1 But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock. |
2 Yea, whereto might the strength of their hands profit me, in whom old age was perished? |
3 For want and famine they were solitary; fleeing into the wilderness in former time desolate and waste. |
4 Who cut up mallows by the bushes, and juniper roots for their meat. |
5 They were driven forth from among men, (they cried after them as after a thief;) |
6 To dwell in the clifts of the valleys, in caves of the earth, and in the rocks. |
7 Among the bushes they brayed; under the nettles they were gathered together. |
8 They were children of fools, yea, children of base men: they were viler than the earth. |
9 And now am I their song, yea, I am their byword. |
10 They abhor me, they flee far from me, and spare not to spit in my face. |
11 Because he hath loosed my cord, and afflicted me, they have also let loose the bridle before me. |
12 Upon my right hand rise the youth; they push away my feet, and they raise up against me the ways of their destruction. |
13 They mar my path, they set forward my calamity, they have no helper. |
14 They came upon me as a wide breaking in of waters: in the desolation they rolled themselves upon me. |
15 Terrors are turned upon me: they pursue my soul as the wind: and my welfare passeth away as a cloud. |
16 And now my soul is poured out upon me; the days of affliction have taken hold upon me. |
17 My bones are pierced in me in the night season: and my sinews take no rest. |
18 By the great force of my disease is my garment changed: it bindeth me about as the collar of my coat. |
19 He hath cast me into the mire, and I am become like dust and ashes. |
20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me: I stand up, and thou regardest me not. |
21 Thou art become cruel to me: with thy strong hand thou opposest thyself against me. |
22 Thou liftest me up to the wind; thou causest me to ride upon it, and dissolvest my substance. |
23 For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living. |
24 Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave, though they cry in his destruction. |
25 Did not I weep for him that was in trouble? was not my soul grieved for the poor? |
26 When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. |
27 My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. |
28 I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. |
29 I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. |
30 My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat. |
31 My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep. |
Continuing his speech, Job pours out his complaints about the life he now has to lead (vv. 1-31). But this is not only a matter of complaints. Job laments first of all the injustice of the situation, the fact that God has humiliated him without cause (vv. 19-22). He reminds God of the help that the needy received from him, making it clear that such deeds should have received proper recognition in God's eyes and should have led Job to a very different condition from the one in which he now finds himself (vv. 25-26). At first glance, such words thrown in God's face sound like a bold challenge. But by his deeds Job truly deserved a much better fate, and he knows this very well. The issue is not insolence or disobedience, but principle. Is human righteousness worth anything at all in God's eyes? Job's spiritual life depended on the answer to that question, and for him it was more important than physical life. Job is ready for death; he knows that he does not have long left (vv. 23-24). But what will death become for him: the fulfillment of God's will, or a matter of chance?
The same was true of life. If God has no concern for human righteousness, then He has no concern for the human person at all. Then a person is no better than an animal, either in life or in death. Then everything is meaningless, and Job has nothing more to seek. For a righteous person, such a conclusion was worse than any disease, however terrible, and worse than any death, however painful. This is not surprising: righteousness is above all a relationship with God; it forms the foundation, goal, and meaning of the righteous person's life, and the whole of that life, even death, becomes part of this relationship. But if in fact there is no relationship, if all righteousness was only a fantasy, then the righteous person has nothing left: no God, no righteousness, no life, no death. Only a ghost remains, a shadow of all these things. This is Sheol, the world of shadows in its fullness. With God, even Sheol is not frightening; without God, the whole world becomes Sheol. And Job protests against that prospect. He is no longer afraid of a strong and merciless God because, if God is like that, then things cannot become any worse for Job; he has nothing left to lose. But if God is different after all, if He does in fact care about the human person, then He will understand and accept Job, because Job is righteous. That is beyond dispute, and God cannot fail to notice it. Thus the challenge Job throws at God becomes prayer. It was, of course, a prayer-challenge, but in the situation that had arisen Job could not act otherwise.
1 But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock. |
2 Yea, whereto might the strength of their hands profit me, in whom old age was perished? |
3 For want and famine they were solitary; fleeing into the wilderness in former time desolate and waste. |
4 Who cut up mallows by the bushes, and juniper roots for their meat. |
5 They were driven forth from among men, (they cried after them as after a thief;) |
6 To dwell in the clifts of the valleys, in caves of the earth, and in the rocks. |
7 Among the bushes they brayed; under the nettles they were gathered together. |
8 They were children of fools, yea, children of base men: they were viler than the earth. |
9 And now am I their song, yea, I am their byword. |
10 They abhor me, they flee far from me, and spare not to spit in my face. |
11 Because he hath loosed my cord, and afflicted me, they have also let loose the bridle before me. |
12 Upon my right hand rise the youth; they push away my feet, and they raise up against me the ways of their destruction. |
13 They mar my path, they set forward my calamity, they have no helper. |
14 They came upon me as a wide breaking in of waters: in the desolation they rolled themselves upon me. |
15 Terrors are turned upon me: they pursue my soul as the wind: and my welfare passeth away as a cloud. |
16 And now my soul is poured out upon me; the days of affliction have taken hold upon me. |
17 My bones are pierced in me in the night season: and my sinews take no rest. |
18 By the great force of my disease is my garment changed: it bindeth me about as the collar of my coat. |
19 He hath cast me into the mire, and I am become like dust and ashes. |
20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me: I stand up, and thou regardest me not. |
21 Thou art become cruel to me: with thy strong hand thou opposest thyself against me. |
22 Thou liftest me up to the wind; thou causest me to ride upon it, and dissolvest my substance. |
23 For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living. |
24 Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave, though they cry in his destruction. |
25 Did not I weep for him that was in trouble? was not my soul grieved for the poor? |
26 When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. |
27 My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. |
28 I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. |
29 I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. |
30 My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat. |
31 My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep. |
Job’s recollections give way to an account of his present condition. He begins his lament by observing: now they mock me. Job then describes his sufferings in detail, but what matters most to him is that he has been humiliated; and the most unbearable thing for Job is that the ill-wishers who have gained the opportunity to humiliate him are themselves unworthy people. This should not really surprise us, however: some people take all the greater delight in another person’s fall the lower they themselves lie.
20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me: I stand up, and thou regardest me not. |
When begins the history of monotheism? One could indicate facts testifying of the ancient monotheism, but this monotheism went out again in the prehistory time; and what then after? The spiritual desert of the paganism with the tiny island of the monotheism in Palestine, in Israel, in Judea? Of course not. The Unique was known in Egypt and in Babylon, in Greece and in India. Only here is, the Unique, that knew the philosophers and the scientific priests, was silent. And His silence lasted millenniums, until He begun speaking with Abraham.
So began the history of the people of God. People, with whom God spoke, spoke through the chiefs, the prophets, the charismatic leaders. And here is - fifteen hundred years have passed again since Abraham (the Book of Job, according to the opinion common today among the biblical scholars, was written in V or IV s B.C.). And Job stands again before a silent God. The hero of the book lived in the heyday of Judaism, he is surrounded with people profoundly religious, as were, for example, the friends of Job: they have answers to all questions, answers sometimes not at all random, answers, for which can be seen deep theological tradition, and sometimes even personal spiritual experience. But religion is religion: no matter how much remarkable it may be, the religion remains all the same an affair of human’s hands and spirits.
That is why it cannot give an answer to this main question, which torments Job: what is the sense of the evil committed in the world? Indeed, religion does not go out of the frame of the not transformed world, and in the not transformed world there is no answer to the question about the sense of evil, at least because there is no sense in evil at all. The question should have been asked differently: what to do with the evil, in which, according to the word of the Gospel, lays the world? But this question is not for people, but for God, Who is silent.
Killing spiritually Job with His silence. God's silence destroys all the religion, all the theology, all the conception of the world of the hero. But that could not probably be otherwise: because sometimes one can hear God only in an absolute silence, in such a silence which is possible only in the desert. But the religious man is not alone even in the desert: he has with him his religion, of which it is necessary to get rid so that he could finally hear God, and not the tumult of his own religious soul. But man himself must want it. Meanwhile God is silent. And waits, when man will be ready to hear him. Waits, when he will stop screaming, will keep silent and will start listening.
20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me: I stand up, and thou regardest me not. |
When begins the history of monotheism? One could indicate facts testifying of the ancient monotheism, but this monotheism went out again in the prehistory time; and what then after? The spiritual desert of the paganism with the tiny island of the monotheism in Palestine, in Israel, in Judea? Of course not. The Unique was known in Egypt and in Babylon, in Greece and in India. Only here is, the Unique, that knew the philosophers and the scientific priests, was silent. And His silence lasted millenniums, until He begun speaking with Abraham.
So began the history of the people of God. People, with whom God spoke, spoke through the chiefs, the prophets, the charismatic leaders. And here is - fifteen hundred years have passed again since Abraham (the Book of Job, according to the opinion common today among the biblical scholars, was written in V or IV s B.C.). And Job stands again before a silent God. The hero of the book lived in the heyday of Judaism, he is surrounded with people profoundly religious, as were, for example, the friends of Job: they have answers to all questions, answers sometimes not at all random, answers, for which can be seen deep theological tradition, and sometimes even personal spiritual experience. But religion is religion: no matter how much remarkable it may be, the religion remains all the same an affair of human’s hands and spirits.
That is why it cannot give an answer to this main question, which torments Job: what is the sense of the evil committed in the world? Indeed, religion does not go out of the frame of the not transformed world, and in the not transformed world there is no answer to the question about the sense of evil, at least because there is no sense in evil at all. The question should have been asked differently: what to do with the evil, in which, according to the word of the Gospel, lays the world? But this question is not for people, but for God, Who is silent.
Killing spiritually Job with His silence. God's silence destroys all the religion, all the theology, all the conception of the world of the hero. But that could not probably be otherwise: because sometimes one can hear God only in an absolute silence, in such a silence which is possible only in the desert. But the religious man is not alone even in the desert: he has with him his religion, of which it is necessary to get rid so that he could finally hear God, and not the tumult of his own religious soul. But man himself must want it. Meanwhile God is silent. And waits, when man will be ready to hear him. Waits, when he will stop screaming, will keep silent and will start listening.
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