Study Desk

"But he is singular and sovereign. Who can argue with him? He does what he wants, when he wants to. He'll complete in detail what he's decided about me, and whatever else he determines to do. Is it any wonder that I dread meeting him? Whenever I think about it, I get scared all over again. God makes my heart sink! God Almighty gives me the shudders! I'm completely in the dark, I can't see my hand in front of my face."

"But if Judgment Day isn't hidden from the Almighty, why are we kept in the dark? There are people out there getting by with murder— stealing and lying and cheating. They rip off the poor and exploit the unfortunate, Push the helpless into the ditch, bully the weak so that they fear for their lives. The poor, like stray dogs and cats, scavenge for food in back alleys. They sort through the garbage of the rich, eke out survival on handouts. Homeless, they shiver through cold nights on the street; they've no place to lay their heads. Exposed to the weather, wet and frozen, they huddle in makeshift shelters. Nursing mothers have their babies snatched from them; the infants of the poor are kidnapped and sold. They go about patched and threadbare; even the hard workers go hungry. No matter how backbreaking their labor, they can never make ends meet. People are dying right and left, groaning in torment. The wretched cry out for help and God does nothing, acts like nothing's wrong!

"Then there are those who avoid light at all costs, who scorn the light-filled path. When the sun goes down, the murderer gets up— kills the poor and robs the defenseless. Sexual predators can't wait for nightfall, thinking, ‘No one can see us now.' Burglars do their work at night, but keep well out of sight through the day. They want nothing to do with light. Deep darkness is morning for that bunch; they make the terrors of darkness their companions in crime.

"They are scraps of wood floating on the water— useless, cursed junk, good for nothing. As surely as snow melts under the hot, summer sun, sinners disappear in the grave. The womb has forgotten them, worms have relished them— nothing that is evil lasts. Unscrupulous, they prey on those less fortunate. However much they strut and flex their muscles, there's nothing to them. They're hollow. They may have an illusion of security, but God has his eye on them. They may get their brief successes, but then it's over, nothing to show for it. Like yesterday's newspaper, they're used to wrap up the garbage. You're free to try to prove me a liar, but you won't be able to do it."

Having waited for Zophar, Job now resumed his defense: "God-Alive! He's denied me justice! God Almighty! He's ruined my life! But for as long as I draw breath, and for as long as God breathes life into me, I refuse to say one word that isn't true. I refuse to confess to any charge that's false. There is no way I'll ever agree to your accusations. I'll not deny my integrity even if it costs me my life. I'm holding fast to my integrity and not loosening my grip— and, believe me, I'll never regret it.

"I'll quote your own words back to you: "‘This is how God treats the wicked, this is what evil people can expect from God Almighty: Their children—all of them—will die violent deaths; they'll never have enough bread to put on the table. They'll be wiped out by the plague, and none of the widows will shed a tear when they're gone. Even if they make a lot of money and are resplendent in the latest fashions, It's the good who will end up wearing the clothes and the decent who will divide up the money. They build elaborate houses that won't survive a single winter. They go to bed wealthy and wake up poor. Terrors pour in on them like flash floods— a tornado snatches them away in the middle of the night, A cyclone sweeps them up—gone! Not a trace of them left, not even a footprint. Catastrophes relentlessly pursue them; they run this way and that, but there's no place to hide— Pummeled by the weather, blown to kingdom come by the storm.'"

"We all know how silver seams the rocks, we've seen the stuff from which gold is refined, We're aware of how iron is dug out of the ground and copper is smelted from rock. Miners penetrate the earth's darkness, searching the roots of the mountains for ore, digging away in the suffocating darkness. Far from civilization, far from the traffic, they cut a shaft, and are lowered into it by ropes. Earth's surface is a field for grain, but its depths are a forge Firing sapphires from stones and chiseling gold from rocks. Vultures are blind to its riches, hawks never lay eyes on it. Wild animals are oblivious to it, lions don't know it's there. Miners hammer away at the rock, they uproot the mountains. They tunnel through the rock and find all kinds of beautiful gems. They discover the origins of rivers, and bring earth's secrets to light.

"But where, oh where, will they find Wisdom? Where does Insight hide? Mortals don't have a clue, haven't the slightest idea where to look. Earth's depths say, ‘It's not here'; ocean deeps echo, ‘Never heard of it.' It can't be bought with the finest gold; no amount of silver can get it. Even famous Ophir gold can't buy it, not even diamonds and sapphires. Neither gold nor emeralds are comparable; extravagant jewelry can't touch it. Pearl necklaces and ruby bracelets—why bother? None of this is even a down payment on Wisdom! Pile gold and African diamonds as high as you will, they can't hold a candle to Wisdom.

"But no longer. Now I'm the butt of their jokes— young ruffians! whippersnappers! Why, I considered their fathers mere inexperienced pups. But they are worse than dogs—good for nothing, stray, mangy animals, Half-starved, scavenging the back alleys, howling at the moon; Homeless guttersnipes chewing on old bones and licking old tin cans; Outcasts from the community, cursed as dangerous delinquents. Nobody would put up with them; they were driven from the neighborhood. You could hear them out there at the edge of town, yelping and barking, huddled in junkyards, A gang of beggars and no-names, thrown out on their ears.

"But now I'm the one they're after, mistreating me, taunting and mocking. They abhor me, they abuse me. How dare those scoundrels—they spit in my face! Now that God has undone me and left me in a heap, they hold nothing back. Anything goes. They come at me from my blind side, trip me up, then jump on me while I'm down. They throw every kind of obstacle in my path, determined to ruin me— and no one lifts a finger to help me! They violate my broken body, trample through the rubble of my ruined life. Terrors assault me— my dignity in shreds, salvation up in smoke.

"What did I do to deserve this? Did I ever hit anyone who was calling for help? Haven't I wept for those who live a hard life, been heartsick over the lot of the poor? But where did it get me? I expected good but evil showed up. I looked for light but darkness fell. My stomach's in a constant churning, never settles down. Each day confronts me with more suffering. I walk under a black cloud. The sun is gone. I stand in the congregation and protest. I howl with the jackals, I hoot with the owls. I'm black-and-blue all over, burning up with fever. My fiddle plays nothing but the blues; my mouth harp wails laments."

This is what Elihu, son of Barakel the Buzite, said: "I'm a young man, and you are all old and experienced. That's why I kept quiet and held back from joining the discussion. I kept thinking, ‘Experience will tell. The longer you live, the wiser you become.' But I see I was wrong—it's God's Spirit in a person, the breath of the Almighty One, that makes wise human insight possible. The experts have no corner on wisdom; getting old doesn't guarantee good sense. So I've decided to speak up. Listen well! I'm going to tell you exactly what I think.

"Do you three have nothing else to say? Of course you don't! You're total frauds! Why should I wait any longer, now that you're stopped dead in your tracks? I'm ready to speak my piece. That's right! It's my turn—and it's about time! I've got a lot to say, and I'm bursting to say it. The pressure has built up, like lava beneath the earth. I'm a volcano ready to blow. I have to speak—I have no choice. I have to say what's on my heart, And I'm going to say it straight— the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I was never any good at bootlicking; my Maker would make short work of me if I started in now!"

"Here's what you said. I heard you say it with my own ears. You said, ‘I'm pure—I've done nothing wrong. Believe me, I'm clean—my conscience is clear. But God keeps picking on me; he treats me like I'm his enemy. He's thrown me in jail; he keeps me under constant surveillance.'

"But let me tell you, Job, you're wrong, dead wrong! God is far greater than any human. So how dare you haul him into court, and then complain that he won't answer your charges? God always answers, one way or another, even when people don't recognize his presence.

"But even then an angel could come, a champion—there are thousands of them!— to take up your cause, A messenger who would mercifully intervene, canceling the death sentence with the words: ‘I've come up with the ransom!' Before you know it, you're healed, the very picture of health!

"Or, you may fall on your knees and pray—to God's delight! You'll see God's smile and celebrate, finding yourself set right with God. You'll sing God's praises to everyone you meet, testifying, ‘I messed up my life— and let me tell you, it wasn't worth it. But God stepped in and saved me from certain death. I'm alive again! Once more I see the light!'

"Keep listening, Job. Don't interrupt—I'm not finished yet. But if you think of anything I should know, tell me. There's nothing I'd like better than to see your name cleared. Meanwhile, keep listening. Don't distract me with interruptions. I'm going to teach you the basics of wisdom."

"We've all heard Job say, ‘I'm in the right, but God won't give me a fair trial. When I defend myself, I'm called a liar to my face. I've done nothing wrong, and I get punished anyway.' Have you ever heard anything to beat this? Does nothing faze this man Job? Do you think he's spent too much time in bad company, hanging out with the wrong crowd, So that now he's parroting their line: ‘It doesn't pay to try to please God'?

"If God is silent, what's that to you? If he turns his face away, what can you do about it? But whether silent or hidden, he's there, ruling, so that those who hate God won't take over and ruin people's lives.