Study Desk

"Oh, if only someone would give me a hearing! I've signed my name to my defense—let the Almighty One answer! I want to see my indictment in writing. Anyone's welcome to read my defense; I'll write it on a poster and carry it around town. I'm prepared to account for every move I've ever made— to anyone and everyone, prince or pauper.

"If the very ground that I farm accuses me, if even the furrows fill with tears from my abuse, If I've ever raped the earth for my own profit or dispossessed its rightful owners, Then curse it with thistles instead of wheat, curse it with weeds instead of barley." The words of Job to his three friends were finished.

"I hung on your words while you spoke, listened carefully to your arguments. While you searched for the right words, I was all ears. And now what have you proved? Nothing. Nothing you say has even touched Job. And don't excuse yourselves by saying, ‘We've done our best. Now it's up to God to talk sense into him.' Job has yet to contend with me. And rest assured, I won't be using your arguments!

"And if you think you can prove me wrong, do it. Lay out your arguments. Stand up for yourself! Look, I'm human—no better than you; we're both made of the same kind of mud. So let's work this through together; don't let my aggressiveness overwhelm you.

"In a dream, for instance, a vision at night, when men and women are deep in sleep, fast asleep in their beds— God opens their ears and impresses them with warnings To turn them back from something bad they're planning, from some reckless choice, And keep them from an early grave, from the river of no return.

"Or, God might get their attention through pain, by throwing them on a bed of suffering, So they can't stand the sight of food, have no appetite for their favorite treats. They lose weight, wasting away to nothing, reduced to a bag of bones. They hang on the cliff-edge of death, knowing the next breath may be their last.

"You're veterans in dealing with these matters; certainly we're of one mind on this. It's impossible for God to do anything evil; no way can the Mighty One do wrong. He makes us pay for exactly what we've done—no more, no less. Our chickens always come home to roost. It's impossible for God to do anything wicked, for the Mighty One to subvert justice. He's the one who runs the earth! He cradles the whole world in his hand! If he decided to hold his breath, every man, woman, and child would die for lack of air.

"He has his eyes on every man and woman. He doesn't miss a trick. There is no night dark enough, no shadow deep enough, to hide those who do evil. God doesn't need to gather any more evidence; their sin is an open-and-shut case. He deposes the so-called high and mighty without asking questions, and replaces them at once with others. Nobody gets by with anything; overnight, judgment is signed, sealed, and delivered. He punishes the wicked for their wickedness out in the open where everyone can see it, Because they quit following him, no longer even thought about him or his ways. Their apostasy was announced by the cry of the poor; the cry of the afflicted got God's attention.

"So why don't you simply confess to God? Say, ‘I sinned, but I'll sin no more. Teach me to see what I still don't see. Whatever evil I've done, I'll do it no more.' Just because you refuse to live on God's terms, do you think he should start living on yours? You choose. I can't do it for you. Tell me what you decide.

"All right-thinking people say— and the wise who have listened to me concur— ‘Job is an ignoramus. He talks utter nonsense.' Job, you need to be pushed to the wall and called to account for wickedly talking back to God the way you have. You've compounded your original sin by rebelling against God's discipline, Defiantly shaking your fist at God, piling up indictments against the Almighty One."

"When times get bad, people cry out for help. They cry for relief from being kicked around, But never give God a thought when things go well, when God puts spontaneous songs in their hearts, When God sets out the entire creation as a science classroom, using birds and beasts to teach wisdom. People are arrogantly indifferent to God— until, of course, they're in trouble, and then God is indifferent to them. There's nothing behind such prayers except panic; the Almighty pays them no mind. So why would he notice you just because you say you're tired of waiting to be heard, Or waiting for him to get good and angry and do something about the world's problems?

"It's true that God is all-powerful, but he doesn't bully innocent people. For the wicked, though, it's a different story— he doesn't give them the time of day, but champions the rights of their victims. He never takes his eyes off the righteous; he honors them lavishly, promotes them endlessly. When things go badly, when affliction and suffering descend, God tells them where they've gone wrong, shows them how their pride has caused their trouble. He forces them to heed his warning, tells them they must repent of their bad life. If they obey and serve him, they'll have a good, long life on easy street. But if they disobey, they'll be cut down in their prime and never know the first thing about life. Angry people without God pile grievance upon grievance, always blaming others for their troubles. Living it up in sexual excesses, virility wasted, they die young. But those who learn from their suffering, God delivers from their suffering.

"Whenever this happens, my heart stops— I'm stunned, I can't catch my breath. Listen to it! Listen to his thunder, the rolling, rumbling thunder of his voice. He lets loose his lightnings from horizon to horizon, lighting up the earth from pole to pole. In their wake, the thunder echoes his voice, powerful and majestic. He lets out all the stops, he holds nothing back. No one can mistake that voice— His word thundering so wondrously, his mighty acts staggering our understanding. He orders the snow, ‘Blanket the earth!' and the rain, ‘Soak the whole countryside!' No one can escape the weather—it's there. And no one can escape from God. Wild animals take shelter, crawling into their dens, When blizzards roar out of the north and freezing rain crusts the land. It's God's breath that forms the ice, it's God's breath that turns lakes and rivers solid. And yes, it's God who fills clouds with rainwater and hurls lightning from them every which way. He puts them through their paces—first this way, then that— commands them to do what he says all over the world. Whether for discipline or grace or extravagant love, he makes sure they make their mark.

"If you're so smart, give us a lesson in how to address God. We're in the dark and can't figure it out. Do you think I'm dumb enough to challenge God? Wouldn't that just be asking for trouble? No one in his right mind stares straight at the sun on a clear and cloudless day. As gold comes from the northern mountains, so a terrible beauty streams from God.

"Why do you confuse the issue? Why do you talk without knowing what you're talking about? Pull yourself together, Job! Up on your feet! Stand tall! I have some questions for you, and I want some straight answers. Where were you when I created the earth? Tell me, since you know so much! Who decided on its size? Certainly you'll know that! Who came up with the blueprints and measurements? How was its foundation poured, and who set the cornerstone, While the morning stars sang in chorus and all the angels shouted praise? And who took charge of the ocean when it gushed forth like a baby from the womb? That was me! I wrapped it in soft clouds, and tucked it in safely at night. Then I made a playpen for it, a strong playpen so it couldn't run loose, And said, ‘Stay here, this is your place. Your wild tantrums are confined to this place.'

"Have you ever traveled to where snow is made, seen the vault where hail is stockpiled, The arsenals of hail and snow that I keep in readiness for times of trouble and battle and war? Can you find your way to where lightning is launched, or to the place from which the wind blows? Who do you suppose carves canyons for the downpours of rain, and charts the route of thunderstorms That bring water to unvisited fields, deserts no one ever lays eyes on, Drenching the useless wastelands so they're carpeted with wildflowers and grass? And who do you think is the father of rain and dew, the mother of ice and frost? You don't for a minute imagine these marvels of weather just happen, do you?

"Can you get the attention of the clouds, and commission a shower of rain? Can you take charge of the lightning bolts and have them report to you for orders?

"Can you teach the lioness to stalk her prey and satisfy the appetite of her cubs As they crouch in their den, waiting hungrily in their cave? And who sets out food for the ravens when their young cry to God, fluttering about because they have no food?"

"Will the wild buffalo condescend to serve you, volunteer to spend the night in your barn? Can you imagine hitching your plow to a buffalo and getting him to till your fields? He's hugely strong, yes, but could you trust him, would you dare turn the job over to him? You wouldn't for a minute depend on him, would you, to do what you said when you said it?

"The ostrich flaps her wings futilely— all those beautiful feathers, but useless! She lays her eggs on the hard ground, leaves them there in the dirt, exposed to the weather, Not caring that they might get stepped on and cracked or trampled by some wild animal. She's negligent with her young, as if they weren't even hers. She cares nothing about anything. She wasn't created very smart, that's for sure, wasn't given her share of good sense. But when she runs, oh, how she runs, laughing, leaving horse and rider in the dust.