Job 16:15–22

Job now points to the extreme misery he was going through. About this, Zophar had callously said that Job's suffering was less than he deserved... If he had been guilty of violence and hypocrisy, this would make sense. But he insists that no violence was in his hands and his prayer was pure.

Horns in Scripture symbolize strength: "But you have exalted my horn like that of the wild ox" (Ps. 92:10). They were the badge or symbol of power: "my horn is exalted in the LORD" (1 Sam. 2:1).

Job was right enough in feeling that God had to do with his painful trial. He had no idea what had taken place in heaven, which gave the key to at least part of it... He says with complete frankness that without God none of these trials could "happen." That was real faith, even though he was not yet well taught.

Because of the fiery trial Job was going through, he speaks as if God were treating him harshly, as if He had somehow become his enemy. So he breaks out in bitterness, which is the natural result of such a thought. The state of the soul must always depend on how a person looks, or fails to look, at God.

Poor Job fails to see God in His unchanging love through all these sufferings. Every pain he feels, every tear he sheds, every humiliation he goes through becomes a fresh charge against God. And yet, not entirely, for there is real faith in his heart... He knows, though not fully, since he has not yet seen, that there is One who pleads for him before God. What he longs for, we know that we have — One who pleads for us with God as a man pleads for his neighbor. We know a High Priest who sympathizes with our weaknesses, who always lives to make intercession for us.

Have you ever been brought down? Has there ever come a moment in your soul's history when you have put on moral sackcloth? Have you ever been like Job, as he says: "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes" (Job 42:5-6). Job and the Ninevites occupied the same ground morally.

He was brought down to the last degree of misery, and to degradation too, grief upon grief. Nothing lay before his eyelids except the shadow of death. Yet no violence stained his hand, and his prayer was pure.

"I have sewn sackcloth over my skin, and laid my head in the dust, my face is flushed from weeping, and on my eyelids is the shadow of death" (vv.15-16). If he had been guilty of violence and hypocrisy, this would be understandable, but he insists that no violence was in his hands and his prayer was pure.

Was it true that he restrained prayer before God? Listen to his own words: "My face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids is the shadow of death; not for any injustice in my hands: also my prayer is pure." Eliphaz had thoroughly wronged him... It was utterly false that he did not cry to God.

He said, "I have been pouring out my sorrow, but I am no better for it"... He would have been a comforter in sorrow. He would not have been a doctor with no medicine to give. They brought poison into his wounds instead of something to soothe them.

What Eliphaz says is perfectly true. Job had comforted others in times of distress, and he should have borne up under his own trials. And yet would we not expect some words of sympathy from a friend — a "brother born for adversity"? Would not grace always teach us to "weep with those who weep"? The blessed Man of Sorrows did not take sufferers to task in this way. Human sorrow moved Him with compassion, even to tears.

So his eye turned upward. He could not explain his calamities — or rather, they were not yet explained. Even so, he speaks in confident faith that his witness is in heaven. That witness is God Himself, who testifies on his behalf in those high places. His friends were only mockers. They completely misunderstood his case and hurried to judge him instead of admitting their ignorance. So he can only weep out his sorrow and prayer to God.

The pious and patient Job lacked someone to share his great sorrow, while his eye poured out his tears to God, and his face was "foul with weeping" (Job 16:16, 20).

Job was passing through a fiery trial. So he speaks as if God were dealing harshly with him, as if He had mysteriously become his enemy. He breaks out into bitterness, the natural effect of such a thought. The state of the soul must always depend on how one looks, or fails to look, at God. So it is all-important to have and enjoy the knowledge of God as He is. Then the soul is at ease and at home with Him, self-judging and resting in His love.

Job was brought down to the dust in agony, but Christ was brought down to the dust of death... What was all the frightful state of Job's body compared with the judgment of our sins?

But was it true that he restrained prayer before God? Listen to his own words: "My face is red with weeping, and on my eyelids is deep darkness, although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure." Eliphaz had thoroughly wronged him. … Whether prayer had been restrained could be judged absolutely by none but God Himself.

He calls to the earth not to cover his blood, that is, not to cover up the fact of his undeserved suffering… If he had been guilty of violence and hypocrisy, this would be understandable, but he insists that no violence was in his hands and his prayer was pure.

…so he was brought down to the lowest depth of misery and disgrace, grief upon grief. Nothing stood before his eyelids except the shadow of death. Yet no violence stained his hand, and his prayer was pure.

He could not deny that he was afflicted. Measuring himself against man, he did not see that he had done anything to bring such great affliction on himself. And his friends harassed him… He has not yet seen himself in the sight of God; and therefore he maintains (ver. 17), "there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure"; and so he looks to plead with God, as a man pleads for his neighbour. He has a partial sense of God's greatness, but not of His holiness. The reason is that he has never been near enough to God. It is nearness to Him that produces the sense of His holiness.

But these spiritual affections of Job did not prevent his turning this consciousness of integrity into a robe of self-righteousness which hid God from him, and even hid him from himself. He declares himself to be more righteous than God (Job 10:7-8; 16:14-17; 23:11-13; 27:2-6).

Elihu refers to many of Job's own statements in proof of the dishonour done to God. Some of these he quotes exactly; for others he gives the substance of much that Job had said… Compare such statements as these: "You know that I am not wicked" (Job 10:7); "there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure" (Job 16:17); "till I die I will not put away my integrity from me…" (Job 27:5-6).

So Job calls on the earth not to hide his blood. His life was, as it were, poured out, and he wanted it to stand out in open view. With the same purpose, he asks that his cry should find no place to rest down here, but go straight up on high.

He calls to the earth not to cover his blood. That is, he asks it not to cover up the fact of his undeserved suffering. He also asks that his cry should have no resting place, apparently so that it should be heard rather than silenced. For he was confident that the witness of his innocence was in heaven, even though his friends on earth had refused it and scorned him.

He would let his blood cry for vengeance like Abel's. Yet he instinctively knows there is a just God in heaven who has the record of his life. To Him he can appeal against the false charges of his friends. He knows, though not fully, for he has not yet seen, that there is One who pleads for him before God. What he longs for, we know that we have — One who pleads for us with God as a man pleads for his neighbour.

But was it true that he restrained prayer before God? Listen to his own words: "My face is red with weeping, and on my eyelids is deep darkness, although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure." Eliphaz had thoroughly wronged him. "O earth, cover not my blood, and let my cry find no resting place. Even now, behold, my witness is in heaven, and he who testifies for me is on high" — that is, on this point he can turn to God. Only God Himself could judge for certain whether Job had held back from prayer.

It was good that he did take it all from the hands of God. But we still see that note of self-righteousness and self-vindication marring his prayer, above all in verse 17. So his prayer did pass into a complaint that God was dealing harshly with him. The complaint grew mainly because he felt he could speak of God on high as the Witness to his integrity, even though his friends scorned him.

The heavens are against him; their holy light only reveals his iniquity. Job had appealed to heaven and earth to witness to his righteousness. Zophar hints at the exact opposite. The heavens only declare his sin, and earth rises up in the judgment against him.

Job did not expect vindication in this life. But grace was yet to give, as it gives us too, more than faith looks for. Faith is in us, though it comes from God, and it has its measure. Grace is in Him — free, unmixed, and unlimited.

But in all these ravings, faith, which sleeps in his breast, asserts itself and tries to wake. He says, "my witness is in heaven, and He who vouches for me is on high." So he clings to God. It hardly needs saying how beautifully this word suits us. We know Him who has gone on high, and who vouches for us there. But Job did not know Him as we know Him.

So his eye turned upward. His disasters were not beyond explanation, only unexplained so far. Yet he speaks in confident faith: his witness is in heaven, even God Himself, to testify on his behalf in those high places. His friends were only mockers. They completely misunderstood his case and rushed to judge him instead of admitting their ignorance. From them he can only weep out his sorrow and his prayer to God.

He calls to the earth not to cover his blood — that is, not to cover up the fact of his undeserved suffering. He also asks that his cry find no resting place, apparently so that it should be heard and not silenced. For he was confident that the witness of his innocence was in heaven. His friends on earth had refused it and scorned him.

He would let his blood cry out for vengeance, as Abel's did. Yet he knows by instinct that there is a just God in heaven who keeps the record of his life. To Him he can appeal against the false charges of his friends. He knows, though not fully, for he has not yet seen, that there is One who pleads for him before God. What he longs for, we know that we have — One who pleads for us with God as a man pleads for his neighbour. We know a High Priest who is touched with the feeling of our weaknesses, who "always lives to make intercession for us."

"My witness is in heaven, and my record is on high" — that is, on this point he can turn to God. None but God Himself could judge for certain whether he had held back from prayer.

It was good that he took it all from the hands of God. But we still notice that note of self-righteousness and self-vindication spoiling his prayer, especially in verse 17. So his prayer did pass into a complaint that God was dealing harshly with him. He felt this all the more because he could speak of God on high as the Witness to his integrity, even though his friends scorned him.

"The righteous also" — you see it is turned for good — "shall hold on his way." That is what he looked forward to. His record was on high; his witness was in heaven; he clung to God. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." That was Job's language; that was his spirit. He had far more faith than any one of the three.

Unless we look at what goes on in our own hearts, we can hardly measure the heartbreak these accusations must have caused Job. They turned him in the wrong direction; they took him up with himself. He could not deny that he was afflicted. Measuring himself against other people, he could not see that he had done anything to bring such great affliction on himself. And his friends kept badgering him, directing and confining his mind to this one point: that God's dealings always match what a man has done, and therefore, since Job suffered so much, he must have been wicked to an extraordinary degree.

But was it true that he had given up prayer before God? Listen to his own words: "My face is red with weeping, and on my eyelids is deep darkness, although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure." Eliphaz had completely wronged him... Only God Himself could judge whether Job had given up prayer. Job seems to act on that here. If I am not mistaken, this is exactly his appeal: "My witness is in heaven, and my record is on high. My friends scorn me: but my eye pours out tears to God." It was completely false to say that he did not cry to God.

Job therefore calls on the earth not to hide his blood... and, for the same reason, that his cry should find no resting place here below but go straight on high. So his eye turned upward. He speaks in confident faith that his witness is in heaven — God Himself — there to testify for him on high, in spite of disasters he cannot explain, or rather that have not been explained yet. His friends were only mockers. They completely misunderstood his case and rushed to judge him instead of admitting their ignorance. So he can only weep out his sorrow and his prayer to God.

Some translate the opening words of verse 21 as, "Oh that there were arbitration for a man with God!" So his mind went back to the umpire he had wished for at the end of Job 9. A man might plead for his neighbour or friend. But Job felt there was no one to step in between God and himself, and he could only expect a short time before his end.

Poor Job fails to see God in His unchanging love through all these sufferings. Each pang he endures, every tear he sheds, every humiliation he suffers, is a fresh charge against God. And yet, not altogether, for there is real faith in his heart... deep down he knows there is a just God in heaven who holds the record of his life. He can appeal to Him against the false charges of his friends. He knows, though not fully, since he has not yet seen it, that there is One who pleads for him before God. What he longs for, we know that we have — One that pleads for us with God as a man pleads for his neighbour. We know a High Priest who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, who "ever lives to make intercession for us."

His record was on high; his witness was in heaven; he clung to God. "Though He slay me, I will hope in Him." That was Job's language; that was his spirit. He had far more faith than any one of the three.

His friends harassed him. They directed and confined his mind to this one point: God's doings were all according to man's acts. So, since he suffered so much, he must have been wicked to an extraordinary degree… He feels how terrible his affliction and suffering is. Yet now and again the link he has with God, as a soul born again, slips out. He has not yet seen himself in the sight of God. So he holds that there is no injustice in his hands and that his prayer is pure, and he looks to plead with God, as a man pleads for his neighbour. He has a partial sense of God's greatness, but not of His holiness. The reason is that he has never been near enough to God, for it is nearness to Him that produces the sense of His holiness.

Some translate the opening words of verse 21 as, "Oh that there were arbitration for a man with God!" So his mind went back to his desire for the "Daysman," recorded at the end of Job 9. A man might plead for his neighbour or friend, but he felt there was no one to step in between God and himself, and he could only expect a short time before his end.

But in all these ravings, faith, which lies asleep in his heart, asserts itself and tries to wake up. He says, "my witness is in heaven, and He that vouches for me is on high." So he clings to God. This word suits us well — we know Him who has gone on high and who vouches for us there. But Job did not know Him as we know Him.

In any rendering, Job is certainly looking for God to plead as well as judge. It is strange that any Christian should think Job said this "with melancholy quaintness." The better view sees in it a remarkable longing after what was more fully realised in the mediation of Christ with God — a man for men, and God with God. But truth must first be learned in the soul's guilt and need, not by the flickering lamp of the scholar. Only then is it prized and really known.

He knows, though not fully, for he has not yet seen, that there is One who pleads for him before God. What he longs for, we know that we have — One who pleads for us with God as a man pleads for his neighbour. We know a High Priest who feels our weaknesses. He "always lives to make intercession for us."

He reminds Job of his own desire for such a person: "Neither is there any daysman between us, who might lay his hand upon us both" (Job 9:33); "Oh that one might plead for a man with God, as a man pleads for his neighbour" (Job 16:21). To this desire Elihu now replies: "Behold, I am according to your wish, in God's stead; I also am formed out of the clay. Behold, my terror shall not make you afraid, neither shall my hand be heavy on you."

One translation of the opening words of verse 21 is, "Oh that there were arbitration for a man with God!" So his mind went back to his desire for the "Daysman," recorded at the end of Job 9. A man might plead for his neighbour or friend. But Job felt there was no one to step in between God and himself. He could only expect a short time before his end. His breath was foul and the grave was ready for him, as he says in the first verse of Job 17. We probably have little idea of the extreme, drawn-out bodily decay and misery he had been enduring.

Poor Job fails to see God in His unchanging love through all these sufferings... And yet, not altogether, for there is real faith in his heart... He knows, not fully, for he has not yet seen, that there is One who pleads for him before God. What he longs for, we know that we have — One who pleads for us with God as a man pleads for his neighbour. We know a High Priest who is touched with the feeling of our weaknesses, who "always lives to make intercession for us."

In a state of despondency he says, "For when a few years are finished I shall go the way of no return" (v.22). He therefore expected to live a few years more. But he thought of those years only as continuing his present misery. He says nothing of the bright prospect of eternity — eternal glory and eternal blessing with Christ — which at least today should be deeply precious to a believing heart. How marvellous is the advantage the children of God have today over those of Old Testament days!

If we take it otherwise, then when he says that in dying he "goes where he shall not return," he denies all resurrection. But he is thinking of a return to the scene in front of him. This is not an abstract statement. He means the scene of mixed joy and sorrow he was living in at the time. And Scripture often speaks this way. "Enoch was not." Is that extinction? No, "he was taken up so that he should not see death." To the world "he was not." To God he was, for "God took him." The same is true of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, who really died. To men they died; to God they lived: "Now He is not God of the dead, but of the living, for all live to Him" (Luke 20:38).

Suppose the suspicion of his friends — one might call it the charge — had been true. Then one thing above all others would have been terrible to him. Need I say it would be death? So far from this, there was nothing Job wanted so much as death... if he could only die, if he could only come near enough to God to plead before Him, even now he did not doubt what he would find there.

And from that home no traveller returns. Once a traveller crosses that frontier there is no way back. He must face whatever lies in that land: let it be darkness or light, let it be sorrow or joy, let it be good or ill. Once the step is taken, return is for ever out of the question.