“Instead of bread I get groans for my supper, then leave the table and vomit my anguish. The worst of my fears has come true, what I’ve dreaded most has happened. My repose is shattered, my peace destroyed. No rest for me, ever—death has invaded life.”

“In famine, he’ll keep you from starving, in war, from being gutted by the sword. You’ll be protected from vicious gossip and live fearless through any catastrophe. You’ll shrug off disaster and famine, and stroll fearlessly among wild animals. You’ll be on good terms with rocks and mountains; wild animals will become your good friends. You’ll know that your place on earth is safe, you’ll look over your goods and find nothing amiss. You’ll see your children grow up, your family lovely and graceful as orchard grass. You’ll arrive at your grave ripe with many good years, like sheaves of golden grain at harvest.

My So-Called Friends

“When desperate people give up on God Almighty, their friends, at least, should stick with them. But my brothers are fickle as a gulch in the desert— one day they’re gushing with water From melting ice and snow cascading out of the mountains, But by midsummer they’re dry, gullies baked dry in the sun. Travelers who spot them and go out of their way for a drink end up in a waterless gulch and die of thirst. Merchant caravans from Tema see them and expect water, tourists from Sheba hope for a cool drink. They arrive so confident—but what a disappointment! They get there, and their faces fall! And you, my so-called friends, are no better— there’s nothing to you! One look at a hard scene and you shrink in fear. It’s not as though I asked you for anything— I didn’t ask you for one red cent— Nor did I beg you to go out on a limb for me. So why all this dodging and shuffling?

Reach Out to God

“Still, if you set your heart on God and reach out to him, If you scrub your hands of sin and refuse to entertain evil in your home, You’ll be able to face the world unashamed and keep a firm grip on life, guiltless and fearless. You’ll forget your troubles; they’ll be like old, faded photographs. Your world will be washed in sunshine, every shadow dispersed by dawn. Full of hope, you’ll relax, confident again; you’ll look around, sit back, and take it easy. Expansive, without a care in the world, you’ll be hunted out by many for your blessing. But the wicked will see none of this. They’re headed down a dead-end road with nothing to look forward to—nothing.”

“It’s not you I’m complaining to—it’s God. Is it any wonder I’m getting fed up with his silence? Take a good look at me. Aren’t you appalled by what’s happened? No! Don’t say anything. I can do without your comments. When I look back, I go into shock, my body is racked with spasms. Why do the wicked have it so good, live to a ripe old age and get rich? They get to see their children succeed, get to watch and enjoy their grandchildren. Their homes are peaceful and free from fear; they never experience God’s disciplining rod. Their bulls breed with great vigor and their cows calve without fail. They send their children out to play and watch them frolic like spring lambs. They make music with fiddles and flutes, have good times singing and dancing. They have a long life on easy street, and die painlessly in their sleep. They say to God, ‘Get lost! We’ve no interest in you or your ways. Why should we have dealings with God Almighty? What’s there in it for us?’ But they’re wrong, dead wrong—they’re not gods. It’s beyond me how they can carry on like this!

Eliphaz Attacks Job—The Third Round

Come to Terms with God

Once again Eliphaz the Temanite took up his theme: “Are any of us strong enough to give God a hand, or smart enough to give him advice? So what if you were righteous—would God Almighty even notice? Even if you gave a perfect performance, do you think he’d applaud? Do you think it’s because he cares about your purity that he’s disciplining you, putting you on the spot? Hardly! It’s because you’re a first-class moral failure, because there’s no end to your sins. When people came to you for help, you took the shirts off their backs, exploited their helplessness. You wouldn’t so much as give a drink to the thirsty, or food, not even a scrap, to the hungry. And there you sat, strong and honored by everyone, surrounded by immense wealth! You turned poor widows away from your door; heartless, you crushed orphans. Now you’re the one trapped in terror, paralyzed by fear. Suddenly the tables have turned! How do you like living in the dark, sightless, up to your neck in flood waters?

An Illusion of Security

“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!

Bildad’s Third Attack

Even the Stars Aren’t Perfect in God’s Eyes

Bildad the Shuhite again attacked Job: “God is sovereign, God is fearsome— everything in the cosmos fits and works in his plan. Can anyone count his angel armies? Is there any place where his light doesn’t shine? How can a mere mortal presume to stand up to God? How can an ordinary person pretend to be guiltless? Why, even the moon has its flaws, even the stars aren’t perfect in God’s eyes, So how much less, plain men and women— slugs and maggots by comparison!”

“God alone knows the way to Wisdom, he knows the exact place to find it. He knows where everything is on earth, he sees everything under heaven. After he commanded the winds to blow and measured out the waters, Arranged for the rain and set off explosions of thunder and lightning, He focused on Wisdom, made sure it was all set and tested and ready. Then he addressed the human race: ‘Here it is! Fear-of-the-Lord—that’s Wisdom, and Insight means shunning evil.’”

“If I’ve ever used my strength and influence to take advantage of the unfortunate, Go ahead, break both my arms, cut off all my fingers! The fear of God has kept me from these things— how else could I ever face him?

“Didn’t those who worked for me say, ‘He fed us well. There were always second helpings’? And no stranger ever had to spend a night in the street; my doors were always open to travelers. Did I hide my sin the way Adam did, or conceal my guilt behind closed doors Because I was afraid what people would say, fearing the gossip of the neighbors so much That I turned myself into a recluse? You know good and well that I didn’t.

“Are you the one who gave the horse his prowess and adorned him with a shimmering mane? Did you create him to prance proudly and strike terror with his royal snorts? He paws the ground fiercely, eager and spirited, then charges into the fray. He laughs at danger, fearless, doesn’t shy away from the sword. The banging and clanging of quiver and lance don’t faze him. He quivers with excitement, and at the trumpet blast races off at a gallop. At the sound of the trumpet he neighs mightily, smelling the excitement of battle from a long way off, catching the rolling thunder of the war cries.

“He snorts and the world lights up with fire, he blinks and the dawn breaks. Comets pour out of his mouth, fireworks arc and branch. Smoke erupts from his nostrils like steam from a boiling pot. He blows and fires blaze; flames of fire stream from his mouth. All muscle he is—sheer and seamless muscle. To meet him is to dance with death. Sinewy and lithe, there’s not a soft spot in his entire body— As tough inside as out, rock-hard, invulnerable. Even angels run for cover when he surfaces, cowering before his tail-thrashing turbulence. Javelins bounce harmlessly off his hide, harpoons ricochet wildly. Iron bars are so much straw to him, bronze weapons beneath notice. Arrows don’t even make him blink; bullets make no more impression than raindrops. A battle ax is nothing but a splinter of kindling; he treats a brandished harpoon as a joke. His belly is armor-plated, inexorable— unstoppable as a barge. He roils deep ocean the way you’d boil water, he whips the sea like you’d whip an egg into batter. With a luminous trail stretching out behind him, you might think Ocean had grown a gray beard! There’s nothing on this earth quite like him, not an ounce of fear in that creature! He surveys all the high and mighty— king of the ocean, king of the deep!”