Page 115 - Job

old argument proposed by Eliphaz, he sort of ignores it this time. He thinks
it is useless listening to these guys. He is getting weary of empty speeches.
He reminds them of that in verse 2 and 3,
“I have heard many such things; Sorry comforters are you all. Is there
no limit to windy words? Or what plagues you that you answer?”

You see, Job is sort of on the spot now. Eliphaz says the wicked have a
guilty conscience. Job says my conscience is not guilty. Eliphaz said the
wicked lose all their wealth, and Job says I have lost my wealth. Eliphaz
says the wicked die. They are coming to a premature death, and Job is
dying. And so Job says it is senseless to try to reconcile before these fellows.
And besides, even if he could successfully answer Eliphaz’ argument, his
heart would still have empty spaces. He is not satisfied because his problem
is deeper than that. They are giving him theology, doctrine, creed. Job did
not need a dissertation on those things. His perplexity was that his best
friend, God, turned against him for no apparent reason. And this God,
whom he trusted, whom he served, and the fact is, whom he loved, had for
some reason placed Job between the hammer and the anvil, and Job did not
know why. Chapter 16: 7–16,
“But now He has exhausted me; You have laid waste all my company.”
You notice, this is a prayer now. He is not saying to Bildad, “He has”, he is
saying to God, “You have”. He is praying.
“You have shriveled me up, it has become a witness; And my leanness
rises up against me, it testifies to my face.”
Then he turns to Bildad and says:
“His anger has torn me and hunted me down, He has gnashed at me
with His teeth; My adversary glares at me. They have gaped at me with
their mouth, they have slapped me on the cheek with contempt; They
have massed themselves against me. God hands me over to ruffians
and tosses me into the hands of the wicked.
I was at ease, but He shattered me, and He has grasped me by the neck
and shaken me to pieces; He has also set me up as His target. His
arrows surround me. Without mercy He splits my kidneys open; He
pours out my gall on the ground. He breaks through me with breach
after breach; He runs at me like a warrior.
I have sewed sackcloth over my skin and thrust my horn in the dust.
My face is flushed from weeping, and deep darkness is on my eyelids;
Although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure.”

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