What is Truth?
Book of Job
MHA Reacts to the Bible
Job 2:1-6 - Satan Challenges Job's Faith Again
The screen brightened, transitioning from the desolate earthly plain to the celestial splendor of the Heavenly realm. The throne of God, encircled by radiant light and an emerald rainbow, stood as the centerpiece. Around it, the heavenly assembly gathered, the souls of the faithful—the "sons of God"—offering praise and glory to their Creator. Cherubim chanted, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come," their voices filling the expanse with divine reverence.
Satan appeared among the assembly, his presence a jarring contrast to the celestial purity. His serpent-like form slithered forward, his eyes glinting with malice, though his movements were subdued in the face of God's overwhelming authority.
The Lord's voice thundered from the throne, calm yet powerful, shaking the very foundations of the realm. "From where have you come?"
Satan bowed low, though the mockery in his gesture was evident. "From roaming throughout the earth," he hissed, his voice dripping with disdain, "and walking back and forth on it."
God's voice remained steady, yet there was an unmistakable edge of triumph. "Have you considered My servant Job? There is no one on earth like him, blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil. And he still maintains his integrity, though you incited Me against him to destroy him without reason."
Satan's eyes narrowed, his forked tongue flicking in agitation. "Skin for skin!" he spat. "A man will give all he has for his own life. But stretch out Your hand and strike his flesh and bones, and he will surely curse You to Your face."
The heavenly assembly stirred, whispers rippling among the gathered souls. The audacity of Satan's second challenge heightened the tension, but the radiance of God's throne remained unwavering.
God's reply was resolute. "Very well, he is in your hands; but you must spare his life."
A heavy silence fell over the assembly as the weight of God's words settled. Satan's twisted smile returned, his malevolent glee barely concealed as he bowed mockingly.
"As You wish, High One," he said, his voice slick with false reverence. Without another word, he slithered away, vanishing into the shadows as the light of Heaven consumed his form.
The screen lingered on the heavenly realm, where the "sons of God" resumed their worship, their voices rising once more in harmony.
Job 2:7-10 - Job's Second Trial
The screen shifted to Job, now sitting outside his home, his once-proud and upright form slumped under the weight of unimaginable grief. The ground around him was dry and cracked, a mirror to the desolation within his heart. Though the sun shone brightly, its warmth offered no comfort as shadows began to creep unnaturally across the landscape.
Unseen by human eyes, Satan's demons swirled around Job. They were grotesque, twisted beings of shadow and malice, their forms writhing as they closed in. One by one, they extended clawed fingers, their touch leaving angry, inflamed boils across Job's skin. The affliction spread rapidly, covering his body from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. Job winced as the unseen torment gripped him, his skin breaking out in painful, oozing sores. His breathing became shallow, and his hands trembled as he reached for anything to soothe the agony.
The sight was almost too much for many in the audience. Uraraka covered her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "That looks so painful," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't even imagine how much he must be suffering."
Asui's normally calm demeanor cracked, and she ribbited quietly. "His whole body… there's no part of him spared. How can anyone endure that?"
Kirishima clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "Man, that's just brutal. He's tougher than I thought. I don't know if I could handle half of that."
Tokoyami's voice was grave, his gaze fixed on the screen. "It is a torment both physical and spiritual. Even the strongest spirit would waver under such relentless pain."
Tetsutetsu bared his teeth, grumbling, "Man, that damn Satan! It's all his fault."
Job found a broken shard of pottery nearby. With trembling hands, he used it to scrape at the boils, trying to alleviate the searing pain. The sound of the shard against his inflamed skin was harsh, and his groans of anguish filled the air. The students winced collectively, their empathy deepening with every agonized sound Job made.
The screen transitioned to Job standing at the doorway of his home, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his grief and affliction. His skin, covered in boils, glistened painfully in the harsh sunlight.
Catalyst's voice narrated, solemn and steady, "Afflicted with a severe ailment, Job is forced into self-exile in the wilderness to distance himself from those who are healthy."
Job glanced back at his home one last time, his eyes heavy with sorrow. The vibrant life he had once known was now a memory, fading with every step he took away from the threshold. He turned, his movements slow and labored, and began walking toward the barren wilderness.
In the shadows nearby, Satan's serpent-like form twisted with malevolence. His glowing eyes fixed on Job's wife, who stood just outside the house, her face streaked with tears. Her body trembled with grief, her heart breaking at the sight of her husband's suffering. With a flick of his tail, Satan began his insidious work, whispering venomous thoughts into her mind.
"Look at him," Satan hissed, his voice dripping with contempt. "Once the greatest man in the land, now reduced to this. Where is his God now? All his prayers, all his sacrifices… for what? To sit in ashes and scrape his sores? Surely you see the futility of his faith. Speak the truth he refuses to acknowledge."
The screen shifted to Job's wife, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if trying to hold herself together. Her steps were hesitant, but the sight of Job, hunched and covered in boils, pushed her to the edge. Her face twisted with grief and frustration, the poisonous doubts planted by Satan swirling in her mind.
"Job," she said, her voice trembling with anguish and bitterness, "why do you still cling to your integrity? Curse God and die!" Her words, though spoken in despair, echoed with the venom of Satan's manipulation.
Job turned his head slowly, his face drawn and lined with pain, but his eyes held a flicker of steadfast resolve. His voice, hoarse yet unwavering, carried a quiet strength. "You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?"
His words hung in the air, a quiet rebuke laced with unshaken faith. In the shadows, Satan recoiled with a hiss of frustration, his coils tightening as his plan to break Job faltered once more.
Job's wife's expression crumpled under the weight of her grief. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "You are stronger than I am, Job. But I cannot watch you suffer like this. I cannot bear it." Overwhelmed, she turned and walked back toward the house, her sobs fading into the distance.
Job stood in silence, his sorrow deepening as he watched her leave. With a heavy heart, he turned his back on his home and began his slow journey into the wilderness. The barren expanse stretched before him, a desolate landscape mirroring the turmoil within his soul. The camera lingered on his figure as he disappeared into the distance, his once-proud form now hunched under the weight of unimaginable loss and pain.
The screen then transitioned to a barren expanse stretched before Job, a desolate landscape mirroring the turmoil within his soul. Job's footsteps left faint imprints in the dusty earth as he distanced himself from the place he once called home. Alone now, he sank to the ground, his body trembling from the pain of the boils. Reaching into the dirt, he gathered handfuls of ash and poured them over his head, the gray powder clinging to his broken skin and mingling with his tears.
Job remained seated, his body trembling as he reached for a shard of pottery. With trembling hands, he scraped at the boils, seeking a moment's reprieve from the unrelenting agony. The sound of the shard against his inflamed skin was harsh, mingling with the desolate silence of the wilderness.
The camera pulled back, showing Job silhouetted against the vast, empty expanse. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that rolled across the barren land. The sky darkened as storm clouds rolled in, their ominous presence casting long shadows across the barren land. Lightning streaked the horizon, illuminating the desolate scene in harsh, fleeting bursts. A cold wind picked up, stirring the ashes around Job and chilling him to the bone. As the first drops of rain began to fall, mingling with the tears on his face, Job rose slowly to his feet. His movements were stiff and labored.
Job staggered toward a nearby cliff. Beneath its jagged overhang, he collapsed onto the hard ground, curling into himself as the storm raged above. The rain poured relentlessly, drumming against the rocky terrain and cascading in rivulets down the cliffside. Lightning illuminated Job's gaunt face, his hollow eyes staring blankly ahead as the storm's fury mirrored the tempest within his soul.
Catalyst's voice returned, filled with quiet reverence. "This moment marks Job's lowest point. His body is broken, his loved ones are gone, and even his wife's words echo with despair. The storm above reflects the storm within, yet he does not sin. His faith remains, a flickering light in the encroaching darkness."
The screen faded to black, leaving the students in the theater in heavy silence. The weight of Job's suffering and his unyielding faith lingered as they reflected on the depth of his trials.
The screen transitioned from Job's silent, ash-covered form to the wilderness—a barren, volcanic expanse under a blood-red sky. The land seemed to tremble as Satan erupted into a fury, his serpentine body thrashing violently. His glowing, slitted eyes burned with unbridled rage, and his serpentine tail slamming into the ground, leaving smoldering scars in the earth.
"No!" Satan howled, his voice shaking the very air. "How can this be? A mere human—pathetic, weak, and broken—dares to defy me? To remain faithful? To worship that accursed Creator despite everything?"
His tail lashed out, smashing into a jagged rock formation, shattering it into a cloud of dust and debris. The ground beneath him cracked and splintered as his tail pounded into it repeatedly. From his mouth erupted fiery torrents, scorching the earth around him in uncontrollable bursts. His roars of frustration reverberated across the wasteland, echoing into the void.
Satan's minions lingered at the edges of his wrath, their grotesque forms writhing in fear. None dared to approach him, their whispered murmurs barely audible over his raging outbursts.
"He defied me!" Satan snarled, his voice a mixture of venom and disbelief. "I stripped him of everything! His wealth, his servants, his children! I turned his own flesh against him! And still, he remains faithful. Still, he bows to that… that Creator!"
His tail struck the ground again, splitting it open, sending up bursts of molten fire. He paused, his breath heaving, the fiery torrents from his mouth reducing to faint embers. Yet, his fury showed no signs of abating. The thought of his humiliation—his defeat—at the hands of a mere human filled him with seething hatred.
"Twice I have been made a fool!" he hissed, his voice lowering to a venomous growl. "Twice I have stood before His throne and dared to challenge Him, only to… to lose! To a mortal!"
Satan bared his fangs. The thought of returning to Heaven's court, standing before God and the assembly of the "sons of God," sent fresh waves of anger surging through him. He roared again, his voice splitting the air as he exhaled another stream of fire.
"I will not bear this humiliation! This… disgrace!" he raged. "If I must endure that accursed assembly, I will ensure that my next move breaks him. His faith is not unshakable. It cannot be! There must be a way to destroy him, to make him curse the Creator!"
The demons cowered further back, their grotesque forms blending into the shadows of the scorched terrain. None dared to speak or approach, their fear of their master's wrath outweighing even their malicious natures.
Satan stood in the center of the chaos he had wrought, his chest heaving and his fiery glow dimming slightly as his rage began to simmer into cold, calculating malice. He straightened, his slitted eyes narrowing as he stared into the distance, plotting his next move.
"This is not over," he hissed. "He will fall. I will ensure it."
The screen faded to black, the echoes of Satan's wrathful roars lingering in the theater, leaving the students in tense, uneasy silence.
Job 2:11-13 - Job's Friends Comfort Him
The screen transitioned from the desolation of Satan's rage to a quiet, barren expanse outside of Uz. The land was dry, the air heavy with the silence of grief. Three figures emerged on the horizon, traveling toward Job's dwelling. Their solemn expressions and slow, deliberate movements reflected the weight of their purpose.
Catalyst's voice narrated softly, "When Job's three friends—Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite—heard of all the calamity that had befallen him, they came together to mourn with him and to offer their comfort."
The camera focused on the friends as they approached Job's home. Eliphaz, an older man with a weathered face and piercing eyes, walked slightly ahead of the others. His gait was steady, his demeanor that of a man accustomed to giving counsel. Bildad, shorter and stockier, carried a look of profound sadness, his eyes fixed on the ground as he walked. Zophar, younger than the others, clenched his jaw tightly, his expression a mixture of sorrow and apprehension.
As they drew closer to Job's dwelling, the camera shifted to Job, sitting in the ashes. His body was hunched, his figure almost unrecognizable beneath the boils that covered him. His hands rested limply at his sides, the shard of pottery he had been using lying forgotten in the dust. His eyes stared vacantly ahead, reflecting the depth of his suffering.
When the friends saw Job from a distance, they stopped in their tracks. The sight of their once-vibrant friend, now reduced to such a state, struck them like a physical blow. Bildad's breath hitched, and he placed a hand over his mouth, his shoulders trembling. Zophar turned his head away, as if unable to bear the sight. Even Eliphaz, who prided himself on his composure, closed his eyes briefly, his lips moving in silent prayer.
"Is this truly Job?" Zophar whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "The man who was once so full of life and wisdom?"
Bildad shook his head, his voice barely audible. "How could so much suffering befall one man?"
Eliphaz took a deep breath, his voice steady but heavy with grief. "We have come to comfort him. Let us not falter now."
The three men approached Job slowly, their steps cautious as if the very ground might shatter beneath the weight of their sorrow. When they reached him, they tore their robes in an ancient expression of mourning. Each man scooped up a handful of dust and sprinkled it on his head, sharing in Job's grief.
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the only sounds the soft rustling of the wind and the distant cries of birds. Then, one by one, they lowered themselves to the ground, sitting alongside Job in the ashes. None of them spoke. There were no words adequate to address the depth of Job's suffering.
The screen lingered on the scene, capturing the profound silence shared among the four men. Catalyst's voice returned, his tone reverent. "For seven days and seven nights, they sat with Job. Not a word was spoken, for they saw that his suffering was too great for words."
The camera shifted subtly, highlighting the passage of time. The sun rose and set, shadows lengthened and shortened, yet the friends remained by Job's side. Their silence was not one of indifference but of deep respect for the gravity of Job's pain.
Eliphaz glanced at Job's face, his own lined with sorrow. He opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again, bowing his head. Bildad adjusted his position slightly, his hands clasped tightly as he stared at the ground. Zophar's eyes flickered toward Job briefly before returning to the dust at his feet. Their presence was a quiet testimony to their shared grief and their commitment to be there for their friend.
Catalyst's voice concluded the scene. "In their silence, Job's friends demonstrated the sacred act of mourning alongside the suffering. Though their intentions were to comfort, their presence alone spoke volumes. It was an acknowledgment of pain too deep for words, a solidarity in sorrow."
The screen faded to black, leaving the theater in heavy silence. The raw imagery of Job's suffering, his unwavering faith, and the storms both literal and metaphorical hung in the air. Catalyst stepped forward, his glowing presence casting a soft light over the students.
"Let's take a moment to reflect on everything we've seen," Catalyst began. "What are your thoughts on Job's trials so far?"
Bakugo was the first to speak, crossing his arms tightly. "I'll say it: it's unfair. The guy loses everything—his money, his kids, his health—just to prove a point to Satan? Seriously?" His tone was sharp, but the flicker of unease in his eyes betrayed his discomfort. "I'll admit, it was satisfying to hear Satan cry like a sore loser… but it's not worth all this."
Midoriya hesitated before responding, his notebook resting on his lap. "It does feel unfair," he admitted, "but it also shows how strong Job's faith is. Even after losing everything, he still refuses to blame the Creator. That kind of faith is… incredible."
Iida adjusted his glasses, his expression thoughtful. "While Job's suffering is immense, it's important to remember that this story highlights something beyond fairness. It's about the strength of integrity and faith in the face of trials. Job's actions serve as a profound testament to his character."
Shiozaki folded her hands in her lap, her voice soft but resolute. "Job's suffering is a reflection of how deeply broken the world can be. Yet, his decision to worship and trust in God despite his pain is… inspiring. It reminds us of the power of hope, even in the darkest times."
"Yeah, but at what cost?" Kaminari said, his usual levity absent. "I mean, sure, Satan lost, and that's great and all, but Job's life is in shambles. All of his kids are gone and his wife turned against him. Is it really worth it?"
"I'm glad Satan lost, though," Uraraka interjected, her fists clenched in frustration. "For once, he didn't get what he wanted. But seeing what Job had to go through to make that happen…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't know if I could do it."
Yaoyorozu's brow furrowed, her tone contemplative. "I think that's part of the story's message. Job isn't relying on his own strength—he's trusting in something greater than himself. His faith in the Creator is his anchor, even when everything else is taken away."
Kirishima leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly. "It's hard not to respect Job. I mean, he's at his lowest point, and he still holds on. That takes a kind of strength you don't see every day."
Todoroki's voice was quiet but steady. "Satan losing shows that evil doesn't always win, even when it seems like it has all the power. But Job's suffering makes me wonder… what's next for him? Does the story end here, with him sitting alone in the ashes?"
Monoma's voice cut through, tinged with his characteristic pride but laced with genuine intrigue. "Perhaps it's a testament to human resilience," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But isn't it also a little reckless? Job doesn't demand answers or justice… he just takes it all. What's the point of suffering if it doesn't achieve anything?"
"It does achieve something," Kendo countered, her tone firm. "Job's faith shows that integrity isn't tied to circumstances. Even when everything falls apart, who you are at your core can stay intact. That's powerful."
Tetsutetsu nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's like steel. You don't know how strong it is until it's tested. Job's been tested harder than anyone, and he's still standing. That's real strength."
Jiro's voice was quieter but carried a thoughtful edge. "But what about his wife? I can't blame her for breaking down. Watching someone you love suffer like that has to be unbearable."
Catalyst nodded, his gaze steady. "Pain and loss often make people vulnerable to doubt and anger. The reaction of Job's wife reflects the very human struggle to reconcile suffering with faith."
"Still," Ashido chimed in, "it feels like Job's just… alone now. Like, what's left for him? Even if he keeps his faith, can he ever rebuild his life?"
Catalyst nodded, his gaze sweeping over the group. "A perceptive question. No, this is not the end of Job's story. Though he has endured unimaginable suffering and silence, the narrative does not conclude with despair."
Otto stepped forward, adding with a touch of his practical tone, "Think about it. Job has had over a week to sit in his pain and process everything that's happened. He's reached his lowest point, and yet he hasn't cursed God. The question is, what will he do now?"
Catalyst's voice softened, drawing the students' attention. "What comes next will show us not just Job's response but the depths of his humanity. We will see him speak from his pain, wrestle with his faith, and search for understanding in his suffering. And through it all, the story will continue to challenge us to reflect on our own responses to trials."
The students sat in contemplative silence, the weight of the discussion settling over them.
Job 3: Job Opens Up
The screen brightened, showing the desolate wilderness where Job sat alone beneath the overhang of a rocky cliff. His body was hunched, covered in boils, his once-proud frame now gaunt and weakened. The storm had passed, leaving behind a gray and somber sky that seemed to mirror the weight of his anguish.
Job stirred, his voice breaking the oppressive silence. It was hoarse, raw from days of mourning and lamentation. He raised his head slightly, his hollow eyes gazing into the distance as if searching for an answer that eluded him.
"Let the day of my birth perish," Job began, his voice trembling with the depth of his despair, "and the night that said, 'A boy is conceived!' May that day turn to darkness; may God above not care about it; may no light shine on it."
The camera panned across the barren landscape as Job's words echoed, his lament filling the emptiness around him.
"May gloom and utter darkness claim it once more; may a cloud settle over it; may blackness overwhelm it. That night—may thick darkness seize it; may it not be included among the days of the year nor be entered in any of the months."
Job's voice grew stronger, though it quivered with pain. He lifted a trembling hand, his fingers clutching the shard of pottery as if it were the only anchor to his shattered existence.
"May that night be barren; may no shout of joy be heard in it. May those who curse days curse that day, those who are ready to rouse Leviathan. May its morning stars become dark; may it wait for daylight in vain and not see the first rays of dawn, for it did not shut the doors of the womb on me to hide trouble from my eyes."
Job's shoulders sagged, and his head lowered. The camera zoomed in on his face, the lines of anguish etched deeply into his features.
"Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb? Why were there knees to receive me and breasts that I might be nursed? For now I would be lying down in peace; I would be asleep and at rest with kings and rulers of the earth, who built for themselves places now lying in ruins, with princes who had gold, who filled their houses with silver."
He paused, his voice faltering as tears rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the ash and dust on his skin.
"Or why was I not hidden away in the ground like a stillborn child, like an infant who never saw the light of day? There the wicked cease from turmoil, and there the weary are at rest. Captives also enjoy their ease; they no longer hear the slave driver's shout. The small and the great are there, and the slaves are freed from their owners."
Job's hands clenched into fists, and his voice rose slightly, tinged with bitterness.
"Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure, who are filled with gladness and rejoice when they reach the grave? Why is life given to a man whose way is hidden, whom God has hedged in?"
The wind picked up slightly, rustling Job's tattered garments as he continued, his tone filled with sorrow and confusion.
"For sighing has become my daily food; my groans pour out like water. What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil."
The camera pulled back, revealing Job's small, frail form against the vast and unyielding wilderness. His words faded into the silence, leaving an aching void that seemed to encompass the entire scene.
Catalyst's voice returned, low and somber. "Here, Job gives voice to the depths of his despair. His lament is raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. He does not curse God, but he curses the day of his birth, questioning the very purpose of his existence in the face of unimaginable suffering."
A/N: The next few chapters will cover Job, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar's conversation. Let me know how you'd like me to handle that. Would you want me to write it out fully? Or summarize it to get the main points across?