Job 19:21–24

"Have mercy on me, have mercy on me, O you my friends, for the hand of God has touched me!" As far as it goes, this seems excellent on Job's part. It was not the whole truth, but it was true. His certainty that it was not for any wickedness in his hands did not weaken it. He had not been knowingly holding on to any evil. Yet the plain fact stood: God was striking him. He did not blame other people. He would not try to explain it by human reasoning. It hurt so deeply just because he felt it came from God. Whatever the means used, it was God — the same God who had put a hedge of protection around him and blessed him steadily until then. He did not know how to fit the present together with the past. For that he had to wait. The answer came at last, when patience had its perfect work.

How pitiable! He had come down very low to call upon his dear friends to have pity, and they had nothing but bad suspicion which wounded him to the quick.

The plea for pity and sympathy might well move hearts of stone. But it seems Job's words fall on ears that will not listen. It was their argument that God's hand had been upon him — for his sin.

If no one else will have pity on Job, at least his friends should. They came to comfort him, so he feels they ought to show some measure of pity rather than accusation. He pleads with them, saying, "the hand of God has touched me." Should they add to his suffering, thinking it right to do so because God had made him suffer? He felt God was persecuting him. That was not true. But his friends really were persecuting him. They were not satisfied that his flesh had suffered enough.

How often have we caught ourselves judging a child of God whom we found in trouble of "mind, body, or estate." We must guard against this carefully. We ought not to imagine that every visit of the hand of God must be because of some special sin in that person. This would be an entirely false principle. The dealings of God are preventive as well as corrective.

But once more he appeals to their compassion in the face of such ruin and misery. He appeals all the more because he owned it to be the hand of God... Then the truth of God's intervention at the end flashes so brightly before his soul that he wishes his words written... And no wonder. He knows his Kinsman-Redeemer lives.

The hand of God never deals except in agreement with His heart of infinite love towards us... even if He sees good to allow sorrow to come — yes, to send it — it comes from a hand which never makes a mistake. That hand always answers to a heart whose love is perfect.

If no one else will have pity on Job, he at least feels that his friends should show some pity rather than accusation. They had come to comfort him. So he pleads with them and says, "the hand of God has struck me." Should they add to his suffering? Did they think that was right because God had made him suffer? He felt God was persecuting him. That was not true. But it was true that his friends were persecuting him, not satisfied that his flesh had suffered enough.

The plea for pity and sympathy might well move hearts of stone, but Job's words seem to fall on ears that will not listen. It was their claim that God's hand had been upon him — for his sin. Job asks whether they will persecute him as God was doing. It is a terrible charge. Will they feed madly on his flesh with a desire nothing satisfies? Such injustice drives him almost frantic.

But he does not spare protest or rebuke. "Why do you persecute me as God, and are not satisfied with my flesh?" It was distress enough that he was suffering in this way. Were they justified in destroying his confidence in God? The drift of what they were doing was to make him doubt the sincerity of his own faith, which is clearly the devil's work. The Spirit of God never leads to a doubt.

Just let them change places, if that were possible. Let those three friends stand in Job's position. Let them lose not only their possessions but their families, completely swept away by destruction, in a way that looked like the effect of God's displeasure… I cannot help thinking his answer here is a most touching appeal, above all when he goes on, "But I would strengthen you with my mouth." There he has the clear advantage in grace over them. "I would strengthen you with my mouth, and the moving of my lips should ease your grief." Not a word had come from them with such a character or purpose.

They failed to understand how such a perfect and upright man as Job could be tried so severely… They did not grasp the ways of God with His own at all. By their false and unworthy suggestions they made Job feel that they could not help him at all. So they threw him back on God Himself. So that in the end he said, "I have heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you" (Job 42:5).

Here Job longs to have his words written down for ever (vv.23-24), for he was sure he spoke the truth. In fact, what he said stands in the Word of God for eternity. That lasts longer than words engraved in rock with an iron pen and lead set into the letters. Yet Job will not hold all those words to be true for ever. After this he learned that God was not a persecutor at all. He was One who in everything sought the greatest good of His servant.

The plea for pity and sympathy might well move hearts of stone, but Job's words appear to fall on ears that will not hear. Their argument was that God's hand had been on him — for his sin. Job asks if they will persecute him as God was doing — a terrible charge. Will they feed wildly on his flesh with an appetite that is never satisfied? Such injustice drives him almost frantic. He longs to see his words — charging them, and God — written and cut into the rock forever, where nothing can erase them.

"Oh that my words were," and so on — not exactly printed in a book, but pressed into stone, or however people wrote in those days. He is speaking of a very lasting form.

The truth of God's intervention at the end blazes before his soul. So he wishes his words written, inscribed in the book — no, engraved with a pen of iron and with lead on a rock forever. And no wonder. He knows his Kinsman-Redeemer lives.

What intensity this is! The Holy Spirit enables Job to set his seal to all this precious confession of his faith. Job would have all men know it, and every generation of them. He would publish it far and wide. He would tell it out without any fear that he would ever have to cancel a letter of it. He would engrave it for eternity and fill the letters with lead in the rock — that he knew his Redeemer!

At this point Job longs to have his words written down for good, for he was sure he was speaking the truth. In fact, what he has said stands in the Word of God for eternity. That is more lasting than rock engraved with an iron pen and lead poured into the letters. Job, however, will not think all those words true forever. Later he learned that God was not a persecutor at all, but One who in everything sought the greatest good of His servant.

And then, in the middle of all these laments, he speaks those magnificent words of faith: "I know that my Redeemer lives." But this was the very God he had just been charging with injustice! How good to see Job's faith turn, in all this turmoil, to the very One he was speaking against. These — not his own protests of innocence — are the words worth engraving on the lasting rock.

He longed to have his words kept in a book, or even engraved on the rock for good, as kings and great men used to do in those days. People have found such rock records and read them. Yet his desire came true in a more wonderful way than he imagined. His words stand in the inspired Scriptures, which outlast and outreach everything else.

And his memorable words, written in the BOOK OF BOOKS forever, give us the first clear declaration of a life beyond the death that man's sin brought in.

The history and book of Job are judged to be very early, and he speaks not only of writing but of a book. This refers to his words being engraved on a rock and filled in with lead.

He longed for his words to be kept in a book, or even carved to last on the rock, as kings and great men did in those days. People have since found such rock records and read them. Yet his desire came true in a more wonderful way than he imagined: his words stand in the inspired Scriptures, which outlive and outlast everything else.

The plea for pity and sympathy might well move hearts of stone, but Job's words seem to fall on unhearing ears. It was their claim that God's hand had been upon him — for his sin. Job asks: will they persecute him as God was doing? What an awful charge! Will they feed madly on his flesh, never satisfied? Such injustice makes him almost frantic. He longs that his words — charging them, and God — were written, engraved in the rock forever, so they could never be erased.

At this point Job longs for his words to be written where no one could erase them (vv. 23-24). He was sure he was telling the truth. In fact, what he has said is inscribed in the Word of God for eternity. That lasts longer than rock engraved with an iron pen, with lead set into the letters. Job, however, will not consider all those words true for eternity. After this he learned that God was not a persecutor at all. He was One who in everything sought the greatest good of His servant.

And then, in the middle of all these laments, he speaks those magnificent words of faith. He says, "I know that my Redeemer lives." But this was the very God he had just been charging with injustice! How good it is to see Job's faith in all this turmoil, turning to the very One he was speaking against! Truly these — not his own protests of innocence — are words worth engraving on the lasting rock.

The truth of God's intervention at the end flashes so brightly before his soul that he wishes his words written, inscribed in the book, better still, engraved with a pen of iron and with lead on a rock forever. And no wonder. He knows his Kinsman-Redeemer lives.

And what fervency this is! The Holy Spirit enables Job to set his seal to all this precious confession of his faith. Job would have everyone know it, and every generation of them. He would publish it far and wide. He would tell it out without any fear that he might one day have to cancel a letter of it. He would engrave it for eternity and set it in lead in the rock — that he knew his Redeemer!