Job 8–10

One of Job's friends, "the Shuhite," perhaps a descendant of Shuah the son of Abraham and Keturah. He in no way understood Job's case, and could only judge that God was punishing Job for wickedness, though God had called Job a righteous man. God became angry with Bildad. But Bildad and his two companions brought a sacrifice, and when Job prayed for them God accepted him.

Bildad the Shuhite now speaks to Job. He is less dogmatic than Eliphaz, and less courteous, but more outspoken. He must have lost his patience listening to Job's reply. Above all he resents what Job had said about God, the veiled accusations that had fallen from his lips. But as we will see, he too follows the logic of Eliphaz: God punishes Job for his sins. He starts at once to rebuke Job for what he had said.

Bildad now takes up what is fast becoming a controversy. He shows perhaps less of the courtesy and dignity that marked the speech of Eliphaz, and some harshness toward Job. This harshness seems to come from Job's bitter charge against God. For all his ignorance of divine principles, Bildad is jealous for the honor of God, and cannot let anyone accuse Him. In this he is surely right. But he fails to convince Job, because of the root error in the thinking of all of them: God must punish sin, and Job must be a sinner because God is punishing him.

Eliphaz had appealed to his own observation when he supposed that Job was guilty of some secret sin… Now Bildad appealed to tradition… In doing this, Bildad actually contradicted Eliphaz. If Eliphaz had only been born "yesterday", what was his observation worth? But Bildad's appeal to tradition was just as empty as Eliphaz's appeal to observation, because Bildad also reached the wrong conclusion.

Bildad assumes that Job's children had received the due reward of their wickedness, and had been cut off… This tears at the feelings of a parent who had found no evidence of such wickedness in his children, and who had watched carefully over their spiritual state. Bildad is driven to this by his wrong theory of God's ways.

There is nothing so dangerous as a truth falsely applied. One can do the greatest harm with a word of Scripture in a wrong place. This is one of the devil's methods, and only unbroken communion with God can keep us from it. How important, then, is the call to "be slow to speak," above all in spiritual matters. People often come to regret quick conclusions and hasty judgments. Job's friends were surely ashamed of their mistakes when it was too late.

Not one of the three friends understood Job. What is more, they did not know God's character, or His purpose in dealing with His dear servant… Instead of leading Job to judge himself, they only fed his desire to defend himself. They did not introduce God into the scene. They said some true things; but they had not the truth.

Bildad now takes up what is fast becoming a controversy. There is perhaps less of the courtesy and dignity that marked the speech of Eliphaz. There is also some harshness toward Job. It seems to come from the bitter charge Job had made against God. With all his ignorance of divine principles, Bildad is jealous for the honour of God, and cannot allow Him to be accused. In this he is surely right. But he fails to convince Job, because of the root error in the thinking of all of them: God must punish sin, and Job must be a sinner because God is punishing him.

By the latter expression he suggests that Job's speech was stormy like the wind, and as empty as the wind. He declares what is certainly true: God cannot be unrighteous. In this way Bildad called a decisive halt to the dangerous things Job had said, forced out of him by Eliphaz's cold and dogmatic claims. Job rejected the accusation that he was a sinner being punished for his sins. So he was fast approaching the edge of charging God with being unjust.

Eliphaz had claimed to be giving Job "the consolations of God." This moves Job to reply bitterly, "Miserable comforters are you all!" Instead of comfort, they had given heartless accusations, which Job calls "words of wind."

Job's words are like a strong wind, a blast of bitter complaint, and a still more bitter charge against God. Bildad's correction is harsh, but we may well call it just. Job's words were irreverent and extremely rash. Perhaps sympathy might have taken a gentler path, but when a man begins to charge God it is well to rebuke him sharply.

Here then this man breaks out into this rebuke of Job for his extreme feeling. How could a man do anything but feel? And what were they about that they did not deeply feel for him? There they were, quite comfortable. And there they were, judging that there must be something very bad. I need not tell you that this deeply wounded the poor injured man. It was pouring acid into his wounds. It was not binding them with wine and oil to clean the wound. Instead it was deepening and poisoning it.

Bildad follows the line of Eliphaz, and says, "How long will you say these things?" He could not understand it in the least. That was because Job could not understand why. He was quite sure of the perfection of God, quite sure of the faithfulness of God, quite sure that God loved him, quite sure that he loved God. So he cried, "How has all this come upon me? What is the key to all this terrible suffering that I am sure God has sent?" He would not blame it on circumstances.

We need not be surprised that Bildad could not anticipate the lessons God meant this very book to teach. But a believer should not rush ahead. He should wait where he has no assurance of God's mind. Least of all should he put the worst possible reading on what he does not understand. This is what Bildad did. He made Job's trial worse and provoked his spirit, which in turn gave an appearance of evil to those who suspected evil. So the confusion grew worse, and deeper darkness hid the true solution from their eyes. Does it ever seem to have occurred to the three friends that their wisdom would have been to pray rather than to talk, judge, and censure?

Bildad asks Job a plain question: "Does God pervert justice?" Is He unrighteous? For anyone who knows Him there can be but one answer. "Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" He would not be God, if He were not perfectly righteous. This shows the dreadful cliff edge Job was approaching. He was driven on by this false principle that God always punishes for sin. Job was not a sinner; therefore God was unjust! This reasoning is frightening. Both the starting assumption and the statement of fact are wrong, and the conclusion is blasphemous. Why did Job — and Bildad too — not stop and question the assumption? Does God always punish for sin alone? Why does Job not examine the facts; is he sinless?

The reasoning of Bildad rests on precisely the same principle as that of Eliphaz. It is all founded on God's moral government. On that principle, no one can cause God grief, and no truly righteous man can be cast to the ground. And God will certainly bring every wicked man to nothing. It is all founded on what is going on in the world now. There was no faith in it. There was conscience, conscience toward God. Conscience is useful and very important for the soul. But it never does and never can reveal God. It detects our bad state... Everything was more or less confused, and people saw God only as a righteous God. But God is the God of all grace.

And what shows the falsity of the principle is the universal test. Bring Christ in. Was it any lack of God's delight in Christ that allowed Christ to be the greatest sufferer, far beyond Job? So the estimate was completely false, and the principle underneath it was false too. It imagined that there must be evil in anyone who came to this depth of suffering.

Abstract truth is altogether useless for the saints of God. Things that are true but misunderstood and misapplied may do more harm than many a thing that is false. Misapplied truth gives the apparent authority of God to an error. And that error carries all the more weight because it comes as the truth. If someone says a foolish thing, or one plainly false, people despise it; but no believer can brush aside the truth of God. So suppose someone uses the truth of God wrongly. Suppose he applies it to crush a person who is the object of God's intense interest at that moment. How foreign and offensive that is to His mind!

He did not begin in the gentle way that Eliphaz did. He did not even try to show any understanding of Job's feelings. Instead, he spoke like a man out of patience. He at once accused Job of letting words come out of his mouth that were only "a strong wind" (v. 2). "Does God pervert justice? Or does the Almighty pervert the right?" he asks (v. 3). He did not know how God was dealing with Job. Yet he was sure God was punishing him justly, though he knew of no actual evil on Job's part.

He offers two proofs of God's justice, and the first is, to put it mildly, arbitrary and unkind. We may read verse 4, "When your children sinned against Him, He gave them over to the hand of their wickedness." In other words, Bildad assumes that Job's children got what their wickedness deserved, and so were cut off... This cuts deep into a father who had found no evidence of such wickedness in his children. He had watched over their spiritual state with care.

Bildad asks Job a plain question, "Does God pervert judgment?" Is He unrighteous? For anyone who knows Him there can be only one answer... This shows the dreadful cliff edge Job was approaching. He was driven on by the false principle that God always punishes for sin. Job was not a sinner; therefore God was unjust! This is terrible reasoning. Both the premise and the statement of fact are wrong, and the conclusion is blasphemous. Why did Job not stop, and Bildad too, and ask whether something was wrong in the premise: does God always punish for sin alone?

He suggested that God must have cast Job's children away as the penalty of their transgression. This must have been a bitter blow to Job, since he had so regularly offered sacrifice on their behalf. Even so, he advised Job that if only he would be upright and seek God, he would be blessed in his latter end.

He says, "If your children have sinned against him and he has cast them away for their transgression" — there they thought they had him. How could God do such a thing as to kill all his children unless there was something very bad in them? It was all the same principle, and the same false principle. And what shows the falsity of the principle is the universal test. Bring Christ in. Was it any lack of God's delight in Christ that allowed Christ to be the greatest sufferer, far beyond Job? So the estimate was entirely false, and so was the principle underneath it: that there must be evil in anyone who came to this depth of suffering.

Then he makes a cruel thrust at Job. He suggests that Job's sons had died because they had sinned against God, and that God coldly cast them away for their transgressions (v.4). This was not true, but what was Job to answer? So Bildad condemned Job's dead sons, then went on to attack Job himself. He told him this: if he would earnestly plead with God, and if he were pure and upright, then God would surely awake for him at once and turn his misery into prosperity.

We need not be surprised that God turns to Eliphaz and his friends with stern rebuke for their part in the argument... He addresses Eliphaz, the leader of the three, and declares His anger against them all. They had not spoken of Him what is right, as His servant Job had. And yet their whole contention had apparently been for God's righteousness! Had they not maintained this from the very start, with noble descriptions and fierce attacks on evil? Had they not pinned the charge of wrongdoing on Job with no proof at all, and against well known facts?

Bildad now takes up what is fast becoming an argument. He shows less of the courtesy and dignity that marked the speech of Eliphaz, and more harshness toward Job, apparently caused by Job's bitter charge against God. For all his ignorance of God's principles, Bildad is jealous for the honor of God, and will not let anyone accuse Him. He is right about that. But he fails to convince Job, because of the root error in the thinking of all three friends: God must punish sin, so Job must be a sinner, since he is being punished.

Bildad condemned Job's dead sons, then went on to attack Job himself. He told Job that if he would seek God earnestly in prayer, and if he were pure and upright, then God would certainly rouse Himself for him at once and turn his misery into prosperity (vv.5-6). Of course, in saying this he implied that Job had not been pure and upright, and had not sought God earnestly before.

So instead of bluster and complaint, let Job simply turn to God the Almighty in earnest prayer. Then, if only he is pure, he will soon find that God crowns his home with prosperity, and that his last days flourish beyond his first. And so it happened — but not at all in the way Bildad imagined. Bildad falls back on the old sayings of earlier generations to support the idea that God repays every man strictly, here and now.

In seven places the word for God [El] is combined with Shaddai, which is usually translated "the Almighty." Some understand the name to mean "Almighty in sustaining resources" (like a mother's breasts for her baby). It occurs 48 times in the Old Testament, and the book of Job accounts for no fewer than 31 of them. In that book one thought stands out above all others: the Lord is Almighty. That suits the book well, since it tells the story of God's controversy with Job, who found no relief or blessing until he came to a right view of himself in God's presence.

Things that are true, but misunderstood and misapplied, can do more harm than many a thing that is false. Misapplied truth lends the apparent authority of God to an error, and that error carries all the more weight because it comes as truth. If someone says a foolish thing, or a plainly false one, people dismiss it. But no believer can brush aside the truth of God. So if the truth of God is used wrongly — if it is used to crush someone God cares about deeply at that moment, how foreign and offensive that is to His mind!

They did not know God's character, or His purpose in dealing with His dear servant. They were completely mistaken. They did not know how to present God to Job, and so they did not know how to bring Job's conscience into God's presence. Instead of leading him to judge himself, they only fed his desire to defend himself… They said some true things; but they did not have the truth.

He did not understand Job's case at all. He could only conclude that God was punishing Job for wickedness, though God had called Job a righteous man. God's anger burned against Bildad. But Bildad and his two companions brought a sacrifice, and when Job prayed for them, God accepted him.

Bildad condemned Job's dead sons, then went on to attack Job himself. He told Job this: if he would seek God with earnest prayer, and if he were pure and upright, then God would surely wake up for him at once and turn his misery into prosperity (vv. 5-6). Of course, in saying this he implied that Job had not been pure and upright and had not earnestly sought God before.

Instead of bluster and complaint, let Job only turn to God the Almighty with earnest prayer. Then he will soon find — provided he himself is pure — that prosperity from Him will crown his home. His latter end will flourish beyond the beginning.

Bildad here sharply rebukes Job, telling him that the words of his mouth are like a strong wind, and that if he were pure and upright God would wake up for him. So he throws Job back on himself even more. He implies that Job's trials are judicial payments for sin. In fact they were the discipline of God, leading him to the full end of himself. Job knew that he had done nothing to deserve it. But he had to learn that he could claim nothing. His friends knew this no more than he did; they stood on righteousness alone.

"If you were pure and upright" — ah, there they were at it again! So it was not only the children who had sinned! "If you were pure and upright" — why, Job was much more so than they were! "If you were pure and upright, surely now He would wake up for you." Certainly not. The Lord was going to bring the trial to its full completion. He allowed all these discussions to bring out everything that was in their hearts. Then He came in with His own word and cast down completely these principles that governed the three friends — and Job could not properly answer them.

Next, he proves the justice of those ways. He tells Job there is restoring mercy for him, if he will only turn to God in prayer. "If you are pure and upright" — there is a strong hint of suspicion here — God will restore everything, and bless Job's latter end. This did come true, but in a very different way from what Bildad expected. Job is not blessed for his purity, and not for confessing the evil they suspected in him.

Things that are true, but misunderstood and misapplied, may do more harm than many a thing that is false. Misapplied truth gives the apparent authority of God to an error, and that error carries all the more weight because it comes as the truth.

This is just where Job's friends were. They saw that God loves righteousness and hates evil, and that Job was suffering. What conclusion did they draw from it all? That if Job had been a righteous person, God would have accepted him. They were on wrong ground altogether. It is quite true, and blessedly true, that God loves righteousness. But the fallacy lies in the idea that a man can be righteous with God. That thought must always produce either self-righteousness, or despair and misery.

Bildad condemned Job's dead sons, then went on to attack Job himself. He told Job this: if he would earnestly seek God in prayer, and if he were pure and upright, then God would surely wake up for him at once and turn his misery into prosperity (vv.5-6). Of course, in saying this he implied that Job had not been pure and upright and had not earnestly sought God before. But now, if Job did as Bildad advised, his end would increase greatly, though his beginning was small (v.7).

It was all the same principle, and the same false principle. What shows the falsity of the principle is the universal test. Bring Christ in. Was it any lack of God's delight in Christ that allowed Christ to be the greatest sufferer, far beyond Job? So the estimate was completely false, and so was the principle underneath it. It was wrong to imagine that there must be evil in the person who came to this depth of suffering.

Next, he proves the justice of those ways by telling Job there is restoring mercy for him, if he will only turn in prayer to God. He adds, "If you are pure and upright." There is a strong suggestion of suspicion here. Then God will restore everything and bless Job's latter end. This did come true, but in a very different way from what Bildad expected. Job is blessed not for his purity, nor because he confessed some suspected evil.

They were all arguing on the ground of righteousness. Not one of them had taken in, up to this point and for long after, any thought of grace. And Job only arrived at it at last by God stepping in. There he was dust and ashes. There he took the place of nothingness and worse than nothingness. Then God blessed him. Then God vindicated him — and not till then.

The story of Job's friends should be a solemn warning to us. There is nothing so dangerous as a truth wrongly applied. You can do the greatest harm with a word of Scripture in the wrong place. This is one of the devil's methods, and only unbroken communion with God can keep us from it. How important, then, is the call to "be slow to speak," especially in spiritual matters. People often bitterly regret quick conclusions and hasty judgments. Job's friends were surely ashamed of their mistakes when it was too late.

But people often mistake inspiration for revelation, that is, for the infallible statement of divine truth. We have the inspired record of what Satan said to Eve, and to our Lord. We also have the words of wicked men like Pharaoh and Rabshakeh. Yet no one thinks of these words as the truth of God. In the same way, we have here an inspired record of what Job and his three friends said. Most of it was true, but it was out of place and misapplied.

Job's three friends completely misunderstood God's government. They claimed he must have been doing evil, or God would not have dealt with him this way. Eliphaz went on personal experience. He said, "As I have seen, those who plow iniquity and sow trouble reap the same." Job 4:8. Bildad is the voice of tradition and the authority of antiquity. He said, "Inquire, please, of bygone ages, and consider what the fathers have searched out." Job 8:8. Zophar displayed law and religiousness. He said, "If iniquity is in your hand, put it far away... then you will lift up your face without blemish." Job 11:14-15.

Bildad says, in effect: "It does not matter what we have seen with our own eyes in our day. We ought to listen to those who went before us. They know better than we do." So he says, "For inquire, please, of bygone ages" (Job 8:8). Bildad had received his knowledge by being taught it, preferring to use his ears rather than his eyes.

In verses 8-10, Bildad showed where he stood. He prized the stored-up treasures of human wisdom. Even in those far-off days, people could search records kept from even earlier times. Eliphaz argued from his own observation — what he had seen himself. Bildad argued from tradition — what the records of earlier days could teach. He distrusted any conclusion drawn from personal experience, because a man's days on earth are only "a shadow."

In this Bildad contradicted what Eliphaz had said. If Eliphaz too was born only "yesterday", what was his observation worth? But Bildad's appeal to tradition was just as empty as the appeal of Eliphaz to observation, for Bildad came to the wrong conclusion also.

We must admit that Bildad leads us into a much wider field than Eliphaz. The authority of many "fathers" carries far more weight and respectability than the experience of one man. It also looks more modest to follow many wise and learned men than your own experience. But the fact is that neither experience nor tradition will do. Experience may be true, as far as it goes. But you can hardly find two men whose experience matches exactly. And tradition is a mass of confusion, for one father differs from another. Nothing is more slippery or uncertain than the voice of tradition, the authority of the fathers.

He goes beyond Eliphaz: "For we are but of yesterday." That is true. But what does all the stored-up wisdom of the past give us when the question is God's truth? It is not to the past that we are to turn, but to God and His word. How immeasurably better is the position of those who have the "sure word of prophecy," "the oracles of God."

Had they appealed to divine revelation, it would have been an entirely different matter. The truth of God is the only standard — the one great authority. It measures everything, and everything must bow to it sooner or later. No man has any right to lay down his own experience as a rule for others; and if no one man has that right, neither has any number of men.

It is always easier to follow tradition than the written word of God. Following tradition does not exercise the conscience. It also spares us the difficulty, sometimes a serious one, of giving reasons for what we do. It is enough that our upbringing from infancy taught us to believe and practise certain things... What one generation hands down to the next may not be bad in itself. It may even have been good, at least for its time. But it sets up a false standard and a human authority in the soul. That authority may not deny the word of God outright, but it will surely put God's word in second place.

The word yesterday is used for the previous day (Ex. 5:14; John 4:52; Acts 7:28). It is also used for past time in general, as in "a thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday," and when the Lord Jesus is called "the same yesterday, today, and forever" (Ps. 90:4; Heb. 13:8). It is used also as if of "no duration," as in "we are but of yesterday" (Job 8:9).

In verses 8-10, Bildad revealed his own standpoint in the argument that was developing. He set great store by the accumulated treasures of human wisdom. Even in those far-off days, people could search records kept from still earlier days. Eliphaz argued from his own observation — what he had seen for himself. Bildad argued from tradition — what the records of earlier days could teach. He distrusted a deduction from one's personal experience, since the days of a man upon earth are but "a shadow."

Now, it must be admitted that Bildad conducts us into a much wider field than that of Eliphaz. The authority of many "fathers" carries much more weight and respect than the experience of one person. It would also show much more modesty to follow the voice of many wise and learned men than the light of your own experience. But the fact is that neither experience nor tradition will do.

Now Bildad appealed to tradition (vv.8-10). In this he contradicted what Eliphaz had said. If Eliphaz had only been born "yesterday", what value was his observation? But Bildad's appeal to tradition was just as empty as the appeal of Eliphaz to observation, for Bildad came to the wrong conclusion also.

Bildad here seeks confirmation of his contention from the wisdom of past ages. He goes beyond Eliphaz: "For we are but as children of yesterday." This is true. But what does the stored-up wisdom of all the past give us when the question is God's truth? It is not to the past that we are to turn, but to God and His word. How immeasurably superior is the position of those who have the "sure word of prophecy," "the oracles of God."

No one has any right to make his own experience a rule for others. If one man has no right, neither do many men together. In other words, it is not the voice of man but the voice of God which must govern us all. It is not experience or tradition which shall judge at the last day, but the word of God.

Next comes Bildad the Shuhite (Job 8), who follows Eliphaz, but with a great deal more harshness, and so draws a sharper reply from Job. In reproving Job he does not hesitate to suppose that his children had brought on themselves the due reward of their deeds, and hints that he himself could not be what he seemed.

What a contrast this life of "days" and "vanity" and "shadow" is with life eternal! That life is now given in Christ to the believer, with the bright hope of being with Him Who is its source and fulness. There, where He is, we shall have its perfect, unhindered expansion and display in its proper heavenly sphere. But all was veiled then. Now Christ has brought life and incorruption to light through the gospel.

In verses 8-10, Bildad showed where he stood in the argument that was developing. He valued highly the piled-up treasures of human wisdom. Even in those far-off days, people could search records kept from still earlier times. Eliphaz argued from his own observation — what he had seen himself. Bildad argued from tradition — what could be learned from the records of earlier days. He did not trust a conclusion drawn from one person's experience, since a man's days on earth are only "a shadow."

In this, Bildad contradicted what Eliphaz had said. If Eliphaz was born only "yesterday", what value was his observation? But Bildad's appeal to tradition was just as empty as the appeal of Eliphaz to observation, for Bildad came to the wrong conclusion too.

The authority of many "fathers" carries much more weight and respect than the experience of a single individual. What is more, letting many wise and learned men guide you shows much more modesty than following the light of your own experience. But the fact is that neither experience nor tradition will do... As for tradition, it is a mass of confusion — one father differs from another, and nothing can be more slippery or uncertain than the voice of tradition.

So Bildad goes on with this: "Will they not teach you, and tell you, and utter words out of their heart?" But we want the words out of God's heart. Only His heart can do that... and their thoughts were no better than the marsh plant that grew out of the water, or the reed that grew out of the mud.

Those are the two ways in which men are apt to slip away from the truth — confidence in self; confidence in other people no better than oneself; confidence in anyone but God. So he says, "Enquire, I pray you, of the former age" — for people think that a little further back is where we should go. Why, beloved friends, we want to go back to the beginning; we want to go back to God's beginning.

Eliphaz used his eyes; Bildad used his ears; and Zophar used his brains. Not one of them found the solution to this problem by human wisdom, however they gained that wisdom... Had it depended upon our eyes, or our ears, or our brains, what should we have known of these wonderful things?

While this is true, what does the gathered wisdom of all the past give us when the question is God's truth? We are not to turn to the past, but to God and His word. Those who have the "sure word of prophecy," "the oracles of God," are in a position far beyond compare.

achu, a soft reed that can only grow in moist ground: it is eaten by cattle. Job 8:11.

The papyrus does not lift its head so high by any strength of its own. It rises from the abundant mire in which it thrives its little day. The same is true of the flag or bulrush of the East: it grows from sheer excess of moisture, not from solid ground. This is so true that they do not decay slowly, like other plants. They are the first to wither, even without being cut down.

Eliphaz argued from his own observation — from what he had seen. Bildad argued from tradition — from what could be learned in the records of earlier days. He distrusted conclusions drawn from personal experience, since the days of a man on earth are only "a shadow."

Bildad here seeks confirmation of his contention from the wisdom of past ages. He goes beyond Eliphaz: "For we are but as children of yesterday." That is true. But what does the stored-up wisdom of all the past give us when the question is God's truth? It is not to the past that we are to turn, but to God and His word.

Yet Bildad had much to say that was right and good. There is always a reason for things developing, but Bildad did not read that reason correctly in Job's case. Also he says that a reed may wither while yet green, and he uses this as a picture of those who forget God (vv.11-12). True enough. But he was wrongly suggesting that Job had forgotten God. He treated Job's perishing hope as a sign that Job must be a hypocrite (v.13). It is certainly true that the hypocrite's hope shall perish, but to apply this to Job was totally unfair.

And here we have the wisdom of Bildad as he learned it from the past. It is all true and sublimely stated: the wicked cannot prosper, their doom is certain. On the other hand God will not cast off the perfect man. But Job is in the position of a man God has cast off. So he must belong to the wicked who do not prosper. Bildad hides this beneath his fine words.

Well, that is just what their condition was — mire and water. There was no substance at all, just mire and water. Their thoughts were no better than the flag that grew out of the water, or the reed that grew out of the mire. And he talks about the hypocrite being no better than a spider's web. That is exactly what they were, though they were not hypocrites. Still, they were all wrong in their reasonings, and wrong reasoning is never better than a spider's web.

This is all true of the stony-ground hearers. But it is not true of Job, and not true of the soul that sincerely trusts in Christ. The water that is in him is a well of water, springing up into everlasting life. "The hypocrite's hope shall perish", but the feeblest sheep of Christ shall never perish. But if he looks at his own imagined greenness — at his own boasted goodness — it will fade away. And so Satan gets the advantage. There may be much freshness of soul at conversion, like the green flag; but beware of trusting in this.

The papyrus lifts its head so high by no strength of its own. Its height comes from the plentiful mud where it thrives for its short day. The same is true of the reed or bulrush of the East, which grows from sheer excess of moisture, not from solid ground. This is so true that they do not decay slowly, like other plants, but are the first to wither without being cut down.

The water-reed, or papyrus, grows thick and lush while water is around its roots. As soon as the water is gone, it withers faster than any other plant. So is the prosperity of the wicked, who for a time spreads himself as a green bay tree. The hope of the ungodly — not merely the hypocrite — perishes.

Things always grow for a reason. But Bildad read that reason wrongly in Job's case. He also says that a reed may wither while still green, and he uses this as a picture of those who forget God. True enough. But he was wrongly suggesting that Job had forgotten God. Job's hope seemed to be perishing, so Bildad took him for a hypocrite. It is certainly true that the hypocrite's hope will perish, but to apply this to Job was totally unfair.

A believer should not make haste; he should wait where he does not have the assurance of God's mind. Least of all should he have put the worst possible construction on what he did not understand. He did just that. It made Job's trial harder and provoked his spirit, which then gave an appearance of evil to those who suspected evil. So the confusion grew worse, and the true answer lay hidden in deeper darkness from their eyes. Did it ever occur to the three friends that the wise thing would have been to pray, instead of talking, judging, and condemning?

This is all true of the stony-ground hearers. But it is not true of Job, and not true of the soul that truly trusts in Christ. The water that is in him is a well of water, springing up into everlasting life. "The hypocrite's hope will perish" — but the feeblest sheep of Christ will never perish. But suppose he looks at his own imagined greenness, at his own boasted goodness. Then it will fade away, and Satan gains the advantage. At conversion there may be much freshness of soul, like the green reed. But beware of trusting in it. When the real character of the flesh comes out, the setback is often as great as the joy was. Then the darts fly: "Have I deceived myself?" "Perhaps I have no root in Christ." Then what darkness of soul, what confusion! The eye is off Christ, and the heart is listening to Satan. Even the very first question, that of justification, is no longer settled. It was just so with Job at the end of Bildad's speech.

So in the rest of the chapter he summarised what tradition would teach. He illustrated his point with things in nature, like the rush and the spider's web. He claimed that all history showed that God repaid man according to what he deserved. If evil, he is cut off. If good, he is prospered. To tell Job that "the hypocrite's hope shall perish" was a cut this time not at Job's children but at Job himself.

In this section Bildad traces the way of the wicked; and there is much truth in what he says, though it is not all the truth. Can the water-reed, or papyrus, flourish without moisture? It grows thick and fast while water is around its roots. Once that water is gone, it withers faster than any other plant. So is the prosperity of the wicked, who for a time spreads himself like a green bay tree. The hope of the ungodly — not just the hypocrite — perishes. Changing his picture, Bildad compares the confidence of the wicked to a man leaning on a spider's web. What a pitiful state, clinging for nothing to something so frail!

There always was and always will be such a generation — people who mix in with the saints of God. They make a show of heaven, with heavenly speeches, while their hearts are lined with hypocrisy. By it they deceive others, and most of all themselves. Such people may be the world's saints, but in Christ's account they are devils. "Have I not chosen you twelve, and one of you is a devil?" And truly, of all devils, none is so bad as the professing devil, the preaching, praying devil.

Also he says that a reed may wither while still green, and he uses this as a comparison for those who forget God (vv. 11-12). True enough, but he was wrong to suggest that Job had forgotten God. He was also wrong to treat Job's hope, which seemed to be perishing, as proof that Job must be a hypocrite (v. 13). It is certainly true that the hypocrite's hope shall perish, but to apply this to Job was totally unfair.

So it is with the wicked, both in their rise and in their ruin: the paths of all who forget God end this way, surely and miserably, and the hope of the impure is just as fleeting... If Job really is a perfect man, God will not cast him away until He gives him the fullest grounds for thankful praise, confounds his enemies, and destroys the wicked for ever. (But neither does He grasp the hand of evil-doers.) But when he applied this to Job, there was no fellowship with God in Bildad's thoughts, and no gracious consideration for the sufferer. He judged by appearances, and so his judgment was unrighteous.

"The hypocrite's hope shall perish;" but the feeblest sheep of Christ shall never perish. But if he looks at his own imagined greenness — at his own boasted goodness — this will fade away; and so Satan gains the advantage. There may be much freshness of soul at conversion — like the green flag; but beware of trusting in this... Then showers of darts come: "Have I deceived myself?" "I do not feel as I did." "Perhaps I have no root in Christ." "The hypocrite's hope shall perish." Then, oh, what darkness of soul — what perplexity! The eye is off Christ; the heart is listening to Satan.

So in the rest of the chapter he summarised what tradition would teach, illustrating his point by things in nature, like the rush and the spider's web. He claimed that all history showed that God repaid man according to what he deserved. If a man is evil, God cuts him off. If he is good, God makes him prosper. To tell Job that "the hypocrite's hope shall perish" was a cut this time not at Job's children but at Job himself.

The object of their confidence is no firmer than a spider's web, though he may cling to it ever so tightly. It has no more permanence than the rank weed which spreads over a garden and twists its shoots into a stone-heap.

We know this creature is the spider, because Scripture mentions its web. The web is very frail, so it pictures the trust of the hypocrite. It also pictures the weaving of the wicked, which will not give them a garment. Job 8:14; Isa. 59:5.

So is the prosperity of the wicked, who for a time spreads himself like a green bay tree. The hope of the ungodly — not merely the hypocrite — perishes. Then Bildad changes the picture. He compares the confidence of the wicked to someone leaning on a spider's web. How pitiful is the state of a man clinging in vain to something so frail!

They were all arguing on the ground of righteousness. Not one of them had taken in any thought of grace, up to this point and for long after… Bildad talks about the hypocrite being no better than a spider's web. That is exactly what they were, though they were not hypocrites. They were all wrong in their reasoning, and wrong reasoning is never better than a spider's web.

Applied to the present case, there was no fellowship with God in Bildad's thoughts, and no gracious consideration for the sufferer. So his judgment, going by appearances, was unrighteous.

This is all true of the stony-ground hearers. It is not true of Job, and not true of the soul that sincerely trusts in Christ… "The hypocrite's hope shall perish." But the weakest sheep of Christ shall never perish. If he looks at his own imagined greenness — at his own boasted goodness — this will fade away, and so Satan gets the advantage. There may be much freshness of soul at conversion, like a green reed. But beware of trusting in this.

This is man's day, a day in which he has thrown off all law and followed the dictates of his own evil heart… But God's day is coming. In that day everything man trusts in will be like a spider's web, blown to pieces by the first blast of His withering wrath. He will find himself homeless, exposed to the eternal condemnation of his Creator, whose mercy he has so despised.

Bildad now takes up what is fast becoming a dispute. There is perhaps less of the courtesy and dignity that marked the speech of Eliphaz, and there is some harshness toward Job, apparently caused by Job's bitter charge against God. For all that he does not know about God's ways, Bildad cares deeply about God's honor, and cannot allow Him to be accused. In this he is right. But he fails to convince Job, because of the error at the root of the thinking of all of them: God must punish sin, so Job must be a sinner, since he is being punished.

Changing his picture, Bildad compares the confidence of the wicked to a man leaning on a spider's web. How pitiful is the state of someone clinging to something so frail, and all for nothing! Piling up images again, he compares this passing prosperity to a lush vine spreading over a heap of stones in the garden, full of sap and strength in the bright sunshine. Soon God cuts him off, and the place that once knew him will know him no more. Others will take his place.

Bildad saw that Job's confidence had been shaken. He treated that confidence as "cut off," as though Job had been trusting a spider's web (v.14). He further says, "He leans against his house, but it does not stand" (v.15). Of course he is thinking of how Job had leaned on the stability of his house, but it had collapsed: all his family was gone.

It is certainly true that the hypocrite's hope shall perish, but to apply this to Job was totally unfair.

And he talks about the hypocrite being no better than a spider's web. That is exactly what they were. They were not hypocrites, but they were all wrong in their reasoning, and wrong reasoning is never better than a spider's web.

They were all arguing on the ground of righteousness. Not one of them had taken in, up to this point and for long after, any thought of grace. And Job only arrived at it at last when God stepped in. There he was dust and ashes. There he took the place of nothingness, and worse than nothingness. Then he was blessed; then he was vindicated by God, and not till then.

"The hypocrite's hope shall perish," but the weakest sheep of Christ shall never perish. Yet if he looks at his own imagined greenness — at his own boasted goodness — that will fade away, and so Satan gains the advantage. There may be much freshness of soul at conversion, like the green reed; but beware of trusting in this... Then come showers of darts, such as: "Have I deceived myself?" "I do not feel as I did." "Perhaps I have no root in Christ." "The hypocrite's hope shall perish." Then, oh, what darkness of soul — what confusion! The eye is off Christ; the heart is listening to Satan.

"He is green before the sun, and his branch shoots forth in his garden. His roots are wrapped about the heap" — to get a little strength from the heap — "and sees the place of stones." That is what the reed does to get a firm hold.

There is much truth in what he says, though it is not all the truth... Once more he reaches for a picture. He compares this passing prosperity to a rich vine covering a heap of stones in the garden, full of sap and strength in the bright sunshine. Soon God cuts him off, and the place that once knew him will know him no more.

In verses 16 and 17 he speaks of the hypocrite. At first he grows green in the sun, his branches spreading out and his roots wrapped around the rock heap, and he appears to be doing well. But he may be destroyed from his place, and his place denies that it ever saw him (v.18) — that is, there is no evidence left that he was ever prosperous. This may well be true of the hypocrite when he is finally exposed and shamed. But Bildad hinted that Job had suffered things like the destruction he describes, so Job must be a hypocrite! But Bildad did not yet know the end of the story, and his assumptions were ill-considered and false.

For all his ignorance of divine principles, Bildad cares deeply about the honour of God, and cannot let anyone accuse Him. In this he is right. But he fails to convince Job, because of the root error in the thinking of all of them: God must punish sin, and Job must be a sinner, because God is punishing him.

We need not be surprised that he could not see in advance the lessons God meant this very book to teach. But a believer should not rush. He should wait where he is not sure of God's mind. Least of all should he have put the worst possible meaning on what he did not understand. That is what he did, and it made Job's trial heavier and provoked his spirit... Did it ever occur to the three friends that the wise thing would have been to pray, instead of talking, judging and blaming?

This is all true of those who hear the word on stony ground. It is not true of Job, and not true of the soul that truly trusts in Christ... But if he looks at his own imagined greenness — at his own boasted goodness — that will fade away, and so Satan gains the advantage. There may be much freshness of soul at conversion, like the green reed. But beware of trusting in that. Very often the reaction is as strong as the joy was great, when the true character of the flesh comes to light.

"His roots are wrapped about the heap" — to get a little strength from the heap — "and sees the place of stones." That is what the reed does to get a firm grip.

Bildad's images keep pouring out. He compares this short-lived prosperity to a lush vine covering a heap of stones in the garden, full of sap and strength in the bright sunshine. Soon God cuts him off, and "the place that once knew him shall know him no more." Others take his place.

It lasts no longer than the coarse weed that spreads over a garden and winds its shoots into a stone heap. But it is all in vain. He may look on a house of stone, but he is soon destroyed, like a harmful weed that only takes up space in the ground. The ground then denies him, as if it had never seen him. This is the joy of his way and the bitter end of godless prosperity. Yet such men keep coming, just as such weeds do: one springs up after another out of the dust, only to pass away even faster.

In verses 16 and 17 he speaks of the hypocrite. At first he grows green in the sun, his branches spread out, and his roots wrap around the rock heap. He seems to be doing well... This description may indeed be true of the hypocrite when he is finally exposed and humbled. But Bildad hinted that since Job had suffered things like the destruction he describes, Job must be a hypocrite! Bildad did not yet know the end of the story, and his assumptions were careless and false.

But applied to Job's case, there was no fellowship with God in Bildad's thoughts, and no gracious care for the sufferer. So his judgment went by appearances, and it was unrighteous.

The authority of many "fathers" carries far more weight and respect than the experience of one person... But the fact is that neither experience nor tradition will do. Experience may be true, as far as it goes, but you can hardly find two people whose experience matches exactly. As for tradition, it is a mass of confusion — one father differs from another. Nothing is more slippery or uncertain than the voice of tradition, the authority of the fathers.

Even so, what does all the gathered wisdom of the past give us when the question is God's truth? We are not to turn to the past, but to God and His word.

"His roots are wrapped about the heap" — to get a little strength from the heap — "and sees the place of stones." That is what the reed does to get a firm hold... The same is true of man on the earth. He passes away, and his memory is so forgotten that the place itself says it never saw him — it is all completely forgotten.

In this part Bildad traces the way of the wicked, and there is much truth in what he says, though it is not all the truth... Once more his images come pouring out. He compares this passing prosperity to a lush vine covering a heap of stones in the garden, full of sap and strength in the bright sunshine. Soon God cuts him off, and "the place that once knew him shall know him no more." Others shall take his place.

The papyrus does not lift its head so high by any strength of its own. It does so because of the deep mud in which it thrives for its little day... And this is so true that these plants do not decay slowly, like other plants. They are the first to wither, though no one has cut them down.

But he may be destroyed from his place, and his place then denies that it ever saw him (v.18). Nothing remains to show that he was ever prosperous. This description may indeed be true of the hypocrite when he is finally exposed and shamed. But Bildad hinted that Job had suffered things like the destruction he describes, so Job must be a hypocrite! Bildad did not yet know the end of the story, and his assumptions were poorly thought out and false.

For all his ignorance of God's principles, Bildad is zealous for the honour of God and will not let anyone accuse Him. In this he is right. But he fails to convince Job, because of the root error in the thinking of all of them: God must punish sin, and Job must be a sinner, because he is being punished.

He may look on a house of stone, but he is soon destroyed — a harmful weed that only takes up room in the ground, and the ground then denies him as if it had never seen him... But applied to Job, Bildad's thoughts held no fellowship with God and no kindness for the man who was suffering. So his judgment went by appearances, and it was unrighteous.

The lesson of the first importance here is that outward calamities do not prove that a man is in the wrong place... Nor is outward success a necessary evidence of God's approval. This is a very basic lesson, yet it cannot be repeated too often. We have such a strong tendency to judge in that crude and childish way. So we are likely to accept the verdict of Job's comforters when we judge the lives of others — and to let the same tests mislead us about our own path.

What a wicked man trusts in is no firmer than a spider's web, however tightly he clings to it. It lasts no longer than the coarse weed that spreads over a garden and winds its shoots into a heap of stones… He is quickly destroyed, as a useless and harmful thing taking up room in the ground, and the ground then disowns him as if it had never seen him. Although this is the joy of his way and the bitter end of godless prosperity, there is a succession of such men, just as there is of such weeds. One springs up after another out of the dust, only to pass away even faster.

"Behold, this is the joy of his way" (v.19), that is, the joy of the hypocrite is only brief and ends abruptly. "And out of the soil others will spring." The hypocrites will be forgotten, for others will be born to take their place.

So in the rest of the chapter he summarised what tradition would teach, illustrating his point by things in nature, like the rush and the spider's web. He claimed that all history showed that God repaid man according to what he deserved. If a man is evil, God cuts him off. If he is good, God makes him prosper. To tell Job that "the hypocrite's hope shall perish" was a cut this time not at Job's children but at Job himself.

Here Bildad traces the way of the wicked. There is much truth in what he says, though it is not all the truth… Soon God cuts him off, and "the place that once knew him will know him no more." Others will take his place.

But applied to this case, there was no fellowship with God in Bildad's thoughts and no gracious concern for the sufferer. So his judgment went by appearances, and it was unrighteous.

They were all arguing on the ground of righteousness. Not one of them had taken in, up to this and for long after, any thought of grace. And Job only arrived at it at last by the intervention of God. There he was dust and ashes. There he took the place of nothing at all, and worse than nothing. Then he was blessed. Then God vindicated him — and not before.

"The hypocrite's hope shall perish"; but the feeblest sheep of Christ shall never perish. But if a believer looks at his own imagined greenness, at his own boasted goodness, it will fade away, and Satan gains the advantage. There may be much freshness of soul at conversion, like the green flag; but beware of trusting in this.

"Behold, this is the joy of his way" (v.19), that is, the joy of the hypocrite is short and soon over. In contrast to this, "God will not reject the blameless," while He will not uphold evildoers (v.20). If Job were blameless, God would fill Job's mouth with laughing and his lips with rejoicing (v.21). No doubt Bildad was implying that Job could even yet find such blessing if he would return to living a blameless life.

"Behold, God will not reject a blameless man." But God was trying and troubling the blameless at that very moment. Job's friends could never take this into their minds. They did not understand it or believe it in the slightest degree. So their reasons were all false, and more than that, unkind through and through. It is a sad thing to be unkind to what is good and true. It is just as sad to be very kind to what is not good and not true.

If Job really is a blameless man, God will not reject him — and neither does He take the hand of evildoers. He will not cast Job off until He gives him the fullest grounds for thankful praise, defeats his enemies, and destroys the wicked forever. But applied to this case, Bildad's thoughts held no fellowship with God and no gracious care for the sufferer. So he judged by appearances, and his judgment was unrighteous.

Job knew that much of what Bildad said was true. God will not reject a blameless man. He will fill the blameless man's mouth with laughter and his lips with shouts of joy, and those who hate him will be clothed with shame (Job 8:20–22). All of this happened to Job once his days of testing were over. But Bildad did not understand that God could test a man hard — a man whose life already pleased Him — so that it might please Him still more.

It was all very well for Bildad to say "God will not reject a blameless man." No one ever thought He would. But where is the blameless man to be found? Job himself felt that he was not that man. God gives His answer to the guilty man's "hard question" in Romans 3:21-26. The redemption that is in Christ Jesus lets God justify by His grace, as a free gift, everyone who owns his guilt and believes in His Son.

Next, he argues that God's ways are just by telling Job there is restoring mercy for him, if he will only turn to God in prayer. "If you are pure and upright" — those words carry a strong hint of suspicion — then God will restore everything and bless Job's later days. This did come true, but in a very different way from what Bildad expected. God blessed Job not for his purity, and not because he confessed the evil Bildad suspected.

Next comes Bildad the Shuhite (Job 8). He follows Eliphaz, but with much more harshness, and so he draws a sharper reply out of Job. While rebuking Job, he does not hesitate to suppose that Job's children had brought on themselves what their deeds deserved. He also hints that Job himself could not be what he seemed. He speaks and thinks only of justice. Yet he urges Job to repent, and more blessing than ever would surely follow. The greenest, freshest plant is the first to wither. The hope of the hypocrite or the impure is no more than a spider's web, and the place where he stood will deny it ever saw him, while the upright is filled with joy.

If Job really is a perfect man, God will not cast him away. Neither does He take the hand of evildoers. God will keep him until He gives him the fullest grounds for thankful praise, confounds his enemies, and destroys the wicked forever. But in Job's case, Bildad's thoughts had no fellowship with God and no gracious care for the sufferer. He judged by appearances, and so his judgment was unrighteous.

Lastly Bildad reminds Job of the sure reward for the righteous. God will not join hands with evildoers by punishing the righteous. He will fill Job's mouth with laughter and his tongue with singing, and all wickedness will stop its mouth, if —

Job knew that much of what Bildad said was true. God will not cast away a perfect man. He will fill the mouth of the perfect man with laughter and his lips with rejoicing. Those who hated Job would be clothed with shame (Job 8:20–22). This is what happened to Job after his days of testing were over. But Bildad did not understand one thing. God could test very severely the man whose life was pleasing to Him, so that his life might please Him still more.

The reasoning of Bildad rests on exactly the same principle as that of Eliphaz. It is all founded on God's moral government. No one can grieve God or cast a truly righteous man to the ground, and God is sure to bring every wicked man to nothing. It is all founded on what is going on in the world now. There was no faith in it. There was conscience, conscience toward God. But conscience never reveals God and never can, however useful and important it is for the soul.

Yet the Lord does not let His saint go without proof of His interest and blessing. Job therefore received even then this testimony of what God is. He did not forget the man who had passed through such a storm of trial. Job had held on to Him even when He seemed to be against His servant… But Job only held on to God because God held on to Job. That was the real root of the matter. It is grace after all that gives and keeps integrity.

The word usually translated "tent" is ohel. The Authorised Version often translates it "tabernacle." It also stands for "dwelling" or "habitation," as in Job 8:22 and Psalm 91:10.

If Job is really a perfect man, God will not cast him away — though neither does He grasp the hand of evildoers. He will not cast him away until He has given him the fullest grounds for thankful praise, shamed his enemies, and destroyed the wicked for ever. But applied to Job's case, Bildad's thoughts held no fellowship with God and no gracious care for the sufferer. So his judgment went by appearances, and it was unrighteous.

It is all true and grandly stated: the wicked cannot prosper, and their doom is certain. On the other hand, God will not cast off the perfect man. But Job is in the place of a man cast off. So he must belong to the wicked who do not prosper. That is hidden beneath Bildad's rhetoric. Yet the closing sentences of his first speech are beautiful, and Job fully acknowledged their truth in his reply.

If Job were blameless, God would fill Job's mouth with laughing and his lips with rejoicing. Bildad was surely hinting that Job could still find such blessing if he returned to a blameless life. Then even those who hated Job would be clothed with shame, and the home of the wicked would come to nothing. He did not mean that Job was wicked. He meant that the wicked who opposed Job would be subdued.

Things that are true, but misunderstood and misapplied, may do more harm than many a false thing. Misapplied truth gives an error the apparent authority of God. That error carries all the more weight, because it comes as the truth. If someone says a foolish thing, or something clearly false, people despise it. But no believer can brush aside the truth of God. So when someone uses the truth of God wrongly — using it to crush one who is an object of intense interest to God at the time — how foreign and offensive to His mind!

Job knew that much of what Bildad said was true: that "God will not cast away a perfect man," that He will fill the perfect man's mouth with laughter and his lips with rejoicing, and that those who hated him would be clothed with shame. This is what happened to Job once his days of testing were over. But Bildad did not understand that God could test a man very hard when that man's life pleased Him, so that it might please Him still more.

This was indeed fulfilled, but in a very different way from what Bildad expected. Job is blessed not for his purity, and not for confessing the evil Bildad suspected.

Answering Bildad the Shuhite in chapter 9, Job said, "Truly I know that it is so: But how can a man be in the right before God?" (verse 2). Job knew that much of what Bildad said was true: that God will not reject a blameless man, and will fill his mouth with laughter (Job 8:20–22). This is what happened to Job after his days of testing were over. But Bildad did not understand that God can test a man whose life pleases Him, and test him hard, so that his life may please Him still more.

In our day the short sentence, "Get right with God," has stirred interest in the gospel message. It might well bring the reply, "Yes, but how is it to be done?" This is exactly the question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it, for he put forward and examined four possible answers. Each one starts with an "If."

There is more emphasis in this chapter than we often notice. "How should a man be just with God?" The weight falls on "with God." A man may be just in a certain sense — he may not fail in any way that troubles his conscience in his dealings with other people — but being just with God is another thing.

What does the expression "be just with God" mean? First we must remember that in God's vocabulary there are no words of uncertain meaning. There is no room here for "more" or "less." What is good in His eyes needs no improvement. To be just before Him means to think, to speak, and to do what is right, and to be what one ought to be before the eyes of a thrice holy God. He alone holds the standard of measure.

Although he speaks quietly, there is deep bitterness in what Job says here. He seems to agree with Bildad that God is just. Job says, "Of course He is just, for there is no appeal from whatever He does. He has both wisdom and power, and He can crush any attempt to reason with Him." This is terrible. This is not a man humbly asking God for a reason, as Jeremiah does in a similar situation (Jer. 12:1-4). It is the hardness of despair — might is right, and God has the might on His side.

It is clear that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had in himself no way of getting right. So his only hope was that a third party would step in. But he knew of no such third party, no "daysman." His three friends could not play that part, and neither could any other man. The daysman must be great enough to lay one hand on Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other on poor, diseased, sinful Job.

Compared with other men, Job knew he had been righteous, and God Himself had confirmed this when He spoke to Satan (ch. 1:8). But only the New Testament gives a full answer to Job's question. Scripture says of believers, "you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption" (1 Cor. 1:30). Christ's sacrifice on Calvary laid a righteous basis for our eternal salvation, so that God counts us righteous through faith in Christ. Job could not understand this at the time, for Christ had not yet died for us.

The question here is, how a soul can stand before God. Where is righteousness to be found? ... He was convinced that God hates evil and loves holiness. His friends looked at Job's condition and said he must be a hypocrite. He must have done something very bad, they argued, for God was against him, and prosperity is the mark of God's favour. But Job insisted that this is no adequate test.

In moral terms, this is the vital question of human life on earth since the fall. The peace of the human heart depends on the answer. Here lies the mystery of a conscience brought to rest. Believers in Old Testament times, from Adam onwards, tried to solve this problem. Both before and after the flood, before and after the Law, every sincere soul puzzled over this question.

There is more emphasis than we are often aware of in this chapter. "How should a man be just with God?" More emphasis on "with God." A man may be just in a certain sense. He may not fail in any way that troubles his conscience in his dealings with other people. But to be just with God is another thing.

A person who lives for a good reputation with people never has a conscience before God. Anyone who thinks that way about his own character is always wrong. He is only acting to please himself and the world, and not God.

Job has thrown out three suggested answers to his question: defiance, self-justification, and careless forgetting. What about a course of self-improvement? ... He knew that melted snow gives the purest kind of distilled water. It has the greatest power to absorb and remove dirt... If he achieved something like this in his own character and life, what then? Why, God would plunge him in a dirty ditch as the only fit place for him. And even then, he himself, beneath his clothes, would be dirtier than they! The dirt was in him, not in his surroundings.

Self-justification is a very attractive idea, yet Job stated it only to reject it as unworkable. He knew he had only to open his mouth to condemn himself. And anyone who would justify himself under God's searching eye must be able to prove his own perfection. Nothing short of that would satisfy.

Job did not know what was in his heart till he was put to the test... Job had a kind character, high position, great wealth and many possessions. People thought well of him, and he ended up thinking well of himself. God must break all this down. Trials come, and then self breaks out, because it was inside.

Read Job 9 and you can see Job's tries at answering this question. He throws them out one by one as worthless. He ends with a cry for a "daysman," or mediator — a cry that would not be answered for perhaps two thousand years.

Christ lays His hand upon the sinner, having been made sin for him. How could a man as he is be made righteous? Impossible; but Christ could be made sin with God for man... Now we find in the gospel, not the righteousness of man with God, but God's righteousness for man.

"How should man be just with God?" This is the guilty man's "hard question." Bildad's remarks drew this out of Job... It was all very well for Bildad to say "God will not cast away a perfect man." No one ever supposed He would, but where is the perfect man to be found? Job felt that he was not that man. Romans 3:21-26 gives the divine answer to the guilty man's "hard question." The redemption that is in Christ Jesus lets God justify by His grace, as a free gift, everyone who owns his guilt and believes in His Son.

The first is of course verse 3. Supposing man adopts a defiant attitude and contends with God; what then? Disaster, and no justification! Sin has made mankind into rebels, so defying God is their first instinct. But Job saw how ruinous such an attitude would be. God is so infinitely great that no rebel can prosper, and down to verse 19 he continues this theme.

The instant the soul is awakened, it sees with God's eye, and this is the only way of seeing right. When that happens, the soul stands in the light of God's judgment and says, "I could not answer him one of a thousand." God is infinitely good; but His way of goodness is not that of allowing evil. Could you answer for yourself in the day of judgment for everything you have ever said or done?

Our consciences may be quite at ease while we are far from God and not yet awake. But the moment we have to face what we are in the presence of God, we see that our case is desperate. We all know, more or less, what self-righteousness is, and we can get along with it well enough until God's eye is upon us. A man may have an excellent character, and deserve it too, but he does not have a perfect conscience... the moment we recognise God's presence, the veil is off. We see God, and His word searches the thoughts and intentions of the heart. Then we can understand the words of poor Job (and there was no one like him in all the earth), "He cannot answer him one of a thousand."

Job was a most righteous man, and God bore witness to him as such. He was no Pharisee, and he used language no Pharisee would use. Yet when he was put into the crucible, he was found to be secretly clinging to a testimony from his fellow men. In his heart of hearts he knew that testimony would not stand before God (Job 9:2-3, 20, 30, 31). And is there not a hidden root of self-confidence in every heart? Is there not a longing to compare ourselves with others, sure that the comparison will favour us, with God Himself as the Judge?

If we look at Christ, we shall find that He exactly meets the need that Job felt. I cannot answer God one in a thousand — but what do I find in Christ? God in His person came to me in this world because I could not do anything. The blessed Lord did not wait up in heaven, but came to these unrighteous people. He never said "Come to me," until He had come Himself.

We can see how immense the difference is when the gospel reveals the righteousness of God. It is no longer the question, How shall man be just with God? ... Now the gospel reveals God's righteousness. That shuts out everything on man's part except faith, so that it might be wholly grace on God's part. Yet it rests on the foundation of Christ's suffering for sins, the just for the unjust, to bring us to God.

Job's reply starts quietly, moves on to bitter charges against God, and ends in a wail. It falls into seven parts. In this full survey of his case he sounds all the heights and depths of misery. (1) God supreme; who can contend with Him? (Job 9:1-4). (2) His unstoppable power (verses 5-10). (3) He cannot be reached, and He deals as He pleases (verses 11-24). (4) Job's utter weakness (verses 25-28). (5) Longing for someone to arbitrate between them (verses 29-35).

Although he speaks quietly, there is an intense bitterness in what Job says here. Apparently agreeing with Bildad that God is just, Job says, "Of course He is just, for there is no appeal from whatever He does. He has both wisdom and power, and can crush any useless effort to reason with Him." This is terrible. It is not someone humbly asking God for a reason; it is the hardness of despair — might is right, and God has might on His side.

In verse 3 Job admits that even if he wanted to argue his case with God, the odds against him were at least 1000 to one! There was evidence enough that God was wise in heart and mighty in strength. If one hardened himself against God he would certainly not prosper. God could remove mountains by an earthquake. He shakes the earth and makes its steadiest parts tremble. He could also tell the sun not to rise, at least as far as our sight goes, and seal the stars off from view. He alone stretches out the heavens and treads on the waves of the sea. Whether earth or sky or sea, He is in perfect control.

"Who has hardened himself against Him, and had peace?" (or, "has prospered"). Job well knew there was neither peace nor prosperity in seeking to refuse obedience to God. Jonah (and you and I) should know this same great truth, and yet how slow we are to learn it!

The folly of rebellion shows up at once: "who has hardened himself against Him and prospered?" The folly is so great that men have to hide from themselves the truth about what they are doing, and the "heart is" indeed "deceitful above all things"... Only one reason can be given for the insanity of rebelling against Him: "the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot." (Rom. 8:7.) Satan is the determined enemy of the Almighty, and he knows it.

The frogs died, and Pharaoh hardened, or made heavy, his heart. But "who has hardened himself against Him and has prospered?" (Job 9:4). Job said it, and Pharaoh was no exception to the truth of that ancient saying. And God was not going to waste time with the king. He was in earnest.

Suppose a man takes a defiant attitude and argues his case against God. What then? Disaster, and no justification! Sin has made mankind into rebels, so defying God is their first instinct. But Job saw how ruinous such an attitude would be. God is so infinitely great that no rebel can prosper.

There is more emphasis than we are often aware of in this chapter. "How should a man be just with God?" More emphasis on "with God." Man may be just in a certain sense. He may not fail in any way that troubles his conscience in his dealings with other people. But to be just with God is another thing... This chapter works that out, though Job does it in impatience. In the end he arrives at a need — the very need the Saviour met.

Although he speaks quietly, there is an intense bitterness in what Job says here. Job seems to agree with Bildad that God is just. He says, "Of course He is just, for there is no appeal from whatever He does. He has both wisdom and power, and can overwhelm any useless attempt to reason with Him." This is terrible. This is not a humble man daring to ask God for a reason, as Jeremiah does in a similar situation (Jer. 12:1-4). It is the hardness of despair — might is right, and God has might on His side.

He removes mountains, and they know not that He has overturned them in His wrath; He shakes the earth out of its place, and the pillars of it rock themselves; He commands the sun, and it rises not, and He sets a seal about the stars.

In this part Job enlarges upon the power and greatness of God. The language is noble, the description true, but underneath lies the awful doubt of this great and powerful Being's goodness. God overturns the unconscious mountains in His wrath; He makes the earth to tremble... These are marvelous sweeps of language, taking in the whole heavens. But sadly it is not, "The heavens declare the glory of God." It is a declaration of absolute, unstoppable Power.

God could remove mountains by an earthquake, shaking the earth and causing its most stable influences to tremble. Also, high above the earth, He could command the sun not to rise, that is, as far as we can see... He "alone spreads out the heavens, and treads on the waves of the sea." Whether the earth or sky or sea, He is in perfect control. The New Testament gives a precious confirmation of His control of the sea. Jesus "came to them, walking on the sea" (Matt. 14:25). That is clear proof that Jesus is God.

There were no volcanoes in the land of Israel or in the neighbouring countries. Yet the Spirit dictated these records: "who looks on the earth and it trembles, who touches the mountains and they smoke" (Ps. 104:32); "He who removes mountains, and they know it not, when He overturns them in His anger" (Job 9:5)... The textbooks of science change twice in every generation. Scripture stands firm. It watches human explanations of the universe get built, and then replaced by ones that seem more likely.

Supposing man adopts a defiant attitude and contends with God; what then? Disaster, and no justification! Sin has made mankind into rebels, so defying God is their first instinct. But Job saw how ruinous such an attitude would be. God is so infinitely great that no rebel can prosper.

Job did not doubt that God would see him through all his difficulties. But he could not work out on what ground of righteousness God would do it. If man was a poor sinful man, and God still showed him saving mercy, how was man to be just? You cannot put justice and sins together until you have Christ. He died for the sins and rose again for the believer's justification. There the sins are completely blotted out.

God could remove mountains by an earthquake. It shakes the earth and makes even its steadiest parts tremble. Also, high above the earth, He could command the sun not to rise — that is, as far as we can see. Of course He does this by placing clouds in the sky, and the clouds hide the stars too... Whether the earth or sky or sea, He is in perfect control.

He began by admitting that God's disciplinary ways are right. But he raised the all-important question: how could a man be right with God? In our day the short sentence, "Get right with God," has been used to awaken interest in the gospel message. It might well provoke the reply, "Yes, but how is it to be achieved?"

Sin has made mankind into rebels, so defying God is their first instinct. But Job saw how ruinous such an attitude would be. God is so infinitely great that no rebel can prosper... The earth and the heavens with their constellations proclaim the Creator's greatness and glory.

In this part Job enlarges upon the power and greatness of God. The language is noble and the description is true. But underneath lies the awful doubt about this great and powerful Being's goodness. God overturns the unconscious mountains in His wrath; He makes the earth to tremble... These are marvellous sweeps of language, taking in the whole heavens. But sadly it is not, "The heavens declare the glory of God." It is a declaration of absolute, unstoppable Power.

This is terrible. It is not someone humbly asking God for a reason, as Jeremiah does in similar circumstances (Jeremiah 12:1-4). It is the hardness of despair — might is right, and God has the might on His side.

That is exactly where Job was. He was quite sure that it was of God, and that is the very thing that made the difficulty. Because his conscience was pure toward God, and he knew the goodness of God — and yet how was this? He could not understand it... He was not a proud man; but as all men are, until they learn in the way I have described, he had a very good opinion of himself. That must all come down.

Job did not doubt that God would see him through all his difficulties. But he could not imagine on what ground of righteousness that could be done. If man was a poor sinful man, and yet God showed him saving mercy, how was man to be just? You cannot put justice and sins together until you have Christ. He died for the sins and rose again for the believer's justification. There the sins are completely blotted out. How could Job know anything about that? Nobody knew it; no man on earth.

Job's striking words in Job 9 begin by acknowledging that God's ways of discipline are right. But they raise the all-important question: how could a man be right with God? In our day the short sentence, "Get right with God," has stirred interest in the gospel message. It might well bring the reply, "Yes, but how is it to be done?" That is exactly the question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it.

Also, high above the earth, He could command the sun not to rise — that is, as far as we can see. Of course He does this by placing clouds in the sky, which hide the stars too. He alone spreads out the heavens and treads on the waves of the sea. Whether earth or sky or sea, He is in perfect control.

Here Job dwells on the power and greatness of God. The language is noble and the description true. But underneath lies a dreadful doubt about the goodness of this great and powerful Being. God overturns the mountains in His wrath, and they know nothing of it; He makes the earth tremble. Moving from earth to heaven, He makes the sun and stars stop shining… These are marvelous sweeps of language, taking in the whole heavens. But sadly they are not, "The heavens declare the glory of God." They declare absolute, unstoppable Power.

Although he speaks quietly, there is an intense bitterness in what Job says here. On the surface he agrees with Bildad that God is just. Job says, "Of course He is just, for there is no appeal from whatever He does. He has both wisdom and power, and can crush any useless effort to reason with Him." This is terrible. This is not a man humbly daring to ask God for a reason, as Jeremiah does in similar circumstances (Jeremiah 12:1-4). It is the hardness of despair — might is right, and God has might on His side.

He knew man was weak and faulty. Still, Job did not doubt that God would bring him through all his troubles. What he could not work out was the ground of righteousness for it. If man was a poor sinful man, and God still showed him saving mercy, how was man to be just? You cannot put justice and sins together until you have Christ, who died for the sins and rose again for the believer's justification. There God blots the sins out completely. How could Job know anything about that?

Job describes in a very grand way what God is in His ways — His uncontrollable power and authority. He knew man was weak and faulty. Even so, Job did not doubt that God would see him through all his difficulties. But he could not imagine on what ground of righteousness. If man was a poor sinful man, and God still showed him saving mercy, how was man to be just? You cannot put justice and sins together until you have Christ. He died for the sins and rose again for the believer's justification. There the sins are completely blotted out. How could Job know anything about that? Nobody knew it; no man on earth.

God could remove mountains by an earthquake, shaking the earth and causing its most stable features to tremble. Also, high above the earth, He could command the sun not to rise — that is, as far as our vision is concerned. Of course He does this by placing clouds in the sky, so that the stars too are sealed off from view. He "alone spreads out the heavens, and treads on the waves of the sea." Whether the earth or sky or sea, He is in perfect control.

God overturns the unconscious mountains in His wrath; He makes the earth tremble. Passing from earth to heaven, He causes the sun and stars to stop shining. Returning to earth, He walks upon the raging waves of the sea.

The language is noble and the description true. But underneath it lies the awful doubt about this great and powerful Being's goodness… These are marvellous sweeps of language, taking in the whole heavens. Sadly, though, this is not "The heavens declare the glory of God." It is a declaration of absolute, unstoppable Power.

Although he speaks quietly, there is an intense bitterness in what Job says here. Apparently agreeing with Bildad that God is just, Job says, "Of course He is just, for there is no appeal from whatever He does. He has both wisdom and power, and can overwhelm any pointless attempt to reason with Him." This is terrible. This is not someone humbly asking God for a reason, as Jeremiah does in a similar situation (Jer. 12:1-4). It is the hardness of despair — might is right, and God has might on His side.

There is a precious New Testament confirmation of His control of the sea, when "He came to them, walking on the sea" (Matt. 14:25), a clear proof that Jesus is God.

We see Him as a Man, yet the great "I Am," in a scene that shows in picture all the power of evil under His feet. He walks upon the sea as His by double right: in Godhead He created it, and in Manhood it forms part of His vast domain.

The word ash or aish has always been a difficult one to translate, and the versions differ a great deal. But most now agree that this is not the star known as Arcturus, but the constellation known as the Great Bear. "His sons" are thought to be the stars in the tail of the bear. In the northern hemisphere this constellation shows all year round. It seems to circle the north star without ever stopping, and none but the mighty God can guide it.

Kimah. The Hebrew means "a heap or collection." The verse names it with Arcturus and Orion, so it doubtless refers to the group of stars that still bears the name Pleiades. In Amos 5:8 the same Hebrew word becomes "seven stars." There are many stars in the group, but seven are visible to the naked eye.

In this part Job enlarges on the power and greatness of God. The language is noble, the description true, but underneath it lies the terrible doubt about this great and powerful Being's goodness. He is the Creator of those distant glorious constellations. Arcturus is in the north. Orion is "sloping downward toward the west." Pleiades is in the east. And there are the unknown "chambers of the south," toward the horizon and beyond sight. This language sweeps across the whole heavens. But sadly it is not "The heavens declare the glory of God." It is a declaration of absolute, unstoppable power.

These are all in the northern sphere. But the people of those days had explored far enough to cross the equator, and they knew there was a southern world. They did not know much about it; they knew very little.

All the constellations of the stars are His workmanship. Notice that people already knew these astronomical facts at this early date. Job could speak with real knowledge about the greatness of God just as well as Bildad, if not much better.

Job did not doubt that God would see him through all his difficulties. But he could not see on what ground of righteousness. If man was a poor sinful man, and God still showed him saving mercy, how was man to be just? You cannot put justice and sins together until you have Christ. He died for the sins and rose again for the believer's justification. There God blots the sins out completely. How could Job know anything about that? Nobody knew it; no man on earth.

Pointing next to the heavenly host, the Lord almost takes up the words of Job (Job 9:9)... Some think the Pleiades stand for a cluster of brilliant jewels: "Can you fasten the shining brooch on the bosom of the night?" Others say the Pleiades is the constellation of Spring, as Orion is the constellation of Winter. To loose the bands of Orion would break up the Winter. To bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades would delay the Spring. Can you hold back the coming of Spring, or bring Winter to an end?

Such passages come before the full revelation of God in the Son that we have today. They show the thoughts and feelings of the creature towards his Creator. It could not be otherwise while Jehovah remained behind the veil. He asserted His majesty in many ways: in His rightful claims in the testing of man, and in view of the coming down of the Son. In the Son He has now shone out in the full glory of His Being and Nature as God.

"He made the Bear, Orion, and the Pleiades and the chambers of the south" (v.9). All the constellations of the stars are His workmanship. Notice that people knew these astronomical facts at this early date. Job could speak of the greatness of God with as much knowledge as Bildad, if not far more. As he says, God "does great things beyond searching out, and marvelous things beyond number." In fact, God moves in such a way that Job could not see Him at work. Yet God can do what no one can stop.

In this part Job enlarges upon the power and greatness of God. The language is noble and the description true. But underneath lies an awful doubt about the goodness of this great and powerful Being. God overturns the unconscious mountains in His wrath; He makes the earth to tremble. Passing from earth to heaven, He causes the sun and stars to stop shining… These are marvellous sweeps of language, taking in the whole heavens. But sadly, it is not, "The heavens declare the glory of God." It is a declaration of absolute, unstoppable Power.

Unbelief rests on nature as its way of rising from the visible to a knowledge of the Invisible. But nature fails to tell who and what God is. Nature was never intended to tell us. But men reasoned away even what creation should have shown — His eternal power and divinity. The heavens declare His glory, and the sky shows His handiwork. But even that glorious display of wisdom and power could only tell us that there must be a God. It could not tell us that God in His nature is light and love.

To justify a man is to reckon him righteous… To justify someone who has done no wrong is simple. Every court in the world can do it. But to justify a sinner is another matter altogether; this presents a problem that only God can solve. Long ago both Job and his friend Bildad raised the question, "How can man be just with God?" (Job 9; 25). Both had in mind that man is fallen and guilty. Their question found no clear answer in Old Testament times. For this answer, as for many another riddle, men had to wait until God sent His beloved Son. "But now," says the Apostle, "the righteousness of God has been manifested" (Rom. 3:21).

A man never knows God until he gets to that point — "How shall a man be just with God?" Men are willing to argue with Him. But what good is that? says God. God does love righteousness; but what does that do for me? How many sins today, yesterday, and so on, have I committed? It is no good pleading with God on that ground.

Job's reply begins quietly, moves on to bitter charges against God, and ends in a wail. It falls into seven parts... (1) God supreme; who can contend with Him? (Job 9:1-4). (2) His irresistible power (verses 5-10). (3) His inaccessibility, and His dealing as He pleases (verses 11-24). (4) Job's utter weakness (verses 25-28). (5) Longing for a daysman (verses 29-35)...

Now Job comes to the heart of his trouble. His words are beautiful poetry; only the misery of his complaint runs deeper. He says he can have no access to this great and mighty Being who hides Himself and gives account of His ways to no one. He passes by, unseen as the wind; He acts in anger, but no one can ask a reason.

As he says, God "does great things past finding out, yes, wonders without number" (v.10). In fact, God moves in such a way that Job could not see Him at work, though God can do what no one can hinder (vv.11-12).

"Behold, He passes by me, and I see Him not; He moves on, but I do not perceive Him"... That is exactly where Job was. He was quite sure that it was of God, and that is the very thing that made the difficulty. Because his conscience was pure toward God, and he knew the goodness of God, and yet how was this? He could not understand it... He was not a proud man; but as all men are, until they learn in the way I have described, he had a very good opinion of himself. That must all come down.

One serious effect of sin entering the world was that mankind lost the true knowledge of God. Once lost, no effort of man's will or intellect could win back that highest and best of all knowledge... Job confessed his inability in that direction, saying, "Behold, He passes by me, and I see Him not; He moves on, but I do not perceive Him" (Job 9:11). Since, therefore, we cannot discover God, it is necessary that He should make Himself known to us. Revelation becomes a necessity. God reached the crowning point of that revelation of Himself when He made Himself known in Christ as Father.

He is, indeed, that "Daysman" whom Job sighed for, who "might lay His hand upon us both" (see Job 9:32-33). Job knew that God is not a man as he was. So there was an absolute need for One great enough to lay His hand upon God, yet gracious enough to lay His hand upon someone like Job.

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)... To this desire Elihu now replies: "Behold, I am as you 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 upon you."

Coming to the heart of his trouble, Job says that he can have no access to this great and mighty Being, who hides Himself and gives no account of His ways to anyone. His words are beautiful poetry, and only the misery of his complaint runs deeper than their beauty. He passes by, unseen as the winds; He deals in anger, but no one can ask a reason.

"Behold, He snatches away; who can turn Him back? Who will say to Him, What are You doing?" That is exactly where Job was. He was quite sure that it was of God, and that is the very thing that made the difficulty. Because his conscience was pure toward God, and he knew the goodness of God, and yet how was this? He could not understand it, and neither did they in the slightest degree.

He does according to His will in the army of heaven and among the inhabitants of earth, and none can stay His hand or say to Him, "What are You doing?" We rest, because we know who reigns. It is not mere sovereignty, the almighty despotism of bare will, to which we bow because we must, but the sovereignty of wisdom, holiness and goodness — of One in whom love is revealed in light.

He is, and must be, sovereign in His doing, so that "none can stay His hand, or say to Him, What are You doing?" Yet He will allow the question, and let everything come into the fullest light. He takes away Job's hedge and allows Satan wide limits within which to deal with him. The end, of course, is blessing for the sufferer and full vindication of God's perfect ways.

Job did not doubt that God would see him through all his difficulties. But he could not see on what righteous ground God would do it. If man was a poor sinful man, and God still showed him saving mercy, how was man to be just? You cannot put justice and sins together until you have Christ, who died for the sins and rose again for the believer's justification.

Where is there a daysman, a mediator who could enter into judgment, laying his hands upon God and Job alike? Consumed with terror, Job cannot speak. Thank God, we know, as Job later knew in part, that there is such a Daysman.

That was great ignorance of God, because God does answer and God does hear. "For He breaks me with a tempest" — and that was true — "and multiplies my wounds without cause." Ah, without cause; that is a little too much to say. He had His own wise cause; He had His own blessed purpose. He meant that Job should be a far happier man, and brighter in his state, than he had ever been before.

He began by acknowledging that God's disciplinary ways are right. But he raised the all-important question: how could a man be right with God? In our day people use the short sentence, "Get right with God," to awaken interest in the gospel message. It might well provoke the reply, "Yes, but how is it to be achieved?" That is the very question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it, for he suggested and examined four possible answers. Each suggestion begins with an "If."

A poetical name, signifying 'insolence,' given to Egypt. Ps. 87:4; Ps. 89:10; Isa. 51:9.

Coming to the heart of his trouble, Job declares that he can have no access to this great and mighty Being who hides Himself and gives no account of His ways to anyone. He passes by, unseen as the winds. He deals in anger, but no one can ask a reason — not even the "proud helpers," the "helpers of Rahab" (Egypt). They can only bow under Him.

He will not withdraw His anger from anything contrary to Him, and He will lay flat under His feet those who identify themselves with the proud.

"If God will not withdraw His anger, the proud helpers do stoop under Him. How much less shall I answer Him?" There he is beginning to feel his weakness. He was not a proud man; but as all men are, until they learn in the way I have described, he had a very good opinion of himself. That must all come down. If a man is to be blessed, or a woman, the blessing will not come by a good opinion of oneself. That is wrong, and the greatest hindrance to the blessing of God and the enjoyment of His grace.

Bildad had talked truisms about God's dealing with the wicked and the righteous. But he had not faced the question: how can mortal man have a standing of righteousness with God? For his own part Job admitted man's inability, and God's right to act according to His power. In fact, it was exactly what Job himself experienced when the LORD put His questions to him at the close of the book. To dispute it is to court destruction. So to blame his sufferings on secret wickedness showed ignorance of God's sovereign ways.

All efforts to change the judgment are useless. And oh — where is there a daysman, a mediator who could enter into judgment, laying his hands on God and Job alike? Consumed with terror, Job cannot speak. Thank God, we know, as Job later knew in part, that there is such a Daysman.

"If God will not withdraw His anger, the proud helpers stoop under Him. How much less shall I answer Him?" There he is beginning to feel his weakness. He was not a proud man; but as all men are, until they learn better, he had a very good opinion of himself. That must all come down. If a man is to be blessed, the blessing will not come by a good opinion of oneself. That opinion is wrong. It is the greatest hindrance to the blessing of God and to the enjoyment of His grace.

What words does Job have with which to answer God? He feels unable to choose words that might have any effect. However righteous he may be, he felt hopelessly unable to make any impression on God by his speaking. He feels he could only beg for mercy from Him whom he calls "my Judge." Even then he doubted that God would listen to his voice.

Could he justify himself? This would at least mean giving up the defiant attitude and quietly admitting he was wrong, and so needed to be justified. Self-justification is a very attractive idea, yet Job raised it only to dismiss it as unworkable. He knew he had only to open his mouth to condemn himself. What is more, anyone who would justify himself before the searching eye of God must prove his own perfection. Nothing short of that would satisfy.

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator. He knew he had in himself no means of getting right. That being so, his only hope was that a third party would step in; but he knew of no such third party, or "daysman." His three friends could not take the part, and no other man could. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands upon Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other upon poor, diseased and sinful Job.

Christ became the mediator between God and men. And He is not just a mediator. He is a mediator who is as divine as the God before whom He acts as mediator for us. If there had not been the hand of God in the cross, there could have been no divine redemption… therefore what now comes in is the righteousness of God. And there is nothing against that. But it is a justifying righteousness; it is not a condemning righteousness. The same God who condemned under the law saved under grace, because of Christ.

Job 9. This chapter brings out the state of Job's mind. He says, "I know it is so of a truth. But how should man be just with God?" He gets before God as Judge, and his perplexity is very great. He cannot answer God one in a thousand.

Poor Job! He does not know now which way to turn. And is not this the case with every believer the moment he gets before God as Judge? How can he or you be just before God? Would not one sin of a thousand utterly condemn you?

What words could Job use to answer God? He feels unable to choose words that might have any effect. However righteous he may be, he felt hopelessly unable to make any impression on God by his speaking. He feels he could only beg for mercy from Him whom he calls, "my Judge."

There he is beginning to feel his weakness. He was not a proud man. But like all men before they learn this lesson, he had a very good opinion of himself. That must all come down. If a man or a woman is to be blessed, the blessing will not come through a good opinion of oneself. That is wrong. It is the greatest hindrance to the blessing of God and to the enjoyment of His grace. "Though I am in the right, I cannot answer him." There, you see, was true godliness.

He fully believed that God was faithful to him, and faithful to His children in general. But where was the ground for it? Well there was no ground yet at all. It was all hope. It was a hope in the Christ who was coming. But they did not know how Christ would answer to that hope. They only knew it would be all right, but how, they had no idea.

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had in himself no way of getting right. Since that was so, his only hope was for a third party to step in. But he knew of no such third party, no "daysman." His three friends could not play the part, and neither could any other man. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands on Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other on poor, diseased, sinful Job.

Compared with other men, Job knew that he had been righteous, and God Himself had confirmed this when He spoke to Satan. But only the New Testament gives a full answer to Job's question. It says of believers, "you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God — and righteousness and sanctification and redemption." Christ's sacrifice on Calvary has laid a righteous basis for our eternal salvation. So God counts us righteous through faith in Christ. Of course Job could not understand this at the time, for Christ had not yet died for us.

This drew from Job the striking words recorded in Job 9. He began by admitting that God's disciplinary ways are right, but he raised the all-important question: how can a man be right with God? In our day people have used the short saying, "Get right with God," to awaken interest in the Gospel message. It may well prompt the reply, "Yes, but how is that to be done?" That is exactly the question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it, for he suggested and examined four possible answers. Each suggestion starts with an "If."

What words does Job have to answer God? He feels unable to choose words that might have any effect. However righteous he may be, he felt completely unable to make any impression on God by speaking. He feels he could only beg for mercy from the One he calls "my Judge." Even then he doubted that God would listen to his voice (vv.15-16). Instead of listening, Job saw God crushing him with a tempest and adding to his wounds for no real cause (v.17).

Though I had cited Him, and He had answered me, / I would not believe that He would listen to me.

Then Job takes up another case. He cannot answer Him in His majesty, and He does not see His love… He is troubled in his soul about it… God is not a man, as we are. Job would have escaped God's presence if he could, but he could not. He was completely wrong about this, but he could not get away from God.

Well, that was great ignorance of God. God does answer, and God does hear. He delights in His children now. Now that they are cleared, now that they know Him, He delights in perfect closeness and love with Himself. "For He crushes me with a tempest" — and that was true — "and multiplies my wounds without cause." Ah! without cause; that is a little too much to say. He had His own wise cause; He had His own blessed end. He meant that Job should be a far happier man and brighter in his state than he had ever been before.

It is clear that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had no way in himself of getting right. So his only hope was for a third party to step in; but he knew of no such third party, or "daysman." His three friends could not play that part, and neither could any other man. The daysman must be great enough to lay one hand on Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other on poor, sick, sinful Job.

God has taken away the fear in Christ, and there is a daysman between us, such as Job felt the need of.

Instead of God listening, Job saw Him as crushing him with a tempest and multiplying Job's wounds without any actual cause. This seemed so relentless that Job felt God was not giving him time to even catch his breath, so that bitterness filled him.

"For He breaks me with a tempest" — and that was true — "and multiplies my wounds without cause." Ah! without cause; that is a little too much to say. He had His own wise cause; He had His own blessed end. He meant Job to be a far happier man, in a brighter state than he had ever been in before. Until Christ came, that could only be done by making him a bag of broken bones — so Job would learn that all the goodness was in God and all the badness was in himself.

Although he speaks quietly, there is an intense bitterness in what Job says here. He seems to agree with Bildad that God is just. Job says, "Of course He is just, for there is no appeal from whatever He does. He has both wisdom and power, and can crush any useless effort to reason with Him." This is terrible. It is not someone humbly asking God for a reason, as Jeremiah does in similar circumstances. It is the hardness of despair — might is right, and God has might on His side.

Job hints that there is no use in trying to clear himself. If he is already pronounced wicked, he labours in vain to convince God that he is not. He may wash his hands in innocence, in snow water — and then this irresistible Power takes him and plunges him into the ditch! All efforts to change the judgment are useless. And oh — where is there a daysman, a mediator who could step into the case and lay his hands on God and Job alike? Consumed with terror, Job cannot speak. Thank God, we know, as Job later knew in part, that there is such a Daysman.

When there is real integrity of heart, there is struggle. The sense of integrity, without the knowledge of righteousness, is the cause of much misery in the heart. Job says, "Let not His fear terrify me." He had this fear. God has taken away the fear in Christ, and there is a daysman between us, such as Job felt the need of.

If Job thought of strength — and he had none — it pressed on him that God is strong. If he thought of justice, of course God has both strength and justice on His side. But Job felt he was not even allowed a day in court to plead his cause.

How vain to think of a favourable outcome in a lawsuit with God! It would dishonour His glory to think that He could stoop to such a contest, or listen to a creature's argument against His ways. Not only must He crush all opposition, but a man's own mouth would condemn him, and he himself would be proved perverse. So he would not dare to think of such a plea for himself, but of crying out for mercy.

He cannot answer Him in His majesty, and he does not see His love… But he has to do with God, and he cannot help it. He cannot escape His hand. He is not a man, as we are. Job would have got away from God's presence if he could, but he could not; he was all wrong about this, but he could not get away from God.

Oh Job, for these words you will yet loathe yourself, and repent in dust and ashes.

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had in himself no means of getting right. That being so, his only hope was for a third party to step in; but Job knew of no such third party, or "daysman." His three friends could not fill the role, and no other man could either. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands on Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other on poor diseased and sinful Job.

He needs another to help him, to bring him in touch with God, to make him just with God. He calls for a daysman, an umpire, one who might lay His hand on God and on him, the sinner, so that the rod may be taken from him and he may be freed from fear. We find the daysman foreshadowed later in this book. But He has come: Christ Jesus our Lord.

When I come to the point of saying (not that the world is wicked, but) that I am wicked, I have the "daysman" between me and God. He is the One who has come to me in all the wickedness of my heart, and has come to me because I am like that. Now I have not only God working in me… but God doing a work for me. He brings in a righteousness (His own) for the sinner. He works a work for us.

There is more emphasis in this chapter than we often realise. "How should a man be just with God?" The emphasis falls on "with God." A man may be just in a certain sense. He may not fail in any way that troubles his conscience in his dealings with other people. But to be just with God is another thing altogether… How to be just with God is a wholly different question, and this is what Job's inner struggles brought him to.

At verse 20, Job suggested another possible answer. How could he be just with God? Well, could he justify himself? That would at least mean giving up his defiant attitude. It would be a quiet admission that he was wrong and needed to be justified. Self-justification is a very attractive proposition. Yet Job only stated it to dismiss it as unworkable. He knew he had only to open his mouth to condemn himself.

He gets before God as Judge, and his perplexity is very great. He cannot answer God one question in a thousand… How can he, or you, be just before God? Would not one sin out of a thousand utterly condemn you? Yet this is the desperate struggle of Job, and of every human heart — to be just before God.

Our consciences may be quite at ease while we are far from God and not yet awake to Him. But the moment we have to face what we are in God's presence, we see that our case is desperate. We all know more or less what self-righteousness is. We can carry on with it well enough until God's eye is upon us… A man may have an excellent character, and deserve it too, but he has not a perfect conscience. But the moment we recognise God's presence, the veil is off. We see God, and His word searches the thoughts and intentions of the heart.

How can Job confront such a One? If he tried to justify himself, his own mouth and lips would condemn him at once. And if he said he was perfect and blameless, God would only prove his perverseness.

If he were allowed his day in court to plead his case, he felt that just opening his mouth would ruin him, righteous though he was. Even though blameless, his mouth would prove him perverse (v.20). What does he mean? Is he not saying that no matter how blameless he is, his very speaking proves to his friends that he must be dishonest and perverse?

Nothing matters more morally than to see this: whenever we justify ourselves, we condemn God. And when we condemn ourselves, we justify God… The moment true self-judgment breaks the soul down, God rises before it in all the majesty of His grace as a Justifier. But as long as a spirit of self-defence or self-satisfaction rules us, we stay complete strangers to a deep blessing — the blessing of the man to whom God imputes righteousness apart from works. The greatest folly anyone can be guilty of is to justify himself, since God must then impute sin. But the truest wisdom is to condemn oneself utterly, for in that case God becomes the Justifier.

He began by admitting that God is right to discipline. But he raised the all-important question: how can a man be right with God? In our day the short sentence, "Get right with God," has been used to awaken interest in the gospel message. It might well provoke the reply, "Yes, but how is it to be achieved?" This is exactly the question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it, for he put forward and examined four possible answers.

Self-justification is a very attractive idea. Yet Job raised it only to dismiss it as impossible. He knew he had only to open his mouth to condemn himself. And anyone who would justify himself under the searching eye of God must prove his own perfection. He went on to say that even if he were perfect, God would judge and destroy him. Job only knew perfection as human standards measure it.

But with all this, Job had never sounded the depths of his own heart. He did not know himself. He had never really grasped the truth of his own utter ruin and total depravity. He had never learnt to say, "I know that in me, that is, in my flesh, dwells no good thing." We must grasp this point, or we will not understand the book of Job. We will not see the purpose of the deep and painful trials Job had to pass through. First we must face a solemn fact: his conscience had never really been in God's presence, and he had never seen himself in the light.

Even if he knew himself innocent, he is completely lost and despairs of his life. God is a destroyer of guilty and innocent alike, and mocks when they perish. The earth is in the hands of the wicked — is it not so? Oh Job, for these words you will yet abhor yourself, and repent in dust and ashes.

"For He breaks me with a tempest" — and that was true — "and multiplies my wounds without cause." Ah, without cause; that is a little too much to say. He had His own wise cause; He had His own blessed end. He meant that Job should be a far happier man and brighter in his state than he had ever been before; and until Christ came it could only be by making him a bag of broken bones — to learn that all the goodness was in God and all the badness was in himself.

If only there were an effective go-between, how different it would be; but, says Job, "it is not so with me." Have we ever thanked God with enough warmth that it is so with us? The fact is that though he may not have known it, Job was longing for the coming of Christ. We can now rejoice in the "one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus" (1 Tim. 2:5). By Him the ransom price was paid, so that it is possible for a man to be just with God.

In gaining this knowledge of God, Job gained a matching knowledge of himself by experience, for he added, "I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes." So it always is. The more we know of God, the more, by contrast, we know ourselves. Self-knowledge of this sort is very painful but it is very healthy, for it leads to salvation from self, which is a deliverance of the first order.

Job insists that he is blameless (v.21), yet even so he came to despise his life (v.21). He found himself on the same level as a wicked man: "it is all one thing." God's dealings lumped the righteous and the wicked together. "Therefore I say, He destroys both the blameless and the wicked" (v.22). It is true that this seems to be the case more often than not in our present life. But how different it will be in the long run!

The greatest disaster might come, and God send it, and many completely innocent people might die just as much as the wicked. Say the sack of a city, or a plague sent by God in His moral government. These things are real, I say, and Job stuck to that. All their talk never drove him from the plain fact they dodged and shut their eyes to. "The earth," he says, "is given into the hand of the wicked." … These things happen. Innocent people suffer. Guilty people escape. All of it goes on every day… Things are out of order, and will be until the Lord takes the reins.

The words that follow sound almost like the ravings of a madman. He speaks out, but not in the fear of God. He acts as if he does not care. He says it is all the same to him whether he is right or wrong, because God destroys the perfect and the wicked alike. In other words, God is unjust… If God has not done all this, who has? These are horrible words. The one who accuses God to believers as much as he accuses believers before God must have whispered them into his despairing soul.

At verse 20, Job suggested another possible answer. How could he be just with God? Could he justify himself?… Self-justification sounds very attractive, yet Job raised it only to dismiss it as impossible. He knew he had only to open his mouth to condemn himself. Anyone who would justify himself before the searching eye of God must prove his own perfection. Nothing less would do… He went on to say that even if he were perfect, God would judge and destroy him. He only knew perfection as people measure it.

A disaster comes, and the best family may fall victim to it. Shall I give up God then, and not trouble myself about it? But he has to do with God, and he cannot help it. He cannot escape His hand… Job would have got away from God's presence if he could, but he could not. He was all wrong about this, but he could not get away from God.

"For He is not a man, as I am, that I should answer Him, and we should come together in judgment. There is no arbitrator between us." That is what Christ became. Christ became the mediator between God and men. He is not only a mediator; He is a mediator who is just as divine as the God before whom He acts for us… What is brought in now is the righteousness of God. There is nothing against that. But it is a justifying righteousness, not a condemning righteousness. The same God who condemned under the law saved under grace, because of Christ.

At verse 20, Job suggested another possible answer. How could he be just with God? Well, could he justify himself? This would at least mean giving up the defiant attitude. It would be an unspoken admission that he was wrong, and so needed to be justified. Self-justification is a very attractive idea. Yet Job only raised it in order to dismiss it as unworkable. He knew he had only to open his mouth to condemn himself.

Job is troubled in his soul about it. "He destroys the perfect and the wicked. If a scourge slays suddenly, He will laugh at the trial of the innocent." A scourge comes, and perhaps the best family falls victim to it. Shall I give up God then, and not trouble myself about it? But he has to do with God, and he cannot help it. He cannot escape His hand.

Job grows bolder and says it out. Yet his piety still holds back the name of God, as in verses 22 and following. He shrank from seeming to put God's rule of the world on trial. But he does speak bitterly of God's patience while judgment delays, as if God were mocking at the trial of the innocent. This is what no saint should conclude from His allowing wrong and sorrow for a little while.

He assumes indifference. He says it is all the same to him whether he is right or wrong, for God destroys the perfect and the wicked alike. In other words, He is an unjust God. When the scourge of disease marches through the land and kills suddenly, He only mocks at the innocent who are taken away. The earth is given by Him into the hands of the wicked; injustice reigns everywhere. If God has not done all this, who then is it? These are horrible words. Some being must have whispered them into his despairing soul — the being who accuses God to His people as much as he accuses God's people before Him.

This was what Job found so hard to understand — how those who did evil prospered, while the righteous were persecuted. This is just because the time of judgment has not come. The time of mercy is going on now, and we cannot have mercy and judgment at once. So all is a riddle now. There is too much badness for man to think that things come from God. And there is too much goodness, even in all the ruin and misery, for him to say that they do not come from God.

In one word he sweeps away the unholy suspicions Job had been harbouring — "God is great, and does not despise anyone." He is infinite in power, yet He looks with compassion on the weakest of His creatures... How comforting is the truth, "He despises no one!" His greatness is never an occasion for scorn. His wisdom is infinitely powerful, but never used against weakness.

All their talk did not drive him away from the plain fact which they dodged and shut their eyes to. "The earth," he says, "is given into the hand of the wicked." And is that not true?... And further, "He covers the faces of its judges" — that is, He allows them to give completely wrong and unjust verdicts. Somehow their faces are veiled from the light, and they judge by appearances. It is very certain that this is not the way to judge soundly... innocent people suffer; guilty people escape; these things happen every day... Things are out of course, and will be until the Lord takes the reins.

He does speak bitterly of God's patience while judgment delays, as if mocking at the trial of the innocent. This is what no saint should conclude from His allowing wrong and sorrow for a little while. But there is no denying that He veils the faces of judges. The wicked sit in the highest seats of the world's authority. If it is not so, who is it? Can Bildad or Eliphaz contradict the fact, or leave God out of it?

But the words that follow sound almost like the ravings of a madman. He speaks out, but not in the fear of God... God destroys the perfect and the wicked alike; in other words, He is an unjust God. The earth is given by Him into the hands of the wicked; injustice reigns everywhere. If God has not done all this, who then is it? These are horrible words. They must have been whispered into his despairing soul by the accuser. He accuses God to believers just as much as he accuses believers before God.

When we see everything on earth in confusion, it seems to many people that there is no God in control of things at all. In all of these things, if we depend on our own understanding, we shall be left in complete confusion. Job needed the verse written much later in history: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding" (Prov. 3:5).

Job knew that "The tents of robbers are at peace, and those who provoke God are secure" (Job 12:6). Eliphaz thought instead that "in prosperity the destroyer will come upon" the wicked (Job 15:21). What Eliphaz thought was sometimes right, but it was not always right, as the writer of Psalm 73 knew, and as we know from what is all around us. God has allowed Satan to become the god and prince of this world. Satan has authority to dispose in some way of the kingdoms of this world (Luke 4:6). Once we realise that, the prosperity of the wicked will not puzzle us.

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator. He also knew he had no way in himself of getting right. That being so, his only hope was for a third party to step in; but no such third party, or "daysman," was known to him. His three friends could not play the part, and no other man could either. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands on Almighty God. He must be gracious enough to lay the other on poor diseased and sinful Job.

Sending letters fast goes back to early times. Job said, "Now my days are swifter than a post." Job 9:25. When Hezekiah announced a Passover for all Israel, he sent letters of invitation by runners from city to city. 2 Chronicles 30:6, 10. The couriers who carried the decree from the palace at Susa rode horses, mules, camels, and fast young camels. The king's command hurried them and pressed them on.

Job puts himself among the innocent sufferers whose passing away God laughs at. He describes his own utter weakness, and how short his life is. He has forgotten all his former wealth, and draws pictures of how fast life fades from earth and sea and sky. His days are like the fast postman who runs with his message. They are like ships passing along the horizon. They are like an eagle dashing out of sight after its prey.

Job felt his days rushing past with nothing accomplished: "they flee away, they see no good" (v.25). Could he force himself to put off his sad face and wear a smile? How could he, when his painful sufferings left him in fear? He feels that God does not hold him innocent or he would not be suffering as he was (v.28).

He could not defy the God of heaven, and he could not clear himself. So should he give up hope, drop his search for the answer, and hand himself over to a careless chase after pleasure? Human nature has not changed. Many of us have followed the very line of thought Job shows here. But he threw the idea out at once, seeing how empty it was. If we carelessly forget, God does not forget. The sinner will not escape the judgment of God by refusing to face the question.

"For He is not a man, as I am, that I might answer Him, that we should come to trial together. There is no arbiter between us." That is what Christ became. Christ became the mediator between God and men. And not just a mediator, but a mediator who is as fully divine as the God before whom He acts as mediator for us… If you are resting on yourself, you are resting on ground that God does not approve. If you are resting on Christ, you have the only solid ground that can never be taken from you.

So the conclusion is this. If we are living at the height of our heavenly calling, we will not regret how fast the years fly. Nor will we grieve at the thought of death, if the Lord delays. If we are not on our guard, the close of a year, with its reminders of times and seasons, may soon drag us down to the level of the Old Testament believer. May the Lord help us instead to live in His presence, and to have Himself filling our hearts.

Job felt he need not go beyond his own case. God does afflict the blameless as well as the wicked. Job's days had slipped away so that he had scarcely tasted what good is: no runner on land, no light skiff on the waters, no eagle in the air, is faster than they. And not only this, but with the painful dread that God could hold him guilty if He wished.

Job identifies himself with the innocent sufferers at whose passing away God laughs. He describes his own utter weakness and the shortness of his life. He has forgotten all his former prosperity, and draws his comparisons for the fleeting nature of life from earth and sea and sky. His days are like the swift postman who runs with his message. They are like the ships passing along the horizon, or like an eagle dashing out of sight after its prey. Bildad had urged him to forget his troubles and look bravely forward. At that suggestion he can only shudder at his sorrows and his pains, for he knows God will not hold him innocent. So his misery holds him as in a vice.

He began by acknowledging the rightness of God's disciplinary ways, but raised the all-important question: how could a man be right with God? In our day people have used the short sentence "Get right with God" to awaken interest in the gospel message. It might well provoke the reply, "Yes, but how can that be done?" That is exactly what Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it.

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had in himself no means of getting right. That being so, his only hope was for a third party to step in; but he knew of no such third party, or "daysman." His three friends could not play the part, and no other man could either. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands on Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other on poor diseased and sinful Job.

Both Job and his friend Bildad long ago raised the question, "How can man be just with God?" (Job 9; 25). Both had in mind that man is fallen and guilty. Their question found no definite answer in Old Testament times. For this, as for the answer to many another riddle, men had to wait until God sent forth His beloved Son. "But now," says the apostle, "the righteousness of God has been manifested" (Rom. 3:21).

"As the swift ships," so is your life. Old and young, rich and poor, are all sailing over the waters of Time. We put the trumpet to our lips. With earnest and friendly voice we cry, "Men and women, youths and maidens, where are you bound?" Will the voyage you have started on end in harbour and home, or in storm and wreck and ruin?

He began by admitting that God's ways of discipline are right. But he raised the all-important question: how could a man be right with God? In our day people use the short saying, "Get right with God," to awaken interest in the Gospel message. It might well bring the reply, "Yes, but how is that done?" This is exactly the question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it, for he put forward and examined four possible answers. Each one starts with an "If."

In verse 27 we find his third "If." He could not defy the God of heaven, and he could not prove himself right either. So should he give up hope, drop his search for the answer, and give himself over to a careless pursuit of enjoyment? Human nature has not changed. Many of us have followed the very line of thought Job showed here. But he threw the idea out at once, seeing how empty it was. If we carelessly forget, God does not forget. The sinner will not escape God's judgment by refusing to face the question.

Bildad had urged him to forget his troubles and look forward with courage. Job can only shudder at his sorrows and his pains, for he knows God will not hold him innocent. So his misery grips him like a vise.

He comes before God as Judge, and he is deeply confused. He cannot answer God one in a thousand.

Poor Job! He does not know now which way to turn. And is not this the case with every believer the moment he gets before God as Judge? How can he or you be just before God? Would not even one sin out of a thousand condemn you completely?

Even if he bathed in water as pure as snow, and washed his hands with soap, so that he was cleaner than he had ever been, God would still plunge him into the ditch. All self-help and self-improvement is useless. But then comes a ray of light. He needs someone else to help him, to bring him in touch with God, to make him just with God. So he calls for a daysman, an umpire. He wants someone who could lay His hand on God and on him, the sinner, so that the rod would be taken from him and his fear would end.

If you are resting on yourself, you are resting on ground that God does not approve. If you are resting on Christ, you have the only solid ground, and nothing can ever take it from you… "There is no daysman between us." That is what Christ became. Christ became the mediator between God and men. He is not only a mediator. He is a mediator who is just as divine as the God before whom He acts as mediator for us.

I am not commenting here on the spirit in which Job takes the matter up, for it was a wrong one. I bring it forward to show that the sense of the need of a mediator arises from the conviction of sin, and does not hinder it.

Could he force himself to put off his sad face and wear a smile? How could he do this when his painful sufferings left him in fear? He feels that God does not hold him innocent or he would not be suffering as he was (v.28).

In verse 27, we find his third "If …" He could not defy the God of heaven, and he could not prove himself right. So should he give up hope, stop looking for the answer, and give himself over to careless enjoyment? Human nature has not changed. Many of us have followed the very line of thought Job showed here. But he threw the idea out at once, because he saw how empty it was. If we carelessly forget, God does not forget. The sinner will not escape the judgment of God by refusing to face the question.

So trying to cheer up was as useless for him as trying to scrub himself clean with the strongest soap. His conscience was not bad. But he sees that if God brings His servant to judgment, no one alive can be justified. God's light would find every fault, so that a man's own clothes would shrink from him in horror.

He gets before God as Judge; and his perplexity is very great. He cannot answer God one time in a thousand… Poor Job! He does not know now which way to turn. And is not this the case with every believer the moment he gets before God as Judge? How can he or you be just before God? Would not one sin of a thousand utterly condemn you? … Can you look up in the face of God as Judge, and say you have been innocent since your conversion? Impossible.

The harder a man works at being good, the more he finds he cannot change himself, any more than a man can change the colour of his skin. The evil is in his nature, and he cannot get rid of it. When there is real integrity of heart, there is struggle. To know you are upright, while you do not know righteousness, causes much misery in the heart. Job says, "let not dread of him terrify me." He had that dread. God has taken the fear away in Christ, and there is now an umpire between us, the very one Job felt the need of.

If you are resting on yourself, you are resting on ground that God does not approve. If you are resting on Christ, you have the only solid ground that no one can ever take from you… Christ became the mediator between God and men. And not just a mediator: a mediator who is as fully divine as the God before whom He acts as mediator for us… The same God who condemned under the law saved under grace, because of Christ.

Job hints that there is no use in his making any effort to clear himself. If he is already pronounced wicked, he labours in vain to convince God that he is not. He may wash his hands in innocence, in snow water, only to be taken by this irresistible Power and plunged into the ditch! All efforts to alter the judgment are vain.

The more a man labours to be good, the more he finds he is like the Ethiopian who cannot change his skin. The evil is in his nature, and he cannot get rid of it. When there is real integrity of heart, there is struggle. A sense of integrity, without the knowledge of righteousness, brings much misery to the heart.

It is a happy thing to see that when the arrow of God has got deep into the heart, no efforts can draw it out. A man may keep up the appearance of happiness before others, but the wound keeps aching inside. Here he may try to be religious with an earthly mind. There it may only make him more miserable. Or he may throw himself into pleasure, because he is unhappy. If I am wicked, I may ask to be let alone. Such are the struggles of a soul under conviction, and a hard struggle it is.

God will show him to be defective after all. That is true. If you are resting upon yourself, you are resting upon a ground that is not approved before God. If you are resting upon Christ, you have got the only solid ground that never can be taken from you.

Both Job and his friend Bildad long ago raised the question, "How can man be just with God?" (Job 9; 25). Both had in mind that man is fallen and guilty. Their question found no definite answer in Old Testament times. For this riddle, as for many others, men had to wait until God sent forth His beloved Son. "But now," says the Apostle, "the righteousness of God has been manifested" (Rom. 3:21). It is offered "to all," and it is "upon all who believe." Its foundation is the blood of Christ.

The fourth "If …" comes in verse 30. Job has already thrown out three answers to his question — defiance, self-justification, and careless forgetting. What about a course of self-improvement?… He knew that melted snow gives the purest distilled water, with the greatest power to absorb and remove filth. Suppose he reached something like this in his own character and life — what then? God would still drop him into a dirty ditch, as the only place fit for him. And even then, under his clothes, he would be dirtier than they are! The filth was in himself, not in his surroundings. He could not reject more firmly the idea of being justified by a process of self-improvement.

Whatever you try, you cannot make yourself one bit better, or one bit more fit for the Saviour's presence… Snow water is the very purest of all water. So what does snow water stand for? Rites and ceremonies, and everything else that comes only from man's flesh. People are trying all this, but it does not work. Snow water does not cleanse from sin. Nothing can cleanse you before God, or give relief to your soul, but the precious blood of Christ. Trying to improve yourself is only a trap of the devil to keep you away from the Saviour.

A man may keep up the appearance of happiness in front of others, but the wound keeps aching in his heart… Next it is, "wash me with snow water." But this will not do. God's eye sees too far; He sees motives. Snow water is no use. I am so filthy that my own clothes hate me… What is Job looking into Job to find out? That a man cannot be just with God. It is a terrible lesson: all his snow water is useless, and he washes his hands for nothing. Is that the ground you are standing on?

He felt that when he listed his works of righteousness he had cleansed his hands as with snow water. But when God came before his soul again, he became utterly disgusting to his clothes. He uses a very strong picture: "my own clothes will abhor me." I think this is what it means. The fine qualities of his life, which he tried to wear as clothing, were the result of God's work in him. They refused to serve as decorations for the flesh. They did not belong to that man, and were not there to give him glory. Later he says, "I abhor myself." He came to the same mind as his clothes.

Even if he bathed himself in water as pure as snow, and washed his hands with soap, so that he was cleaner than he had ever been, God would still plunge him into the ditch. All self-help and self-improvement is in vain. But then comes a ray of light. He needs another to help him, to bring him in touch with God, to make him just with God. He calls for a daysman, an umpire, one who might lay His hand on God and on him, the sinner, to take the rod away from him and set him free from fear… But He has come: Christ Jesus our Lord.

His only hope was for a third party to step in, and he knew of no such third party, no such "daysman." His three friends could not play that part, and no other man could either. The daysman must be great enough to lay one hand on Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other on poor, diseased, sinful Job.

The fourth "If…" occurs in verse 30. Job has already thrown out three suggested answers to his question: defiance, self-justification, and careless forgetfulness. What about a course of self-improvement? Would that help solve the question? He only has to state it to reject it just as firmly.

Snow water is the very purest of all water, and what does snow water picture? Rites and ceremonies, and everything else that springs merely from man's flesh. People are trying all this, but it does not work; snow water does not cleanse from sin.

God would plunge him into a dirty ditch as the only fit place for him. And even then, he himself, under his clothes, would be dirtier than they were! The defilement was in himself and not in his surroundings. Nothing could be more decisive than his rejection of the idea that a man is justified by a process of self-improvement.

I cannot make myself clean before God. Men pass through the world in an astonishing way. They think about their character, their conduct, and getting honour from one another. But what are they in God's sight? … The more a man works at being good, the more he finds he cannot change what he is. The evil is in his nature, and he cannot get rid of it.

He seeks to adorn himself with his good deeds. But God lets His light into his soul, and he adds, "Yet you will plunge me into a pit, and my own clothes will abhor me." What God's grace had worked in him refused, so to speak, to be decoration for the flesh. His clothes abhorred him. Later on he comes to the same mind as his clothes: he abhors himself.

How Satan must mock any man who tries to make himself clean and fit for the presence of God. The Lord said of Job that he had no equal on earth, and that he was perfect and upright. Yet even then Job knew enough of himself to say these words. He did not know how vile his nature was. A man learns that only in the presence of God, whose divine light lays the heart bare. When brought to that light, he says, "Behold, I am vile."

Job hints that there is no use in his making any effort to clear himself… he may wash his hands in innocence, in snow water. Then this irresistible Power takes him and plunges him into the ditch! All efforts to alter the judgment are useless. And oh, where is there a daysman — a mediator who could enter into judgment, laying his hands on God and Job alike? … Thank God, we know, as Job later knew in part, that there is such a Daysman.

It is the only means of cleansing from guilt. God appointed this way and God gave it. It therefore rules out every other method… Only the blood of Christ can make the sinner whiter than snow.

This drew from Job the striking words recorded in Job 9. He began by admitting that God's disciplinary ways are right. But he raised the all-important question: how could a man be right with God? In our day people use the short sentence, "Get right with God," to awaken interest in the gospel message. It might well provoke the reply, "Yes, but how is it to be done?" This is exactly the question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it, for he suggested and examined four possible answers.

Again the vast difference between himself, a poor loathsome creature, and the Creator weighs on his mind... He felt altogether too little and too feeble to deal directly with God. If He were only a man, Job felt he could approach Him and lay out his case before Him. He could show Him that there was no just cause for the treatment he felt he was receiving. But the One who afflicted him was hidden from him, and His greatness was a terror to him.

The word means 'mediator,' or 'umpire,' as the margin has it: one "who might lay his hand on us both" (Job 9:33). This is what the Lord Jesus is — the mediator between God and men.

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had in himself no means of getting right. That being so, his only hope was in the stepping in of a third party; but no such third party, or "daysman," was known to him. His three friends could not act the part, and neither could any other man. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands on Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other on poor diseased and sinful Job.

Long before Christ appeared the hearts of men longed for a mediator. The book of Job is evidence of this, for that patriarch felt the immense gulf that lay between God and himself... The One who takes up the part of Daysman or Mediator must Himself be God to fully represent God, and must be Man to rightly represent man. The Man Christ Jesus is He.

Realising that man cannot bridge the gulf that sin has made between himself and God, Job felt the need of a mediator. Christ alone meets this need. From the glory of the Godhead He stooped to manhood in His indescribable grace. This enables Him to "lay His hand on us both." But His becoming man could not of itself remove one single sin... Forgiveness is impossible apart from blood. So the apostle adds: "Who gave Himself as a ransom for all." The manger was a necessary step to the cross.

Now Elihu is a name with a meaning, and we are told it means "God Himself." Keep this in mind, then read verse 6 of Job 33. We see that he stepped in to play the part of a mediator. So he became a picture — though a faint one — of the true Mediator, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is God Himself. Elihu was truly a man, formed out of the clay. He stood before Job on God's behalf, just as Job had wished in Job 9:33.

This chapter brings out the state of Job's mind. He says, "I know it is so of a truth. But how should man be just with God?" He gets before God as Judge; and his perplexity is very great. He cannot answer God one in a thousand. "I am afraid of all my sorrows. I know that You will not hold me innocent." Poor Job! He does not know now which way to turn. And is not this the case with every believer the moment he gets before God as Judge?

The word means 'mediator,' or 'umpire,' as in the margin: one "that might lay his hand upon us both," Job 9:33: as the Lord Jesus is mediator between God and men.

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had in himself no means of getting right. That being so, his only hope was in the stepping in of a third party; but he knew of no such third party, no "daysman." His three friends could not act the part, and neither could any other man. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands upon Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other upon poor, diseased, sinful Job.

I might come to you and lay my hand upon your shoulder and talk freely with you, for we are equals. But I could not stand beside His Majesty the King and lay my hand upon him. How much less could a man lay his hand upon God, or upon the throne of God!... And yet the mediator for whom Job cried in his despair must be able to put His hand upon God. He must be God's equal. No one less could step in, or be of use to Job or to us. But He must also put His hand upon men. He must be one of us, able to take our part and to identify Himself with our vast indebtedness. HE MUST BE GOD AND MAN.

I am not commenting here on the spirit in which Job takes the matter up, for it was a wrong one. I bring it forward to show this: the sense of needing a mediator arises from the conviction of sin, and does not hinder it.

He reminds Job of his own desire for such a person: "Neither is there any daysman between us, that might lay his hand upon us both" (Job 9:33)... 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 upon you" (Job 33:6-7).

Realising that man cannot bridge the gulf that sin has made between himself and God, Job felt the need of a mediator. Christ alone meets this need. From Godhead glory He stooped to manhood in His indescribable grace. This enables Him to "lay His hand upon us both." But His incarnation could not of itself remove one single sin... Remission is impossible apart from blood. Accordingly the apostle adds: "Who gave Himself a ransom for all." The manger was a necessary step to the cross.

It is not that his conscience was bad; but he sees that, if God enters into judgment with His servant, no man living can be justified. His light would detect every fault, so that the clothes would shrink with horror from the wearer. Job therefore longs for an umpire or mediator between God and man, one who might lay his hands on both. Otherwise he is left in his weakness and failings before the awful, unbending, withering judgment of a Being so infinitely removed from him. If He would only remove His rod, he would not fear to speak; but he could not in his actual state.

He gets before God as Judge; and his perplexity is very great. He cannot answer God one in a thousand. "I am afraid of all my sorrows. I know that you will not hold me innocent." Poor Job! He does not know now which way to turn. And is not this the case with every believer the moment he gets before God as Judge? How can he or you be just before God? Would not one sin of a thousand utterly condemn you?

How clear it is that Job knew he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator, and that he had in himself no means of getting right. That being so, his only hope was the stepping in of a third party; but no such third party, or "daysman," was known to him. His three friends could not act the part, nor could any other man, since the daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands upon Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other upon poor diseased and sinful Job.

What Job said he had not got is exactly what we have now in Christ. Was Christ a terror in this world? The law was this exactly. There were thunderings and lightnings. Even Moses said, "I tremble with fear," and the people said, "Do not let God speak to us." The law struck with terror, but it produced no real change in man, and no confidence in God.

If only there were an effective go-between, how different it would be! But, says Job, "it is not so with me." Have we ever thanked God with enough warmth that it is so with us? The fact is that though he may not have known it, Job was longing for the coming of CHRIST. We can now rejoice in the "one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus" (1 Tim. 2:5). By Him the ransom price was paid, so that it is possible for a man to be just with God.

Though he would speak on God's behalf, he himself was a man, "formed of the clay," just as Job was. Job had said of God, "let not dread of him terrify me" (Job 9:34). Yet what this man had to say, as explaining God's ways, would bring no terror to Job's spirit. Just as our Lord Jesus became a Man, so bringing God to us without any sense of terror.

He began by acknowledging the rightness of God's disciplinary ways, but raised the all-important question, as to how a man could be right with God. In our day people use the short sentence, "Get right with God," to awaken interest in the gospel message. It might well provoke the reply, "Yes, but how is it to be achieved?" That is exactly the question Job asked in verse 2. The rest of the chapter shows how earnest and sincere he was in asking it, for he suggested and examined four possible answers. Each suggestion begins with an "If."

He knew that melted snow gives distilled water of the purest kind. Such water has the greatest power to absorb and remove defilement. The picture he used is vivid. If he achieved something like this in his own character and life, what then? Why, God would plunge him in a dirty ditch as the only fit place for him. And even then, he himself, beneath his clothes, would be dirtier than they! The defilement was in himself and not in his surroundings.

Job hints that there is no use in making any effort to clear himself. If he is already pronounced wicked, he tries in vain to convince God that he is not. All efforts to alter the judgment are useless. And oh — where is there a daysman, a mediator who could enter into judgment, laying his hands upon God and Job alike? Consumed with terror, Job cannot speak.

Job clearly knew that he was a sinful creature before his holy Creator. He also knew that he had no means in himself of getting right. So his only hope was that a third party would step in; but he knew of no such third party, no "daysman." His three friends could not fill the role, and neither could any other man. The daysman must be great enough to lay one of his hands upon Almighty God, and gracious enough to lay the other upon poor diseased and sinful Job.

If a court sets a day for a case, the daysman is the one who appears for me and takes up my cause. Not only has Christ come to me in my sins, but He has come to answer for me, taking up the whole cause. He has done it — settled the whole thing as to my sins, and is gone back to appear in the presence of God for me... I have given up trying to answer for myself: He has taken it up.

A sense of integrity, without the knowledge of righteousness, causes much misery in the heart. Job says, "Let not His fear terrify me." He had this fear. God has taken away the fear in Christ, and there is a daysman between us, such as Job felt the need of.

How moving are the words that close this chapter! If only there were an effective intermediary, how different it would be. But, says Job, "it is not so with me." Have we ever thanked God with enough warmth that it is so with us? The fact is that though he may not have known it, Job was sighing for the coming of Christ. We can now rejoice in the "one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus" (1 Tim. 2:5). He paid the ransom price, so that it is possible for a man to be just with God.

He had now given up hope of any sympathy from them... "Here I am alone with all my sorrows. Here are three dear friends who have not one particle of sympathy with me! No feeling, no compassion at all for everything I am suffering. They are quite comfortable having none of it, and quite astonished that I should have any of it. So they think I must be very wicked. It is all false."

They turned him in the wrong direction; they made him busy with himself. He could not deny that he was suffering. Measuring himself against other men, he could not see that he had done anything to bring such great suffering on himself. And his friends wore him down, forcing his mind onto this one point: that everything God does matches what a man has done.

It is not so much the physical agony, the boils and running sores that torture him. It is more the bitter awareness that he is losing his hold on God. He begins to see Him no longer as a loving friend, but as a harsh, unmovable tyrant. He is passing through a death struggle.

He is weary of life, and might as well pour out all his thoughts against God... yet he pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. Might this very outpouring of misery hint at the root of faith in his heart? He will at least tell God to His face that he doubts Him.

Since there was no mediator, from verse 2 on Job speaks all his words straight to God. He reasons with Him about why God should treat him the way He was doing. He starts his complaint by repeating that his soul loathes his life. So he lets his bitter complaint run free and speaks straight to God... In one sense it was true that God was contending with Job, and Job did not learn why until the last chapter of this book. He needed this painful experience to learn that his own nature was sinful, and to learn the pure grace and goodness of the Lord Himself.

In this same translation, one chapter (Job 10) speaks of all three parts that make up a person, and it keeps the same distinction between the words. "My soul (psukee) is weary of my life. I will speak in the bitterness of my soul (psukee)." (v. 1.) "Your care has preserved my spirit (pneuma)." (v. 12.)

Of course Job's words are ill-considered, the expressions of a tortured mind. Yet it is as well that what is in the heart comes out.

This discipline is given to set self aside and to bring the heart into its true relation with God, apart from self. So the discipline exposes the secret workings and feelings of self. Without it, they would never be spotted or known — and what a man does not know, he never gives up.

He had now given up hope of any sympathy from them. "Here I am alone with all my sorrows; here are three dear friends who have not one bit of sympathy with me! No feeling and no compassion for all that I am suffering. They are quite comfortable that they have none of it, and quite astonished that I should have any of it. So they think I must be very wicked. It is all false."

There was no mediator, so from verse 2 on Job speaks every word straight to God. He reasons with Him about why God should treat him the way He was doing... He lets his bitter complaint run free and pleads with God, "Do not condemn me." God had not condemned him at all, though his sufferings made him feel that He had. "Show me why You contend with me" (v.2). In one respect it was true that God was contending with Job, and Job did not learn why until the last chapter of this book.

Much of the profit this book gives depends on one thing: God's estimate of Job and Satan's trial of him became known only in heaven. The reason for the trial stayed a secret for the time being — a secret not in heaven, but here on earth. Neither Job nor his friends knew anything of what God had said about him.

He is weary of life, and might as well pour out all his thoughts against God... but instead pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. May not this very outpouring of misery suggest the root of faith in his heart? He will at least tell God to His face that he doubts Him: "though He slay me." He asks God why He contends with him. Does it please God to despise the work of His own hands, and let the wicked go unpunished?

The worst of it is not the physical agony, the boils and running sores torturing him. It is the bitter awareness that he is losing hold on God, and that he begins to look on Him no longer as a loving friend, but as a harsh, unmovable tyrant.

Even Job contends with God, though he knows it is no use. But the contending brings out what is in Job; he does not know himself till then. What comes out, sad to say, is a sinful and rebellious spirit. It lurked underneath the things he boasted about. There was in him an undetected principle of sin. It is a terrible lesson to learn about yourself, and everyone must learn it.

There was one thing that neither Job nor his friends understood, and that was grace; and it could not be understood. He did know that God was faithful. His piety made him feel, and hold firmly, that all the troubles he came into were from God.

God will explain His ways with you in good time, but not today. And does not most of your difficulty lie in wanting that explanation now?... Must we give our children the reason why we see fit to correct them? And if God gave us the deep secret of His corrections, would we benefit from it?

Since there was no mediator, Job in this chapter (from verse 2 on) directs all of his words to God. He reasons with Him about why God should deal with him the way He was doing. He begins his complaint by repeating that his soul loathes his life. So he lets his bitter complaint run free, speaking straight to God and pleading with Him, "Do not condemn me." God had not condemned him at all, though his sufferings made him feel that He had.

And now the darkest of all. It is not so much the physical agony, the boils and running sores torturing him. It is the bitter awareness that he is losing his hold on God. He is starting to see Him no longer as a loving friend, but as a harsh, immovable tyrant. It is a death struggle he is passing through. What accusations are here! Bold language indeed for a creature of dust, and such an afflicted creature as he was.

It is true that Job was the work of God's hands. His own nature, as one born of God, was God's own workmanship. But it was not true that God was despising His own work. Job felt that way, and felt it most when he saw that wicked men appeared to prosper some of the time. Yet not all the wicked prosper all the time.

What could Job do then? He could only complain and plead against God's condemnation of him. He did not know why God contended with him like this, while He shone on the counsel of the wicked. It was all the harder to understand. God is not blind or fleeting like man. He needed no investigation to find sin, and He knew the innocence of the sufferer. That sufferer could not escape, and yet he was God's own carefully made creature, kept from first to last as if for these very things. But in this painful protest against God, one thing stands out: Job still speaks to God and pleads with Him. He does it even while he is as unjust toward God as he thinks God is unjust toward him.

He is weary of life, and might as well pour out all his thoughts against God. Yet he pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. May not this very abandonment of misery suggest the root of faith in his heart? He will at least tell God to His face that he doubts Him: "though He slay me." He will ask God why He contends with him in this way. Is it any pleasure to Him to despise the work of His own hands, and let the wicked go unpunished?

Still, God's hand was heavy on Job, and no one could deliver Job from that hand. In fact, God's hand was accomplishing a blessing for Job that he did not then understand. So it was good for Job to stay in God's hand, even when he felt it to be hard.

In one respect it was true that God was contending with Job, and Job did not learn why until the last chapter of this book. He needed this painful experience to learn that his own nature was sinful, and to learn the pure grace and goodness of the Lord Himself.

Words fail to describe the misery of Job that would lead him to speak like this against God. It is not the bodily suffering that has wrung this bitter cry from him; he has lost, or is in danger of losing, faith in God's goodness. … He will ask God why He contends with him. Is it any pleasure to Him to despise the work of His own hands, and let the wicked go unpunished? Does God judge according to the flesh, failing to see the inward parts?

Was God coming down to the level of a mortal man? Was He busy searching out what might be sin in Job, as his three friends were doing — although, as Job says, God knew that Job was not wicked? The friends might suppose that Job was guilty of hidden wickedness, but God knew this was not true. Still, God's hand was heavy on Job, and no one could deliver him from that hand. In fact God's hand was working blessing for Job that he did not understand at the time. It was good for Job to be kept in God's hand, even when it felt hard.

He compares himself to a butterfly broken on the wheel. There is this terrible wheel for criminals, and he, a mere butterfly, is all broken down — God, in all His uncontrollable power, dealing with such a poor, weak man as he; every part of his body throbbing with pain, and every nerve strained with agony from head to foot.

Job had a perfectly good conscience, and so he says, "Where is it? I want to learn where it is and why it is." "You know that I am not wicked." That he would say to God, and it was perfectly true. That was not the trouble. The trouble was his own satisfaction in that poor reflection of righteousness which the best of men can have in themselves here on earth. It is no ground at all to stand on before God.

"For He is not a man, as I am, that I might answer Him, that we should come to trial together. There is no arbiter between us." That is what Christ became. Christ became the mediator between God and men. And He is not just a mediator: He is a mediator who is equally divine with the God before whom He acts as mediator for us.

God had shown Himself very kind and considerate towards Job in the past. So Job could not understand why God should now act so differently with him. "Yet these things You hid in Your heart," he says. But since this was true, God must have a good reason for hiding His counsels. Job ought to have realised that God would reveal His mind in His own time.

And now the darkest of all. It is not so much the physical agony, the boils and running sores torturing him. It is the bitter consciousness that he is losing hold on God. He is beginning to look on Him no longer as a loving friend, but as a harsh, unmovable tyrant. It is a death struggle he is passing through. His soul is weary of his life, and so he tells out the bitterness of his heart.

He will ask God why He contends with him like this — is it any pleasure to Him to despise the work of His own hands and let the wicked go unpunished? Does God judge by outward appearance, failing to see the inward parts? Are His days so short that He must punish evil before it has shown itself — and worse, when He knows the man is innocent?

"Have you eyes of flesh? Do you see as man sees?" Job asks the Lord (v. 4). Was God coming down to the level of a mortal man? Was He to busy Himself searching out what might be iniquity in Job, as his three friends were doing? Yet, as Job says, God knew that Job was not wicked (vv. 5-7).

He compares himself to a sort of butterfly broken on the wheel. There is this terrible wheel for criminals, and he, a mere butterfly, is all broken down. God, with all His uncontrollable power, is dealing with such a poor, weak man as he.

He had just said of God, "He is not a man, as I am." So he knew that he was nothing before His holy eyes, which searched him through and through. In verse 2 he appealed to God to show him the reason why He contended with him by these disasters. In verse 6 he again admitted "iniquity" and "sin," yet in the next verse he said, "You know that I am not wicked."

Job had a perfectly good conscience, and so he says, "Where is it? I want to learn where it is and why it is." "You know that I am not wicked." That he would say to God, and it was perfectly true. It was not that. It was his own satisfaction in that poor reflection of righteousness which the best of men can have here below in themselves. But that is no ground at all to stand on before God.

Still, God's hand was heavy on Job, and no one could deliver Job from that hand. In fact, that hand was working blessing for Job which he did not then understand. So it was good that God kept Job in His hand, even when Job felt it to be hard.

Job had a perfectly good conscience, and so he says, "You know that I am not wicked." That he would say to God, and it was perfectly true. His trouble was not wickedness. It was his own satisfaction in that poor reflection of righteousness which the best of men can have here below in themselves. That is no ground at all to stand on before God. "Your hands fashioned and made me, and now You destroy me" — after all the love You have shown me. "Remember that You have made me like clay." He had not made him an angel. He had not made him someone above this kind of suffering.

God's hand was heavy on Job, and no one could deliver Job from that hand. In fact God's hand was working blessing for Job that he did not then understand. It was good for Job to stay in God's hand, even when that hand felt hard. "Your hands have made me and fashioned me, an intricate unity" (v.8)… none of us can understand how the eye, the ear, the tongue, the brain and the heart work in such an amazing way. Nor can we understand how they all act in perfect unison. For this is God's work, much beyond our understanding. So we should expect God to do things with us that are higher than we can understand.

Let God be true, and every man a liar. Let me study the circulatory system, plasma, the nervous system, the brain, the eye or any other part of the body … "give me understanding …" Then I will know that God created me. I will know that I am a responsible intelligent human being answerable to Him.

But these spiritual affections in Job did not stop him from turning this sense of integrity into a robe of self-righteousness. That robe 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).

We must remember that the book of Job is inspired. Even so, it would be a great mistake to accept that the speeches are inspired… part of the value of the book is that we have the mistakes of the speakers. Every one of the three friends was very much mistaken in what he said, and Job himself also.

Bodily suffering is not what has wrung this bitter cry from him. He has lost, or is in danger of losing, faith in God's goodness… He is weary of life, and might as well pour out all his thoughts against God… he pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. May not this very unrestrained misery suggest the root of faith in his heart? He will at least tell God to His face that he doubts Him.

Clay is not metal. Its use as a picture in Scripture shows what is human in contrast to what is Divine: see Job 10:9 and Job 33:6. It also lies behind the references to man as clay in the hands of God, who is the Potter.

"Your hands have made me and fashioned me together all around; yet you destroy me" — after all the love you have shown me. "Remember, I beg you, that you have made me as the clay." God had not made him an angel. He had not made him someone above such suffering.

He will ask God why He contends with him in this way. Is it any pleasure to Him to despise the work of His own hands, and let the wicked go unpunished? Does God judge according to what is outward, failing to see the inward parts? Are His days so short that He must punish evil before it appears — worse, when He knows a man is innocent? "Will You pursue a worm to death?"

It is not bodily suffering that has wrung this bitter cry from him. Instead, he has lost, or is in danger of losing, faith in God's goodness. There is hardly a gleam of light in his whole speech. In the closing part (Job 10) he lets himself go in the dark despair that has settled on his soul.

It is as if Job, in his blindness, confesses by his own words that he is in the hands of an all-powerful, merciless being. Not a God of love and justice, but an enemy.

God's hand was heavy on Job, and no one could deliver Job from that hand. Yet God's hand was working blessing for Job that he did not then understand. So it was good for Job to be kept in God's hand, even when he felt that hand to be hard… Job complains that God, who made him so marvellously, is now seeking to destroy him. Did he have to tell God to remember that He had made him like clay? But he felt he was being turned into dust again, the moisture gone out of the clay.

Job says that God has hidden these things in His heart. However, since this was true, God must have a good reason for hiding His plans. Job ought to have realised that God would reveal His mind in His own time.

Unlike God, who is eternal, mortal man is turned to destruction. As children of Adam we lie under the original sentence: "you are dust, and to dust you shall return" (Gen. 3:19)… Man stands before us a poor, feeble mortal creature; and the point is, that he is this by the express act of God.

"He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust." Precious, surely, should that word "remembers" be. An earthly parent may forget it or ignore it; God never will. Those who fear Him can always count on His compassion.

Curdled milk, which in some cases is dried and is solid enough to be cut into slices. 1 Sam. 17:18; 2 Sam. 17:29; Job 10:10.

Will He take the frail being His hands have shaped with such skill — the delicate clots of milk, the "intricately woven" substance of skin and flesh, bones and sinews (see Ps. 139:15-16)? Will He bring it back to the dust it came from?

"Your hands fashioned and made me, and now You have destroyed me altogether" — after all the love You have shown me. "Remember that You have made me like clay." He had not made him as an angel. He had not made him as someone above suffering like this… "Yet these things You hid in Your heart." 'You had that in Your heart before I was born. You meant me to come into this, and I do not know why.'

None of us can understand how the eye, the ear, the tongue, the brain and the heart work in such an amazing way. Nor can we understand how they all act in perfect unison. This is God's work, far beyond our understanding. So we should expect God to do things with us that are also higher than we can understand. If Job would only trust God patiently, God would make things clear to him in time.

God's hand was accomplishing blessing for Job that he did not then understand. So it was good for Job to be kept in God's hand, even when he felt it to be hard.

It is not the suffering in his body that has wrung this bitter cry from him. He has lost, or is in danger of losing, faith in God's goodness… He is weary of life, and might as well pour out all his thoughts against God… May not this very abandonment of misery suggest the root of faith in his heart?

"The Spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life." Job 33:4… This takes us back to the conversation in Eden, when God deliberated over the creation of man… We do not read of any other part of the moral creation that God deliberated over beforehand. Neither do we read of any who were so created that later they could be re-created and become a new creation in Christ.

He will ask God why He contends with him this way — is it any pleasure to Him to despise the work of His own hands, and to let the wicked go unpunished? Does God judge according to the flesh, failing to see the inward parts? … Will He take the frail being His hands shaped with such skill — like the delicate clots of milk, like the "curiously wrought" substance of skin and flesh, bones and sinews (see Ps. 139:15-16) — and bring them back to the dust they came from? God has given him breath and life, and yet has hidden enmity in His heart against His own handiwork!

"Remember, I beg you, that you have made me as the clay." He had not made him as an angel; He had not made him as one who was above this kind of suffering. "Have you not poured me out like milk, and curdled me like cheese? You have clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews. You have granted me life and favour, and your care has preserved my spirit. And these things you have hidden in your heart." "You had that in your heart before I was born. You meant me to come into this, and I do not know why."

It was his own satisfaction in that poor reflection of righteousness which the best of men can have here below in himself, but which is no ground at all to stand on before God.

"My soul (psuche) is weary of my life. I will speak in the bitterness of my soul (psuche)." (v. 1.) "Your care has preserved my spirit (pneuma)." (v. 12.) "You have clothed me" (the man Job; that is, both soul and spirit) "with skin and flesh, and have fenced me with bones and sinews." (v. 11.)

The body is the man's house or tent on earth. It is the home of both spirit and soul. So while he is in it, he is said to be "at home in the body." While in the body he is also said to be "clothed." (Job 10:11.) But he leaves the body at death. … The body alone is the part of man that is mortal.

Job … knew himself as one who would exist after death. He speaks of that event, and of the time when the worm will have destroyed this outward visible frame. He says, "yet in my flesh I shall see God." (Job 19:26.) That is: I, the man Job, the whole workmanship of God, "spirit, soul, and body," "in my flesh I shall see God." Death destroys only this outer shell, the dwelling that holds both spirit and soul. And even that destruction, for man, is only for a time.

"Your hands have made me and shaped every part of me; yet You destroy me" — after all the love You have shown me. "Remember, I beg You, that You have made me as the clay." He had not made him as an angel; He had not made him as one who was above this kind of suffering. "Have You not poured me out as milk, and curdled me like cheese? You have clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews. You have granted me life and favour, and Your visitation has preserved my spirit. And these things You have hidden in Your heart." "You had that in Your heart before I was born. You meant me to come into this, and I do not know why."

In this same translation, one chapter (Job 10) speaks of all three parts that make up man, and it keeps the same distinction between the words. "My soul (psuche) is weary of my life. I will speak in the bitterness of my soul (psuche)" (v. 1). "Your visitation has preserved my spirit (pneuma)" (v. 12). "You have clothed me" — the man Job, that is, both soul and spirit — "with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews" (v. 11).

Job spoke of all three — "spirit, soul, and body" (see Job 10:1, 11, 12). He probably lived long before anyone wrote the book of Genesis, and he knew himself as one who would exist after death. Speaking of that time, when the worm would have destroyed this outward, visible body, he says, "Yet in my flesh I shall see God." (Job 19:26.)

God had shown Himself most kind and considerate of Job in the past. So Job could not understand why God could now be acting so differently from the way He had dealt with him before. "These things You have hidden in Your heart," he says (v.13). However, since this was true, God must have a good reason for hiding His plans, and Job ought to have realised that God would reveal His mind in His own time.

Job could not escape, and yet he was God's own carefully formed creature, kept alive from first to last as if for these very things. He was doomed either way, right or wrong, and afraid to insist on what was right in case it brought worse… But in this bitter protest against God, it has been noticed that Job speaks to God and pleads with Him, even while he is as unjust toward God as he thinks God is unjust toward him.

He is weary of life, and might as well pour out all his thoughts against God. He does not stand staring into the darkness in silent despair, as a poet described. Instead he pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. Could this very surrender to misery point to a root of faith in his heart? He will at least tell God to His face that he doubts Him: "though He slay me."

"Your hands have made me and fashioned me together round about; yet You destroy me" — after all the love You have shown me. "Remember, I beg You, that You have made me as the clay." He had not made him an angel. He had not made him someone above such suffering... "You have granted me life and favour, and Your visitation has preserved my spirit. Yet these things You hid in Your heart." "You had that in Your heart before I was born. You meant me to come into this, and I do not know why."

And now the darkest of all. The worst of it is not the physical agony — the boils and running sores that torture him. It is the bitter awareness that he is losing his hold on God. He begins to look on Him no longer as a loving friend, but as a harsh, unmovable tyrant... He charges God that He planned his calamity and destruction (verses 6-13).

No words can describe the misery that would make Job speak like this against God... He pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. Might this very outpouring of misery point to the root of faith in his heart?

Much of what this book teaches depends on one point. God's estimate of Job and Satan's trial of him were made known only in heaven. The reason for the trial stayed a secret for the time being — a secret not in heaven, but here on earth. Neither Job nor his friends knew anything of what God had said about him.

God had shown Himself most kind and thoughtful toward Job in the past. So Job could not understand why God would now act so differently from the way He had dealt with him before. "Yet these things You hid in Your heart," he says (v.13). But since this was true, God must have a good reason for hiding His plans. Job should have realised that God would show His mind in His own time.

The real secret of all Job's false reasoning is this: he did not understand the character of God, or the purpose of all His dealings. He did not see that God was testing him. God was behind the scenes, using many agents to carry out His wise and gracious ends... God was dealing with Job. He was testing him in order to teach him, to turn him from his own plans, and to keep him from pride. Had Job seized this grand point, it would have saved him a world of strife and contention.

So Elihu does not misrepresent Job, nor snatch at a random expression. Indeed, Job's chief sorrow was that he seemed to be losing the kind Being in whom he once delighted. It will not do to say that Job also admitted God's power and knowledge, and voiced his confidence in Him. How could that be squared with the statements Elihu quotes? Such charges had to be met, and Job convinced that they were false. Otherwise he could never have peace in his own soul, and a dark blot would rest on God's honour.

He had just said of God, "He is not a man, as I am." So he knew that he was as nothing before His holy eyes, which searched him through and through. In verse 6 he again admitted "iniquity" and "sin," yet in the next verse he said, "You know that I am not wicked."

"I know that this is with You. If I sin, You watch me and do not acquit me of my iniquity." He asked God to forgive him if there was anything he did not know about. "If I am wicked, woe to me; and if I am righteous, I still will not lift up my head." No, he is truly humble now — or at least on the way to it.

On the one hand, Job knew that if he sinned God would mark it and not acquit him. At that time Job did not know "the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ." For sin he could only expect "woe." On the other hand, he could not lift up his head even if he was righteous — and he believed he was. He was in a state of misery and confusion, full of disgrace.

If he is innocent, he dare not lift his head, for God would quickly hunt him like a fierce lion seeking its prey. God would display His wondrous power, and bring up witnesses against him like a countless host of invaders. In other words, Job declares he is at the mercy of an almighty, arbitrary enemy!

Poor Job! He does not know now which way to turn. And is this not the case with every believer the moment he gets before God as Judge? How can he or you be just before God? Would not one sin of a thousand utterly condemn you?

"Neither is there any daysman between us." That is what Christ became. Christ became the mediator between God and men. He is not only a mediator, but a mediator who is as truly divine as the God before whom He acts as mediator for us. If there had not been the hand of God in the cross, there could have been no divine redemption. It was God who forsook His Son; it was God who turned His face away from Him. So what God now brings in is His own righteousness. And there is nothing against that. But it is a justifying righteousness; it is not a condemning righteousness. The same God who condemned under the law saved under grace, because of Christ.

The common thought is that God is our Judge, and so He is. But who made Him a Judge? Who put God on the judgment seat? You did! I did! The sin and guilt of man have forced God into the place of judgment. God must judge sin. Otherwise God and man would be alike, neither of them thinking much about it, and there would be no righteousness. But He has no desire to take the place of judgment. Even here, to Job, He says, "I desire to justify you" (Job 33:32).

His head had been exalted, but now he feels that God is hunting him like a fierce lion, showing Himself so awesome as to inspire fear in the poor man's heart (v.16).

"I am full of confusion; therefore see my affliction, for it increases." And he uses very ungodly language now. "You hunt me as a fierce lion; and again you show yourself marvellous upon me. You renew your witnesses against me, and increase your indignation upon me; changes and war are against me."

On the one hand, Job knew that if he sinned God would mark it and would not acquit him. At that time Job did not know "the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ," so for sin he could only expect "woe." On the other hand, even if he was righteous — as he considered himself to be — he could not lift up his head. He was in a state of misery and confusion, full of disgrace (vv.14-15).

If he sins, God would note it, and woe be to him; if he is innocent he dare not lift his head, for God would quickly hunt him as a fierce lion seeking his prey. God would display His wondrous power, and bring up witnesses against him like a countless host of invaders. In other words Job declares he is at the mercy of an almighty, arbitrary enemy!

Words fail to describe the misery that would lead Job to speak like this against God. It is not the bodily suffering that has wrung this bitter cry from him. He has lost, or is in danger of losing, faith in God's goodness. There is hardly a gleam of light in his whole speech. In this closing part (Job 10) he lets himself loose in the dark despair that has settled on his soul. He does not peer into that darkness like the despairing man of the poem; he pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. May not this very abandonment of misery suggest the root of faith in his heart? He will at least tell God to His face that he doubts Him.

So he had declared, "These things you have hidden in your heart… You humble me as a fierce lion… changes and war are against me" (Job 10:13-17). "Why do you hide your face, and hold me for your enemy?" (Job 13:24; so also Job 19:11). So the insult against divine majesty becomes glaring — Job is pure, but God treats him as impure!

How great is the distress of soul when Satan can insinuate that God is against the believer! How he will magnify every trial, every affliction! "There," says he, "does not that show you are a hypocrite, and that God is against you? Now He will deal with you as your sins deserve." Yes — and how ready the unbelieving heart is to say, "It must be so. Surely no one ever felt such despairing feelings as I feel."

Job thought God was against him; but he has to learn that God was the only One that was truly for him. Satan, Sabeans, the winds and the fire of heaven, his wife and his three friends — all were against him… And all God's dealings with him were for his good. God controlled every enemy on that list. He let them go only so far. They would have destroyed Job, body and soul, if He had allowed it, but God sets a limit to their power… He thought he was being treated harshly, but it was all brought on him in the goodness and love of God, and in the end he can give thanks for it all.

And now the darkest of all. The worst of it is not the physical agony, the boils and running sores torturing him. It is the bitter awareness that he is losing his hold on God. He is starting to see Him no longer as a loving friend, but as a harsh, unmovable tyrant. It is a death struggle he is passing through. His soul is weary of his life, and so he tells out the bitterness of his heart. What accusations are here! This is bold language for a creature of dust, and for such an afflicted creature: "I will say to God — show me why You contend with me." He charges God with planning his calamity and destruction.

Also God had arrayed witnesses against him in the persons of his three friends, thus increasing His indignation against Job (v.17). He felt himself continually changing from one evil to another, as though his own soul was the area of warfare.

If he sins, God would note it, and woe to him! If he is innocent he dare not lift his head. God would quickly hunt him like a fierce lion seeking prey. God would display His wonderful power, and bring up witnesses against him like a countless host of invaders. In other words, Job declares he is at the mercy of an almighty, arbitrary enemy!

This is clear in the next words Elihu quotes: "Behold, He finds occasions (or, malicious things) against me, He counts me as His enemy" (Job 33:10). So Job had declared, "These things You have hidden in Your heart… You humble me as a fierce lion… changes and war are against me" (Job 10:13-17). "Why do You hide Your face, and hold me for Your enemy?" (Job 13:24; also Job 19:11). So the insult against divine majesty becomes glaring — Job is pure, but God treats him as impure!

We must remember this carefully. The book of Job is inspired, but it would be a great mistake to grant that the speeches are inspired. Satan's words were certainly not inspired, yet they are recorded there. Part of the profit of the book is that we have the mistakes of the speakers. Every one of the three friends was very much mistaken in what he said, and Job himself also. Only when we come to Elihu do we get the mind of God, as far as a man is inspired. Then we have Jehovah's own word clearing up all the difficulty.

But notice this in his grievous protest against God: Job still speaks to God and pleads with Him. He does so even while he is as unjust toward God as he thinks God is unjust toward him. He had yet to learn the pity and tender mercy of God, which stands above Satan's malice, in spite of it. The day had not yet come for the Only-begotten Son, in the bosom of the Father, to declare the God whom no one has seen. Nor had the day come for Him, as the Son of Man, to glorify God, even in the matter of sin, on the cross, where He also bore the sins of us who believe. How little we appreciate the value of the true light that now shines!

The wailing passes from blaming God for His injustice to lamenting his birth… It is the lament of chapter 3 again.

"Your hands fashioned and made me, and now You have destroyed me altogether" — after all the love You have shown me. "Remember, I beg You, that You have made me as the clay." He had not made him an angel. He had not made him someone above this suffering… "And these things You have hidden in Your heart." "You had that in Your heart before I was born. You meant me to come into this, and I do not know why."

And now the darkest of all. It is not so much the physical agony, the boils and running sores torturing him. It is more the bitter awareness that he is losing his hold on God. He is beginning to look on Him no longer as a loving friend, but as a harsh, unmovable tyrant. It is a death struggle he is passing through. His soul is weary of his life, and so he pours out the bitterness of his heart.

He does not stand, as the poet described a despairing man… but rather pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. May not this very abandonment of misery suggest the root of faith in his heart?

If Job was living only for trouble, he thought, then why had God allowed him to be born? How much better it would have been, he thought, if only he had died before birth. Then no eye on earth would have seen him; he would have passed straight from the womb to the grave. So he tells God to "cease," that is, to leave him alone. Did he not stop to think that this was an insolent way to speak to his Maker? But he was too distressed to think soberly.

His mind turned to death as the great liberator. Moses and Elijah show the same trend of thought and weakness; so did disappointed Jonah when he said, "It is better for me to die."

Little did he realise that God would give him more than a little comfort in this present world. In the end he would also go to a land of pure light and unspeakable joy. He did not have the great revelation that believers have today. Believers now know the matchless grace of the Lord Jesus for every present need. They also know the eternal glory of His presence, which every believer will enter in the future.

The first thought after waking up to the full sense of your own misery, and the most bitter one, is to curse the day you were born. It is a terrible impression, and when God is not known it is the one that leads to suicide. But when God is known, as in Job's case, it is the beginning of healthy action. That is not because of the discontent and wretchedness it uncovers. It is because you now know and feel what death is: being completely cut off from everything… Death, because of present misery, is preferred. Living in it has no attraction for the heart. This Job feels. He does not know that God is seeking to make him a witness of dependence on Himself against Satan. But this is God's way. Discipline may have the effect of making us feel that death is better than life, but it is working out God's purpose.

If Job was living only for trouble, he thought, why then had God allowed him to be born? He thought it would have been much better if he had died before birth. Then no one on earth would have seen him. He would have been carried from the womb to the grave instead (vv. 18-19). His days were few enough without having troubles multiplied. So he tells God to "cease" — that is, to leave him alone (v. 20). Did he not stop to think that this was an insolent way to speak to his Maker? But he was too distressed to think soberly.

It is not the physical suffering that has wrung this bitter cry from him. He has lost, or is in danger of losing, faith in God's goodness. There is barely a gleam of light in his whole speech. In the closing part (Job 10) he lets himself loose in the dark despair that has settled on his soul. He is weary of life, and might as well pour out all his thoughts against God... May not this very abandonment of misery suggest the root of faith in his heart? He will at least tell God to His face that he doubts Him.

I am not trying to prove that everything Job says agrees with what Scripture reveals about the state between death and resurrection. He might have been mistaken... They are given as Job's words, that is all. They are the words of a believer from those old days. No doubt they carry the dimness and uncertainty of that time. Next to Paul's language, they show death not yet abolished, and "darkness" not yet driven away by light. Yet no one can fairly press these words into the service of materialism. Take the strongest expression of all: "I should have been as though I had not been." He was speaking of the world and its sorrows. In relation to those, it was simple truth.

Weigh all these expressions in the light of the New Testament, and they fall short. Death is not a friend whose visit we should want; it is an enemy. The hope of God's people in affliction and sorrow, in the light of the gospel, is not relief by death, but the coming of the Lord. The Old Testament does not know the promise of the New: "We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye" (1 Cor. 15:52). It is one of the mysteries hidden in past ages. Job speaks as a man in despair. He seems to have forgotten the bright and blessed days of the past, and he fears a hopeless future.

Job thought the thing appointed for him was only the misery and suffering he was going through. In fact it was the "needs be" that was to work patience. Job did not see the appointed "end of the Lord; that the Lord is compassionate and merciful." It is the end of a love too great to be turned aside from His purposes of blessing by our complaint and unbelief... the path for each of His children is different, but the end is the same.

His days were few enough without having troubles multiplied. So he tells God to "cease," that is, to leave him alone (v.20). Did he not stop to think this was an insolent way to speak to his Maker? But he was too distressed to think soberly.

The wailing passes from blaming God for His injustice to lamenting his birth. Pitifully, Job asks a brief respite, a break from sorrow before he goes and is no more. It is the lament again of chapter 3.

Poor, suffering, despairing Job! He was treating as his enemy the One whose love had been so fully shown in the past. To pray to Him, "Let me alone," was horrible despondency indeed. And if he has sinned, why does not God pardon and take away his iniquity? But this is not confession of sin. It is a different thing when at last he cries out, "Behold, I am vile, I abhor myself."

Yet, on the other hand, he knew that God's standards were far higher than his. So trouble would come upon him if he were wicked. And even if he were righteous, he could not lift up his head in the presence of God. He was filled with confusion. His affliction increased. Again he complained that he had ever been born. As to the future, he had no light. Death was to him as "a land of darkness," as we see in verses 21 and 22. Only in New Testament days do we get such a word as this: "the true light is already shining."

Well, but to everything that made Job weary, the grave would be rest. And for anything else, Job was a saint of God after all, and had confidence in God. He was not thinking about the portion of the wicked, but about what his own would be. In death a "land of darkness" stretched before him, and his eye could hardly see into it. Even so, he had something of the Psalmist's confidence in One who would be with him there.

It is very clear that Job needed a severe sifting. Had he not needed it, we may be sure the gracious, loving Lord would not have put him through it. It was not for nothing that He let Satan loose upon His dear servant. We may say, with full confidence, that nothing but the most pressing necessity would have led Him to take such a course. God loved Job with a perfect love. But it was a wise and faithful love. It was a love that could take account of everything. Looking below the surface, it could see the deep moral roots in the heart of His servant — roots which Job had never seen, and therefore never judged.

Should he not have a little comfort before he went to the place from which he would not return? That place was the land of darkness and the shadow of death, where even the light is like darkness. Little did he realise that God would give him more than a little comfort in this present world. He did not know that in the end he would go to a land of pure light and unspeakable joy.

It is not the bodily suffering that has wrung this bitter cry from him, but he has lost, or is in danger of losing, faith in God's goodness. There is barely a gleam of light in his whole speech. In the closing part (Job 10) he lets himself loose in the dark despair that has settled down on his soul. He does not stand staring into that darkness; instead he pours out all those thoughts before the eye of God. May not this very surrender to misery suggest the root of faith in his heart?

He again complained that he had ever been born, and as to the future he had no light. Death was to him as "a land of darkness," as we see in verses 21 and 22. We have to pass on to New Testament days to get such a word as that, "the true light now shines" (1 John 2:8).

Job 10:21 and Job 16:22 prove that Job's thoughts are running in this direction. If it were otherwise, then when he says that in dying he "goes to a place he will not return from," he is denying all resurrection. But he is thinking of a return to the scene before him. It is not an abstract statement. He simply means the scene of mixed joy and sorrow he was in the middle of. And Scripture often speaks this way. "Enoch was not." Is that extinction? No, "he was translated, that he should not see death."

We must remember that, although the Book of Job is inspired, it would be a great mistake to admit that the speeches are inspired. Satan's words were certainly not inspired, yet the book records them. Part of the profit of the book is that we have the mistakes of the speakers. Every one of the three friends was very much mistaken in what he said, and Job himself also.

In the past death was a shadow over souls, such as we find it in Job's picture of "a land of darkness, as darkness itself and … where the light is as darkness" (Job 10:22). But now with the Life the Light has come, and it pierces the shadow of death. He meets and defeats the one who had the power of death, and He frees the captives (Heb. 2:14-15).

Yet even today there are all too many who regard death as the taking of "a leap in the dark." And it truly is that to them, if they neglect or reject the Christ the Gospel presents to them. Such people have no excuse, while for Job there was every excuse. We say again: the gloom of this excellent saint of Old Testament days should move us to give much thanks to God, who has brought us out of darkness into His "marvellous light."

And so this awful lament goes on to its close. The wailing passes from blaming God for His injustice to lamenting his birth. Pitifully, Job asks for a brief pause, a break from sorrow, before he goes away and is no more. It is the lament of chapter 3 again.

We must remember that the book of Job is inspired, but it would be a great mistake to grant that the speeches are inspired. Satan's words were surely not inspired, and yet the book records them. Part of the value of the book is that we have the mistakes of the speakers. Every one of the three friends was very much mistaken in what he said, and Job himself also.

The New Testament weighs all these expressions and finds them wanting. Death is not a friend whose visit we should want, but an enemy. In the light of the gospel, the hope of God's people in trouble and sorrow is not relief by death, but the coming of the Lord.

But such as Job's was the Old Testament hope. Outside the present scene there was little light. Death was a deep, dark "shadow," almost impossible to see through. What was solid and plain to them was resurrection and restoration to a scene of earthly blessing. There were, indeed, scattered hints of other things. Enoch had of old gone to God, and not seen death. Elijah in a later day had followed him. A little gleam of light had broken in there. But that was still not the revelation of the heavenly places. Nor was death abolished, or life and incorruption brought to light.

Whatever else was true, Job was a saint of God after all, and he had confidence in God. He was not thinking about the portion of the wicked, but about what his own would be. In death a "land of darkness" stretched before him, and his eye could hardly see into it. Yet he had something of the Psalmist's confidence in One who would be with him there.

In the past death was a shadow over souls. We hear it in the cry of a Hezekiah, and we see it in Job's picture of "the land of gloom like thick darkness... where light is as thick darkness" (Job 10:22). But now the Light has come with the Life, and it pierces the shadow of death. The one who had the power of death is met and defeated, and the captives go free.

The victory is complete! Christ Himself has gone through the narrow pass of death. He has cleared the way for all His followers, free of every difficulty and danger. He who was in the lowest parts of the earth is now in glory. And from that glory — the glory of God in the risen Man — divine light now shines in these low and lonely depths. The gloom of death is gone. The darkness of the grave is lit up. The shadows of death are only on the human side, and only our poor human hearts feel them.

"As long as I am in the world," Jesus had said, "I am the light of the world." Judas, captured by the devil, went out from the rays of that blessed light. So, of necessity, when the door closed behind him, it was night — the night of death. Its awful darkness wrapped his soul for ever, for he had entered that land Job speaks of — a land dark because, it may be added, God's judgment lies upon it.