Now none of the strategies they bought into worked.”1
Bazan’s low voice resounded in my headphones:
God knows If you notice the millions of small holes And ponder the weight of an apple Compared to the trouble we’re in Then a grown man might Be tempted to question his birthright In front of his kids and devout wife Causing the doubt to begin To spread like original sin
Too doubt I might add anger and rage.
