Wind sweeping across the Arabian peninsula around 2000 b.c. carries a fine, biting grit. Eliphaz speaks his accusations against a backdrop of arid landscapes and dry wadis. He accuses his friend of the worst imaginable crimes in a desert culture, claiming Job stripped the garments from the poor and withheld a cup of cold water from the parched. The accusations hang in the stifling air alongside the dust. Nomadic life requires fierce hospitality to survive the scorching heat. Withholding bread from the exhausted is a literal death sentence in this unforgiving terrain.

God dwells above the thickest clouds, far removed from the biting grit of the desert floor, yet intimately aware of the empty cups and bare shoulders below. Eliphaz paints a picture of a distant Creator walking on the rim of the heavens, insulated from human suffering. Yet the very breath of the Lord sustains the weary traveler gasping in the dry wind. He commands the rain that eventually fills the cracked riverbeds. The Almighty does not remain confined to the celestial vault. His gaze penetrates the storm clouds to see the true heart of the accused man sitting in the ashes. He watches the hands that offer water and the fingers that hoard it.

A handful of dry dirt slips easily through calloused fingers. Eliphaz commands his friend to take his most precious raw gold and throw it into the rocks of the dry riverbed. Wealth in this ancient world is heavy, measured in pounds of raw ore and countless sheep. Tossing such security into the rocky dust goes against every human instinct for survival. We construct elaborate vaults to protect our own security, building insulated walls against the harsh winds of sudden loss. The ancient instruction to treat precious silver like common dirt challenges the deep desire to accumulate and protect. Relinquishing our tight grip on what we value most creates a sudden, quiet emptiness. A hollowed-out hand is finally empty enough to receive something far better than heavy ore.

An open hand easily catches the rare, sudden rain that eventually washes down the cracked wadi. The rocks of the riverbed hold the discarded gold, but the water brings the only true relief to a parched throat. Moisture transforms the harsh desert grit into soft soil. The heavy ore sinks to the bottom, completely useless for growing wheat or sustaining life.

A hand clutching heavy gold cannot catch the falling rain.