Israel Centeno

There are stories that can only be understood when seen through a greater one. That is what happened to me with Job. For years I tried to make sense of him from within his own book—from his pain, his loss, his desperate questions. But one day, almost without seeking it, I realized that Job is not explained by Job. Job is explained by the Cross. Everything he lived—his wounds, his silence, his collapse—finds its true meaning in the One who hung on the wood and also cried out “Why?”. From that Calvary that illuminates every darkness, Job’s story unfolded in a new way for me.

I always thought Job was the story of human suffering before God. But when viewed through the Cross, it becomes the story of human suffering with God. Job sits on ashes; Christ falls under the weight of the Cross. Job loses children, health, and dignity; Christ loses blood, friends, and even the comfort of the Father’s felt presence. Job cries to heaven; Christ cries from the Cross. Job feels abandoned; Christ, too: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”. And yet, in both, the abandonment is not absence—it is mystery. The mystery of a love that does not avoid the wound but transforms it.

Reading Job through the Cross revealed something I had never seen before: Job is not tested because he is weak. He is tested because he foreshadows the Innocent One who will suffer without guilt. The limit God sets for Satan—“touch his flesh, but not his life”—echoes in the Crucified One: enemies may wound the body, but they cannot touch the gift of the heart. True life, the life that belongs to God, remains untouched. And so I learned that in my own trials there is a Cross that does not destroy but reveals. A Cross that does not steal my soul but strengthens it.

The dialogue between God and Satan had always disturbed me, but the Cross helped me reinterpret it. In Job, evil asks permission to accuse; on the Cross, evil dares to strike the Son Himself. In both cases, God does not negotiate—He exposes. He exposes the lie of the accuser and the truth of love. Satan claims: “Job loves You because You protect him”; the Cross answers: “Here is One who loves even without protection.” Job endures loss; Christ endures total self-giving. Job remains faithful; Christ remains love. And through both, God proves that there exists a fidelity unbreakable by evil.

But the greatest discovery came when I looked at my own fears through the Cross. The fear of suffering, the fear of losing, the fear of a great trial—all of it changes. For if the Cross comes, it does not come alone: it comes with Him. And if the night lengthens, it is not abandonment—it is companionship. Job taught me to cry out to God; Christ taught me to stay with Him even without answers. And now, when I imagine a heavy cross falling onto my shoulders, I tremble less. Because I know the Cross is not meant to break me but to draw me closer.

Job cannot be understood without the Cross. And the Cross, when I dare to look at it, whispers the same truth Job proclaimed: I know that my Redeemer lives. He lives even in pain. He lives even in silence. He lives even when everything else collapses.

And that is enough to keep walking.