But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.
Job has just finished describing his golden days, when his grand deeds won him everyone's high opinion. Chapter 30 turns on two words — "But now" — and the lowest men now laugh at the man the great once praised.
Two small words carry the weight of the whole chapter.
There is special emphasis in the words, "But now." Job draws a striking contrast between his past and his present. In Job 30 he is still occupied with himself. It is still "I;" but how changed. The very men who flattered him in the day of his prosperity treat him with contempt in the day of his adversity. That is always how it goes in this poor, false, deceitful world, and it is good for us to be made to prove it. Sooner or later everyone must find out how hollow the world is. The same people who cry "Hosanna" today will cry "Crucify Him" tomorrow.
Mockery from young men cut deep, because Job had lived on people's good opinion. His reply about their fathers is not gentle.
You can imagine how painful that was. He was a man who had been living a good deal on the witness of these grand deeds and on people's high opinion of him... "Whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock." Ah, Job, you can be cutting; you can strike deep when you want to. He would not have set their fathers with the dogs of his flock! Just think of it.
Job looks at the men behind the laughter — starving scavengers of the desert.
These younger men spared no unfeeling jibe that could wound him to the quick. Even for physical strength they were worthless, their prime ruined by want and hunger. What else could you expect from men who until now had been gnawing whatever they could find in the desert?... plucking saltwort in the thickets, and finding food, wretched as it was, in roots of broom.
Job had spoken earlier of rescuing the poor. His words here turn back on him.
This reveals another side of Job's character. He spoke before of delivering the poor and the fatherless and those who had no helper (ch. 29:12). Was it love for them that really moved him? If so, where was his love for this class of people, whom he had apparently looked at with contempt? Now they are treating him with contempt, and he feels deeply insulted. Again this shows the pride that Job needed to have broken down, and which was indeed broken down later.
Loss teaches a man what people are worth. That lesson alone does not heal him.
But remember well that much more is needed than the stripping of self and the discovery of how hollow and deceitful the world is. A person may go through all of this and the result be nothing but frustration and disappointment. Indeed it can be nothing more if God is not reached... Was this the spirit of Christ? Would Job have spoken this way at the close of the book? He would not. When Job once got into God's presence, there was an end to the self-absorption of Job 29 and the bitterness of Job 30.
Job answered his mockers with anger. Another Sufferer met the same scorn and did not.
We can only compare his anger at their taunts with the meekness of Him "who when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten."... But He, like one who did not hear, gave His back to those who strike and His cheeks to those who pull out the beard. "I hid not My face from disgrace and spitting" (Isa. 50:6). Who is it that said this? Not a man lamenting his former grandeur, but One who had voluntarily given up His glory in love for His enemies.
- But now — two words split Job's life in two: honour yesterday, mockery from outcasts today.
- The world turns — the men who flattered him in his good days now despise him. It is good to find out how hollow the world is.
- The mirror — the insult shows what praise had hidden. Job once spoke of rescuing the poor; now he cannot bear their contempt.
- Loss is not enough — being stripped bare leaves only bitterness. Reaching God ended Job's self-absorption and his bitterness.
- The contrast — Christ met the same scorn and spitting without answering back. He had given up His glory in love for His enemies.
Yea, whereto [should] the strength of their hands [profit] me, [men] in whom vigour hath perished?
Job has been remembering his days of honour. Now younger men mock him — men whose fathers he would not have put with the dogs of his flock. Verse 2 gives his reason for that scorn: their hands were of no use to him. The reason tells us as much about Job as about them.
The verse is an argument, not just an insult. Job rated these men low because their hands could do nothing for him.
He would not have set their fathers with the dogs of his flock! Just think of it. And he gives his reason. He says, "What could I gain from the strength of their hands?" Job was a wise man. If he had servants, he had servants who could do their duty. But as often happens with the most miserable of the world, they are weak. They cannot do a good day's work, or even a good hour's work.
The phrase does not mean old age. It points to men worn out before their time, and the same writer fills in what had drained them and how they had been living.
Even in physical strength they were worthless. Want and hunger had destroyed their prime. What else could you expect from men who until now had been gnawing whatever they could find in the desert? And not in green places either, but in total waste and wilderness. They pulled up saltwort in the thickets, and found food, wretched as it was, in the roots of broom or juniper. How sad to think of such degradation for members of the human race even in those early days!
Job treats their ruined strength as proof that they are worth nothing. Another writer presses the obvious question back on him.
He goes on to describe the sorry condition of these mockers. "Their vigour has perished. They are gaunt from want and famine" (vv. 2-3). Job does not consider that some such people may not be to blame for their condition, but he seems to think they were not worth considering. After all, they had to scrounge their food from unhealthy sources (v. 4). Men drove them out to live in caves or clefts in the valleys (vv. 5-6). For he says, "they were sons of fools, yes, sons of vile men." Can God not save sons of vile men? Indeed He can, and often does. Should not Job have cared for others brought so low, when he himself had fallen from his former state?
Job once pitied outcasts like these and helped them. Now he stands where they stood, and his tone toward them has changed.
Job's words about his former greatness described his generous pity for the wretched outcasts he comforted and cheered. Turning to the present, he seems to have changed places with these men, or with people like them. Now he speaks of them with no language of sympathy, but with the deepest contempt. Pride speaks of those "whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock." Their elders were beneath his contempt, and now the younger men laugh at him... The wound to his pride, in having such a rabble mock him, is clearly the deepest of his mental sufferings.
Job answers mockery with scorn. The same writer sets him beside One who met mockery in silence.
We can only compare his anger at their taunts with the meekness of Him "who, when He was insulted, did not insult in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten."... But He acted as One who did not hear: He "gave His back to those who struck Him, and His cheeks to those who pulled out His hair; I did not hide my face from shame and spitting" (Isaiah 50:6). Who is it that said this? Not a man mourning over lost greatness. This was One who had given up His glory by His own choice, in love for His enemies. He could have freed Himself from His troubles at any moment, by asking His Father or by using His own power.
Job reads his ruin as God being hard on him. One writer explains why the trial was not yet over.
He mourns his terrible state. Up to now he could not hold back the thought that God dealt harshly with him, and was arbitrary. He could not understand His ways at all. He also missed the motive God had — the gracious purpose. In short, he had not reached the end of the Lord, because he had not done with himself. That is the real secret of it.
- Measure. Job values these men by what their hands could produce. Hunger had drained their strength, so he counts them worthless.
- Blind spot. He never asks whether their condition was their fault — and God saves the sons of vile men.
- Reversal. The man who once pitied outcasts now stands among them, and the pity turns to contempt.
- Wound. Mockery from such men cut deeper than anything else he suffered in mind. The injury was to his pride.
- Purpose. The humbling went on because Job had not yet done with himself. Christ, mocked and silent, shows the other answer.
Withered up through want and hunger, they flee into waste places long since desolate and desert
Job has just finished remembering his former greatness. Now he turns to the people who laugh at him. He describes their hunger before he describes their mockery.
This is not poverty in the abstract. Starvation has wrecked their bodies, and the ground they scrape gives nothing fit to eat.
Even in physical strength they were worthless, for want and hunger had destroyed their prime. What else could you expect from people who had been gnawing at whatever they could find in the desert? This was not in places where green, pleasant spots grew, but in unbroken waste and wild land. There they plucked saltwort in the thickets when they could find it, and found food, wretched as it was, in the roots of broom or juniper. How sad to think of such degradation for members of the human race even in those early days!
Another writer traces their hunger to the land itself.
Withered up from hunger, they gnaw the roots of weeds growing in the waste. That land stopped yielding true food for man long ago.
Job had just claimed, in the chapter before, that he rescued the poor and the fatherless. Now he speaks of that same class with contempt, and one commentator presses the contradiction.
Job's disdain for such men reveals another side of his character. He spoke before of delivering the poor and the fatherless and those who had no helper. Was it love for them that really moved him? If so, where was his love for this class of people, whom apparently he had looked at with contempt?
Job and these outcasts have changed places. He once pitied them; now they mock him.
Job's words about his former greatness described his generous pity for the wretched outcasts he comforted and cheered. Moving to the present, he seems to have changed places with these people, or with others like them. He in turn speaks of them not with the language of sympathy but of deepest contempt… But in Job there is no turning to God under such unjust treatment. Clearly the wound to his pride, in having such a rabble mock him, is the deepest of his mental sufferings.
Job writes these people off by their background, as if their condition settled their worth.
Job does not consider that some such people may not be to blame for their condition. He seems to think they were not worth considering, because they have to scrounge their food from unhealthy sources and are driven from other people to live in caves or clefts in the valleys. For he calls them sons of fools and sons of vile men. Can God not save sons of vile men? Indeed He can, and often does.
Job has lost everything, and the loss by itself has not helped him. One writer explains why.
But let it be well remembered that much more is needed than the stripping of self and the discovery that the world is hollow and deceitful. A person may go through all of this and the result be nothing but frustration and disappointment. In fact it can be nothing more if God is not reached. If the heart is not brought to find its all-satisfying portion in God, a reversal of fortune leaves it desolate. The discovery that people are fickle and hollow fills it with bitterness… Once Job got into God's presence, there was an end to the self-centredness of chapter 29 and the bitterness of chapter 30.
Job answered his mockers with anger. Another Man faced worse and answered differently.
We can only compare his anger at their taunts with the meekness of Him "who when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten." All through His life our Lord had the shadow of man's rejection falling on Him. But in His darkest hour — "your hour, and the power of darkness" — they poured out their curses and their taunts. But He, like one who did not hear, said: "I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting." Who is it that said this? Not a man lamenting his former grandeur, but One who had voluntarily given up His glory in love for His enemies.
- Want. The verse pictures real starvation — strength gone, food scraped from desert roots.
- Contempt. Job names these people only to measure how far he has fallen. Commentators hear pride here, not compassion.
- Mirror. The man who once claimed to rescue the poor now despises the poor, and does not see that he has become one of them.
- Grace. Job writes these mockers off as beyond saving. God does not — He can and does save such people.
- God. Loss on its own leaves only bitterness. Job's pride and bitterness ended when he came into God's presence.
They gather the salt-wort among the bushes, and the roots of the broom for their food.
Job has turned from his honoured past to the men who now laugh at him. Here he describes what they live on, and the picture raises a question: why does a suffering man speak of other sufferers with such scorn?
Two plants are named here, and both belonged to people with nothing else to eat. The first is a wild herb:
A common herb that the poor would eat to satisfy their hunger. Job 30:4. Several have judged the herb to be the Atriplex halimus. It has a sour taste, but not so sour that people could not eat it.
The second plant is not the juniper we know today:
This word is thought to mean, not the juniper, but the Arabic ratam, the Retama raetam. It is a "broom" that grows twelve feet high, and a person could sit under it for shelter. 1 Kings 19:4-5. Job 30:4 mentions its roots, which the poor used for food.
Kelly looks at the lives behind such a diet:
What else could you expect from people who until now had been gnawing whatever they could find in the desert? And this was not in pleasant country, but in waste and wild land with no relief. They plucked saltwort in the thickets when they could find it, and they found food, wretched as it was, in roots of broom or juniper. How sad to think of such degradation for members of the human race even in those early days! We usually link outcasts like these with the crowded dens of shame and crime in some great city. They were there in those days too, behind the scenes of desert life.
Job lists their food as proof that these men are beneath notice. Grant answers that judgment:
Job does not consider that some of these people may not be to blame for their condition. They have to scrounge their food from unhealthy sources (v.4). Other men drive them out to live in caves or clefts in the valleys (vv.5-6). Job seems to think this makes them not worth considering, for he calls them sons of fools, sons of vile men. Can God not save sons of vile men? Indeed He can, and often does. Should Job not have cared about others brought so low, especially when he himself had fallen from his former state?
Ridout sets Job's earlier words about his own greatness against his words here:
Job's words about his former greatness described his generous pity for the wretched outcasts. He brought them comfort and cheer. Now, in the present, he seems to have changed places with these people, or with people like them. This time he speaks of them not with the language of sympathy, but with deepest contempt. It is a sad picture of pride, which grows bitter as it dwells on its wrongs.
Grant asks what Job's reaction shows about the man himself:
He spoke before of delivering the poor and the fatherless and those who had no helpers (ch. 29:12). Was it love for them that really moved him? If so, where was his love for this class of people, whom he had apparently looked at with contempt? Now they are treating him with contempt, and he feels deeply insulted. Again this shows the pride that Job needed to have broken down, and which was indeed broken down later.
Ridout compares Job's anger with the meekness of Christ under mockery:
We can only compare his anger at their taunts with the meekness of Him "who when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten."... Who is it that said this? Not a man mourning his lost greatness, but One who had given up His glory by His own choice, in love for His enemies. He could have freed Himself from His troubles at any moment, by an appeal to His Father or by putting forth His own power.
- Diet — the saltwort Job names was a sour wild herb. Only people with no other food ate it. The "juniper" was a desert broom shrub, and they chewed its roots.
- Scorn — Job names this diet as proof that his mockers are worthless. He assumes that men who scavenge for food are men not worth considering.
- Contradiction — one chapter earlier he had spoken of rescuing the poor. Commentators ask where that love went, now that the poor are the ones laughing at him.
- Pride — the insult stings because it lands on his pride. That pride was the thing Job needed broken, and it was broken later.
- Contrast — Christ was reviled and did not revile in return. Beside Him, Job's wounded dignity shows a heart still guarding its own honour.
They are driven forth from among [men] -- they cry after them as after a thief --
Job looked back over his former greatness in chapter 29. Chapter 30 turns to the present, where the men who now laugh at him are the outcasts of desert life.
These mockers were not Job's friends. They were people living rough on the edge of the wilderness. One writer takes the verse phrase by phrase: how they were driven out, how people shouted after them, and where they had to live.
We usually connect such social outcasts with the crowded dens of shame and crime in some great city. But they existed then too, behind the scenes of desert life. Men drove them out from the middle of society, Job says, and hooted at them as at a thief. They had to find a home in horrible glens, in holes in the earth, and in hollow rocks.
Set the two chapters side by side. Job and these outcasts have traded places: he once pitied them, and now they look down on him.
Job's words about his former greatness described his kind pity for the wretched outcasts he comforted and cheered. Now he passes into the present. He seems to have changed places with these people, or with people like them. This time he speaks of them not with the language of sympathy but of deepest contempt... They were driven away from other people like thieves. Their home was in valleys and dark holes, and they croaked or brayed like animals. And these outcasts pour their contempt upon him! ... Clearly the wound to his pride, in having such a rabble mock him, is the deepest of his mental sufferings.
Even the language Job chooses is sharp. He had said he would not have ranked their fathers with the dogs that guarded his sheep, and one writer notes how well Job could wound when he wanted to:
Ah! Job, you can be cutting; you can strike deep if you are so disposed. He would not have set their fathers with the dogs of his flock! Just think of it.
Job treats the condition of these people as proof that their opinion counted for nothing. But their poverty may say more about how others treated them than about what they deserved. And it says nothing about what God can do with them.
Job does not consider that some such people may not be to blame for their condition. He seems to think they were not worth considering, because they had to scrounge their food from unhealthy sources, and because they were driven away from other people to live in caves or clefts in the valleys... Can God not save sons of vile men? Indeed He can, and often does. Should Job not have cared about others brought so low, especially when he himself had come down from his former state?
Job's anger invites a comparison. Another Sufferer faced the same mockery from the lowest of society, and He answered in a completely different spirit.
Scorn them as he may, Job has to admit that they mock him, and that he is their song and their byword. We can only compare his anger at their taunts with the meekness of Him "who when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten." ... He was not a man mourning over his lost greatness. He was One who had given up His glory by choice, in love for His enemies. He could have freed Himself from His troubles at any moment, by an appeal to His Father or by putting forth His own power.
Job has lost everything, and he has found out how fast people turn. That discovery did not soften him. It made him bitter.
But remember well, much more is needed than the stripping of self and the discovery of how hollow and deceitful the world is. A person may go through all of this and the result be nothing but frustration and disappointment. Indeed it can be nothing more if God is not reached... Ah no, reader; once Job got into God's presence, there was an end to the egotism of Job 29 and the bitterness of Job 30.
- Outcast described. Settled society drove these mockers out. People shouted after them as after a thief, and they lived in ravines, holes and rocks.
- Outcast despised. Job once comforted people like these. Now he scorns them, and his deepest wound is that such a crowd dares to laugh at him.
- Outcast overlooked. Job never asks whether they were to blame for their misery. He never asks whether God could save even men like these. God can, and often does.
- Outcast honoured. Another Sufferer met the same mockery and did not answer back. He had laid aside His glory by choice, in love for His enemies.
- Outcast healed. Losing everything only made Job bitter. Reaching God ended the egotism of chapter 29 and the bitterness of chapter 30.
To dwell in gloomy gorges, in caves of the earth and the rocks
Job is remembering how far he has fallen. The men who now jeer at him are men he once would not have hired — outcasts driven out of society, scraping food from the desert and sheltering in caves.
One rendering brings out how brutal the picture is. These outcasts are not merely poor. Others chase them away like criminals:
At them, driven out from among people, they hooted as at a thief, so that they had to live in the horror of the glens, in dens of the earth and rocks. Among the bushes they brayed, under the nettles they huddled — sons of folly, sons of no-name, who were whipped out of the land.
The same writer stops to feel the weight of it. These were real human beings, and their misery is the kind we usually associate with the worst slums of a modern city:
How sad to think of such degradation for members of the human race even in those early days! Such social outcasts, whom we normally connect with the overcrowded dens of shame and crime in some great city, were not missing even then, behind the scenes of desert life.
Job treats their living conditions as proof that they count for nothing. One commentator raises the obvious objection. Job never asks whether their state is really their fault, or whether God cares about them:
Job does not consider that some of these people may not be to blame for their condition. They have sunk to scrounging food from unhealthy sources, and others have driven them away to live in caves or clefts in the valleys. He seems to think this made them not worth considering. For he says, "they were sons of fools, yes, sons of vile men." Can God not save sons of vile men? Indeed He can, and often does. Should Job not have cared about others brought so low, when he himself had fallen from his former place?
Job has just described his own kindness to the helpless. Now the same people appear again, and his tone has changed:
Job's words about his former greatness described his generous pity for the wretched outcasts he comforted and cheered. Coming to the present, he seems to have changed places with these people, or people like them. Now he speaks of them not with sympathy but with the deepest contempt… But in Job there is no turning to God under such unjust treatment. Clearly his deepest mental suffering is the wound to his pride, when such a rabble mocks him.
The mockery is only the surface. Underneath it Job traces everything back to God, and that is what he cannot bear:
None was so low that he could not look at Job with derision and scorn… But a deeper and more constant sorrow weighed on him. He could not shut out the harrowing conviction that his endless suffering in the body came from the hand of God — the very One from whom he might have expected compassion. Now he had to give up all hope of relief or rescue from above. He gave up hope, too, of even the most ordinary sympathy from people who are quick to feel for the misery of others.
One commentator sets Job's anger beside the meekness of Christ under similar treatment:
Scorn them as he may, Job has to admit that he is mocked by them, that he is their song and their byword. We can only compare his anger at their taunts with the meekness of Him "who when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten"… He answered like one who did not hear: "I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting" (Isa. 50:6). Who said this? Not a man lamenting his lost grandeur. This was One who had given up His glory by His own choice, out of love for His enemies. He could have freed Himself from His troubles at any moment.
Job has lost his standing and discovered how shallow people's respect was. That discovery, by itself, does not heal anything:
Much more is needed than the stripping away of self and the discovery that the world is hollow and deceitful. A person may go through all of this, and the result be nothing but frustration and disappointment. Indeed it can be nothing more if God is not reached. If the heart does not find all its satisfaction in God, a reversal of fortune leaves it desolate… Once Job got into God's presence, the self-absorption of chapter 29 and the bitterness of chapter 30 came to an end.
- Driven out. The mockers are men hooted at like thieves, living in gullies, holes and rocks — the lowest of the low in Job's world.
- Driven down. Job has changed places with them. The sting is not the pain but the shame — wounded pride is his deepest suffering.
- Driven aside. Job writes them off as sons of vile men, never asking whether God can save such people — and He can, and often does.
- Driven to despair. Behind the jeering Job sees God's hand, and gives up hope of any help from above.
- Driven to God. Loss alone only makes a person bitter. Only God Himself satisfies the heart — and in His presence Job's self-praise and bitterness end.
They bray among the bushes; under the brambles they are gathered together
Job has turned from the honour he once had to the men who now laugh at him. He gives them animal noises instead of speech — which raises two questions: who were they, and what does that show about Job?
Verse 7 sits in the opening section of chapter 30, where Job describes the men who mock him:
Job may dwell on the past as long as he likes. In the end he has to turn to the present, with its wretched contrast. We may divide this portion into seven parts, giving the thought of complete misery, which so exceeds his former greatness. The first is his wretched mockers (verses 1-8)…
One commentator weighs the verb Job picked for their voices:
"Among the bushes they bray." He will not allow that they talked — they brayed. "Under the nettles they huddle together."
They were real people, pushed out of settled life and living on what the desert gave:
What else could you expect from people who had been gnawing at whatever they could find in the desert? And not in pleasant places either, but in endless wild waste. They pulled up saltwort in the thickets when they could find it. They found food, poor as it was, in the roots of broom or juniper. How sad to think of such degradation for members of the human race even in those early days! We usually connect such outcasts with the crowded slums of vice and crime in some great city. But they were there then too, out of sight, in the life of the desert. … Under the nettles, he adds, they herded together like animals — sons of folly, too obscure for a name, known only for vice and the punishment that came with it.
In the chapter before, Job spoke of helping the poor and the fatherless. Here he speaks of such people with contempt. One commentator asks what that change reveals:
He spoke before of his delivering the poor and the fatherless and those who had no helpers (chapter 29:12). Was it love for them that really moved him? If so, where was his love for this class of people whom apparently he had looked at with contempt? Now they are treating him with contempt, and he feels deeply insulted. Again this shows the pride that Job needed to have broken down, and which was indeed broken down later.
The same writer turns Job's dismissal of their ancestry into a question. He uses an older translation of verse 8, which reads "sons of vile men":
Job does not consider that some such people may not be to blame for their condition, He seems to think they were not worth considering, because they had to scrounge their food from unhealthy sources (verse 4), and were driven from men to live in caves or clefts in the valleys (verses 5-6). For he says, "they were sons of fools, yes, sons of vile men." Can God not save sons of vile men? Indeed He can, and often does.
One commentator sets Job beside a greater Sufferer who was also mocked. He quotes Psalm 69:12 in an older translation:
It is a hideous picture, reminding us of One who in a far different spirit said, "I was the song of the drunkards" (Psalm 69:12). But in Job there is no turning to God in such unjust treatment. Clearly the wound to his pride, in having such a rabble mock him, is the deepest of his mental sufferings.
Loss by itself did not cure this bitterness. Reaching God did:
But remember: much more is needed than being stripped of self and discovering how hollow and deceitful the world is. A person may go through all of that, and the result be nothing but frustration and disappointment. Indeed it can be nothing more if God is not reached… when once Job got into God's presence, there was an end to the egotism of Job 29 and the bitterness of Job 30.
- Scorn — Job is picturing the men who mock him. He gives their voices the word for a donkey's cry, not for human speech.
- Scorned — These mockers were real outcasts. Men had driven them out of settled life, and they lived on desert roots and saltwort.
- Self — Job had spoken of rescuing the helpless. His contempt here exposes pride that still needed breaking — and it was broken later.
- Silence — Another Sufferer, mocked in the same way, met it in a far different spirit. Job never turns to God under the injustice.
- Surrender — Losing everything only leaves bitterness. God's presence ended Job's pride in chapter 29 and his bitterness in chapter 30.
Sons of fools, and sons of nameless sires, they are driven out of the land.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.