Job 31:13–23

Had Job despised the cause of any of his servants, whether male or female? (v.13). If this were true, he asks, what should he do when God raised the question with him? For God made these servants just as He had made Job. Job had surely weighed this fact long before, so he was not guilty of oppressing the creatures of God (vv.14-15).

He shows, very movingly, that even in his high position his heart never forgot that his servants were of the same race and the same human family as himself. There was no room in him for cold personal pride. And it was not only a strong sense of ties within his own household. His compassion always went out to suffering people — the widow and the fatherless, the needy and the naked.

In what really matters, how small the difference is! They come into the world alike, and they stand alike when the world passes away. "The rich and the poor meet together; the LORD is the Maker of them all." The poor man has a right to remember this, and the rich man should not forget it.

He starts with his household, whose well-ordered character grew out of the purity of its master. He claims that he was fair in all his dealings with his servants, recognising their common nature and their common standing before God, "who shows no partiality."

Servants are especially dependent on their masters. Their position itself is a claim on their masters for what is just and fair, and that covers both treatment and wages. They can safely leave themselves in their masters' hands, confident that their interests will be guarded. Masters are urged to this, knowing that they have a Master in heaven — One who watches all their conduct and holds them responsible for dealing faithfully with their servants. He shows no partiality.

Every Christian master should keep asking himself about his servants, "What is just? What is fair?" And he is to remember that he himself is a servant, with his own Master in heaven.

Read chapters 29-31, and you will say, if any man could have justified himself by good works, Job was the man. There is not a man in all your town that can say as much as Job said, and say it truly. As to his kindness to the poor, he was the very opposite of the lying charges brought against him. So he lets memory list every good act of his life, but all fails to give rest to his troubled spirit. I, I, I, I did this, I did not do that. But it is all of no use.

Divine truth, as well as divine love, will not allow him to wrap himself in these garments of self-righteousness. They are, for the most part, borrowed clothes belonging to God, to whom Job gives not one bit of glory.

Job tests himself carefully and in detail against a very full list of possible offences. He does this toward God as well as toward man, for failing to do good as well as for self-indulgence and other sins. We can be sure that not one of the friends who as good as accused him could have afforded to test himself the way Job does here. He judges unclean desires as well as actions. He does it in the fear of Him who had power to throw soul and body into hell — Him who all the while was taking note of every step he took. He shows, very movingly, that even in his high position his heart never forgot that his servants were of the same race and the same human family as himself. That left no room for cold personal pride.

Had Job despised the cause of any of his servants, whether male or female? If this were true, he asks, what should he do when God raised the question with him? For God made these servants just as He had made Job. Job had thought about this fact long before, we are sure, so he was not guilty of oppressing God's creatures.

"The rich and the poor meet together; the LORD is the Maker of them all." The poor man has a right to remember this, and the rich man ought not to forget it. Job had it clearly before him.

The law had its value — God does nothing in vain. Yet we can see how high the moral standard was for the soul and for the daily walk of godly men outside Israel, before the law was given at Sinai. The patriarchs of Genesis show it. God had spoken words. He had also acted in solemn ways with men, both one by one and as a whole race, in grace and in judgment. All this came long before He inspired men to write His mind by divine power. And faith received His word and thought over His dealings, with rich profit, before there was any Scripture.

Masters are then urged, and reminded that their Master is in heaven, and that "there is no partiality with Him." He notices threats and oppression. The cry of the poor and needy reaches His ears, and He will repay it in the coming day. Both master and servant answer to the one Lord, and they will stand together at the same judgment seat.

They will govern, and govern firmly, as they should, because God has entrusted their authority to them. But they will remember that those under them answer directly to their Master in heaven. Together with the masters, they are the Lord's servants. So in this respect they are equal, despite the difference in their positions on earth. This of itself would prevent all harshness.

Just read chapters 29-31, and you will say, if any man could have justified himself by good works, Job was the man. There is not a man in all your town that can say as much as Job said, and say it truly. As to his kindness to the poor, he was the very opposite of the lying charges brought against him. So he lets memory recount every good act of his life, but it all fails to give rest to his troubled spirit. I, I, I, I did this, I did not do that. But it is all of no use.

If I despised the right of my bondman or of my bondmaid, in their contending with me, what then shall I do when God arises? And when He visits, what shall I answer Him?

In the essentials, how little is the difference! Alike they come into the world, and alike they stand when the world passes away. "Rich and poor meet together; the Lord is the maker of them all." The poor man is entitled to remember this, and the rich man ought not to forget it.

Had Job despised the cause of any of his servants, whether male or female? If this were true, he asks, what should he do when God raised the question with him? For God made these servants just as He had made Job. Job had considered this fact long before, we are sure, so that he was not guilty of oppressing the creatures of God.

The Hebrew word rekem means "embroidery." The verb from it appears in a striking passage in that wonderful psalm, the 139th. That psalm traces God's thought and care of man from his beginnings in the womb: "My substance was not hidden from you, when I was made in secret, and skilfully wrought (that is, embroidered) in the depths of the earth." And indeed, the intricate interweaving of nerves, veins and arteries can be compared to nothing more justly than to a marvellous embroidery. This is true of every person. Can God be lacking in consideration and tenderness for a being on whom He has bestowed such wonderful care?

He begins with his household. Its well-ordered character grew out of the inherent purity of its master. He asserts his fairness in all his dealings with his servants, recognising their common nature and standing before God, who "shows no partiality." Then he moves out to the needy poor: the fatherless and the widow had shared his food, and he had warmed them with his clothing. In brief, he was as a father to the orphan and as a son to the widow. Surely we have here an illustration of religion that is "pure and undefiled" (James 1:27).

Masters are then urged, and reminded that their Master is in heaven, and that "there is no partiality with Him." He notes threatening and oppression. The cry of the poor and needy comes up in His ears, and He will repay it in the coming day. This verse should read, I believe, "their Master and yours is in the heavens." That adds an important point: both master and servant are responsible to the one Lord, and will stand together at the same judgment seat.

To all of this we can only say, True and excellent — but why should he speak of it? Why not let his fear of God keep him from these things, rather than boast of them?

Job tests himself formally and in fine detail, with a very full list of charges. He does this toward God as well as man — for failing to do good, as well as for self-indulgence and other sins. We can be sure of this. Not one of the friends who as good as put him on trial could have afforded to test himself as Job does here.

In verses 16-21 he speaks of sins of omission also. Suppose he had not helped the poor, or had ignored the plight of the widow. Suppose he had kept all he had for himself, so that the fatherless went hungry. Suppose he had seen someone die for lack of clothing, or a poor man with nothing to cover him. Suppose the heart of the poor had never blessed Job, never warmed by the fleece of his sheep — then he says, "let my arm fall from my shoulder."

Reaching out beyond his household to the needy poor, he let the fatherless and the widow share his food, and he warmed them with his clothing. In brief he was as a father to the orphan, and as a son to the widow. Surely we have here an illustration of religion that is "pure and undefiled" (James 1:27).

His compassion always went out to people who were suffering — the widow and the fatherless, the needy and the naked. This was no passing gesture. He cared for them steadily and tirelessly, as a father would, and he watched himself carefully, so that he never took the least advantage of them through his influence with others.

The law had its value, for God does nothing in vain. Yet look how high the moral standard already was — in the soul, and in the daily walk of godly men outside Israel, before the law came from Sinai. And it was not only in matters of right and wrong, which conscience could judge more or less exactly, depending on how much light a man had. We can also see what God's revelation did inside the soul, in its affections and its judgments.

Now, just read chapters 29-31, and you will say, if any man could have justified himself by good works, Job was the man. There is not a man in all your town that can say as much as Job said, and say it truly. As to his kindness to the poor, he was the very opposite of the lying charges brought against him. So he lets memory recount every good act of his life, but it all fails to give rest to his troubled spirit. I, I, I — I did this, I did not do that. But it is all of no use.

The friends were completely wrong. They had no excuse and no kindness. What Job says was true, but he does not yet know the whole truth about himself — as no one could, until He came who is the Truth, and proved it in grace to the very end at His cross. But Job was taken up with himself and pleased with himself. God would set him free from that, and bless him more than ever. No human being will boast in God's presence. Job had to learn this — to boast only in Him.

In verses 16-21 he speaks of sins of omission also. Suppose he had not helped the poor. Suppose he had ignored the plight of the widow, and had kept all he had for himself, so that the fatherless were left hungry. Then, he says, "let my arm fall from my shoulder, let my arm be torn from the socket" (v.22). In contrast to this, notice his words in parenthesis (v.18), "But from my youth I reared him (the fatherless) as a father, and from my mother's womb I guided the widow."

Reaching out to the poor in need, he shared his food with the fatherless and the widow, and he warmed them with his clothing. In short, he was as a father to the orphan, and as a son to the widow. Surely we have here an illustration of religion that is "pure and undefiled" (James 1:27).

It was not only a strong sense of kinship inside his own household. His compassion always went out to suffering people — the widow and the fatherless, the needy and the naked. He did not help them now and then. He cared for them as a father does, with care that was constant and never tired. And he kept watch over himself, so that he never used his influence with others to take the least advantage.

The book of Job records God's lovingkindness in His dealings with this patient man from his earliest days (Job 31:18, amended). "He brought me up as a father, and guided me from my mother's womb." Yet Job is brought to confess, despite all that God had been to him, "I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes." In the end his sufferings set him free from himself, and even greater blessing marks the close of his story.

He had a completely good conscience, but that is not enough. There is the great principle of self-judgment. There is also the grand principle of full submission to God, and of vindicating Him. He is right and wise in all of it — not only in what He does, but in what He allows.

If any man could have justified himself by good works, Job was the man... As to his kindness to the poor, he was the very opposite of the lying charges brought against him. So he lets his memory count up every good act of his life, but it all fails to give rest to his troubled spirit. I, I, I, I did this, I did not do that. But it is all of no use.

In verses 16-21 he speaks of sins of omission also. Suppose he had not helped the poor, or had ignored the plight of the widow. Suppose he had kept all he had for himself, so that the fatherless went hungry. Suppose he had seen anyone die for lack of clothing, or any poor man without covering. Suppose the heart of the poor had not blessed Job, because it was not warmed by the fleece of his sheep. Then, he says, "let my shoulder blade fall from my shoulder, and let my arm be broken from its socket" (v.22).

The loins are the body's chief seat of strength, when they are properly belted for work.

His care was not only a strong sense of family inside his own household. His compassion always went out to suffering people — the widow and the fatherless, the needy and the naked. He did not help now and then, but with the constant, tireless care of a father. And he watched himself, so that he never took the smallest advantage by using his influence with others.

He starts with his household. Its good order grew out of the purity of its master. He claims he was fair in every dealing with his servants, since he saw that they shared his nature and stood before a God "who shows no partiality." Then he moves outward to the needy poor. The fatherless and the widow had shared his food, and he had warmed them with his clothing. In short, he was a father to the orphan and a son to the widow. Here we surely have an example of religion that is "pure and undefiled" (James 1:27).

To close, and to be practical: what is my life, and what is your life? Am I a fruitful vine? Are you? Am I, are you, touching the world's need, for God's glory and to show His character?... Clearly Job was not an empty vine.

We cannot question the truth or the sincerity of all that he says. But we may well ask: is his conclusion a happy one even for himself?... Divine truth, as well as divine love, will not let him wrap himself in these clothes of self-righteousness. Most of them are borrowed garments that belong to God, and Job gives Him not the least bit of glory for them. The rest are only filthy rags, fit for the dust and ashes where Job will soon put himself.

Now Job needed this, and God saw that he needed it. He was gracious and godly, but he did not know himself. He had never seen God in a way that brought him to a real knowledge of himself in His presence. So God deals with him in a way that brings his sinfulness right out into the open. Then He sets him, with that sinfulness now clear to his conscience, in His own presence... Job had acted well, for grace had acted in him; but he did not know himself before God.

While dwelling on his kindness, Job shows how he had not taken advantage of any legal technicality that would have cleared him in any harsh dealing with the needy. When he saw his "help in the gate" — the judges inclined to decide in his favour, not because they were bribed, but because they were giving him his just dues — he had not pressed his case against the orphans. If he had lifted his hand against them, he says, "let my arm drop from my shoulder blade."

Eliphaz is only imagining what he thinks Job must have done to explain his troubles. "… You have sent widows away empty, and the arms of the fatherless have been broken. Therefore snares are all around you." You see, all the reasoning is quite mistaken.

In verses 16-21 he speaks of sins of omission also. Suppose he had not helped the poor, or had ignored the plight of the widow, but had kept all he had for himself, so that the fatherless went hungry. Suppose he had seen anyone die for lack of clothing. Suppose Job had not championed the cause of the fatherless in the gate, the place of judgment. Then, he says, let his own arm fall from his shoulder, torn from the socket.

This closing burst of indignant self-defence on Job's part is deeply interesting and instructive… We can see how high the moral standard was for the soul and for the walk of godly men outside Israel, before the law came from Sinai… God had spoken words. He had also worked in solemn ways with people, one by one and all together, in grace and in judgment. All this was long before He inspired men to write His mind by divine power. And faith received His word, and thought over His dealings, to rich profit, before Scripture existed.

He had a perfectly good conscience, but that is not enough. There is the great principle of self-judgment. There is also the grand principle of entire submission to God, and of vindicating Him — that He is right and wise in all, not only in what He does, but in what He allows.

Now, just read chapters 29-31. You will say that if any man could have justified himself by good works, Job was the man… So he lets memory recount every good act of his life. But it all fails to give rest to his troubled spirit. I, I, I, I did this, I did not do that. But it is all of no use.

While dwelling on his kindness, Job shows how he had not taken advantage of any legal technicality that would have cleared him in any harsh dealing with the needy. When he saw his "help in the gate" — the judges leaning to decide in his favour — he had not pressed his case against the orphans. They were not bribed; they were giving him his just dues. If he had lifted his hand against them, he says, "let my arm drop from my shoulder-blade."

In verses 16-21 he speaks of sins of omission also. Suppose he had not helped the poor, or had ignored the plight of the widow, but had kept everything for himself, so that the fatherless went hungry. Suppose he had seen anyone perish for lack of clothing, or any poor man without covering. Suppose the heart of the poor had not blessed Job, because the fleece of his sheep had never warmed him. Suppose Job had not championed the cause of the fatherless in the gate, the place of judgment. Then, he says, let my arm fall from my shoulder.

Here, at the close of his last speech, Job makes the most solemn and complete protest of his innocence. He does not deny what he had already admitted about man's condition, his own included. But he flatly refuses the idea of grievous wickedness concealed under a fair exterior, which God could now be waging war against, as his friends had supposed. He lists his personal purity — and this as a married man too — his behaviour toward his servants, his remembrance of the poor and the exposed, his hatred of idolatry and greed, his generous and hospitable ways, his hatred of hypocrisy. If he is false in any of it, he prays to be put to utter shame.

He ends this section by showing that the fear of God was a vital matter with him (v.23). It was a terror to him even to think of the reality of God's destructive power against evil. He would not dare to offend One whose magnificence filled him with awe, to the point that he said, "I cannot endure."

This chapter shows that before God gave the law, God-fearing men still held to a high standard of morality. That standard looked not only at the outward act but also at the inward motive that prompts it.

To all of this we can only say: true and excellent — but why should he speak of it? Why not let his fear of God keep him from these things, rather than boast of them?

This "righteousness," as Job 29 will show us, concerned his outward conduct, because God's searching light had not yet entered his soul. He had been charged with being a deceiver and a hypocrite. He knew he was not, and he was not going to plead guilty to it for a moment. We too know that he was not. But outward correctness does not in itself count for righteousness before God.

He ends this section by showing that the fear of God mattered deeply to him (v.23). Just thinking about God's real power to destroy evil filled him with terror. So he would never dare to offend One whose greatness left him in awe — to the point where he said he could not endure it.

He shows, very movingly, that even in his high position his heart never forgot that his servants were of the same race and the same human family as himself. There was no cold personal pride in him. And it was not only a strong sense of ties inside his own household. His compassion always went out to people who suffered — the widow and the fatherless, the needy and the naked. He did not care for them now and then, but with the steady, tireless care of a father. He also watched himself, so that he never gained the smallest advantage over them through his influence with others. The fear of God, and his angry defence of all such people, had worked in him so strongly that hardness was a complete stranger to his heart.

Job insists that he is pure, and points out that the fear of God moved him — God, who would certainly repay the wicked for their sin. "How then can I do this great wickedness and sin against God?" said Joseph when a woman tried to seduce him (Gen. 39:9). In a time of spiritual laziness, David let his eyes wander, and he fell (2 Sam. 11:2). Job knew that God watched his every step, and he asks God to test him and weigh him in the balance.

As he speaks of his kindness to others, Job shows that he never used a legal loophole to excuse himself for dealing harshly with the needy. He saw his "help in the gate" — the judges ready to rule in his favour, not because they were bribed, but because they were giving him his due — and even then he did not press his case against the orphans.

To all of this we can only say: true and admirable — but why should he talk about it? Why not let his fear of God keep him from these things, instead of boasting about them?

This "righteousness," as Job 29 will show us, had to do with his outward conduct, because the searching light of God had not yet entered his soul. His friends had charged him with being a deceiver and a hypocrite. He knew he was not, and he was not going to plead guilty to it for a moment. We know he was not either. But outward correctness does not in itself count as righteousness in the presence of God.