Miserable Comforters

“Were you the first man ever born? Were you made before the hills? Have you listened in on God’s council? Do you think you are the only one who is wise? What do you know that we don’t know? What do you understand that we don’t? Gray-haired and old men are on our side, older than your father. Are God’s comforts too small for you, the gentle words spoken to you? Why do you let your feelings carry you away, and why do your eyes flash, so that you turn your anger against God and let such words pour out of your mouth? What is a human being, that he could be pure, or someone born of a woman, that he could be in the right? God does not trust even his holy ones, and even the heavens are not pure in his sight. How much less someone who is disgusting and corrupt, who drinks evil like water!

“Listen to me, and I will tell you what I have seen, what wise people have passed down from their fathers without hiding anything. The land was given to those fathers alone, and no foreigner passed among them. The wicked man is in torment all his days, all the years set aside for the cruel. Terrifying sounds fill his ears; when all seems well, the destroyer attacks him. He has no hope of escaping the darkness; the sword is waiting for him. He wanders around looking for bread, and he knows the day of darkness is near. Distress and anguish frighten him. They overpower him like a king ready for battle.

“He has shaken his fist at God and stood proudly against the Almighty. He charges at him stubbornly, behind thick, heavy shields, because he has covered his face with fat and grown fat on his thighs. He has lived in ruined towns and empty houses about to become heaps of rubble. He will not stay rich; his wealth will not last. He will not escape the darkness. Fire will wither his shoots, and the breath of God’s mouth will carry him away. Let him not trust in what is worthless and fool himself, because worthlessness will be his reward. Before his time he will be paid in full; his branches will not stay green. He will be like a vine stripped of its unripe grapes, like an olive tree shedding its blossoms. The company of the godless will come to nothing, and fire will burn up the tents of those who take bribes. They plan trouble and give birth to evil; their hearts are full of lies.”

“If I speak, my pain is not eased; if I keep quiet, it doesn’t go away. But now, God, you have worn me out. You have made everyone around me desolate. You have shriveled me up, and my thinness stands up and testifies against me. He has torn me in his anger and hunted me down. He grinds his teeth at me; my enemy looks at me with piercing eyes. People open their mouths against me; they slap my cheek to insult me; they gang up against me. God has handed me over to the ungodly and thrown me into the hands of the wicked. I was at ease, and he broke me apart. He grabbed me by the neck and smashed me to pieces. He has set me up as his target. His archers surround me. He pierces my kidneys without mercy and spills my insides on the ground. He breaks through me again and again; he charges at me like a giant.

“I have sewn sackcloth over my skin, the rough cloth of mourning, and I have buried my strength in the dust. My face is red with weeping, and deep shadows ring my eyes, though there is no violence in my hands and my prayer is pure. Earth, don’t cover my blood! Let my cry never be silenced! Even now, look, my witness is in heaven; the one who speaks for me is on high. My friends mock me, while my eyes pour out tears to God, that he would defend a man’s rights with God, and a man’s rights with his neighbor. For in only a few years I will go on the road of no return.

“My spirit is broken, my days are snuffed out, and the grave is waiting for me. Mockers surround me, and I have to watch them taunt me. Promise to stand behind me yourself. Who else will shake on it with me? You have closed their minds to understanding, so you will not let them win. When someone betrays his friends for a reward, his children’s eyes grow dim. He has made me a joke among the people; they spit in my face. My eyes have grown dim with grief, and my body is like a shadow. Honest people are shocked at this, and the innocent are stirred up against the godless. Yet the righteous will keep to their way, and those with clean hands will grow stronger and stronger.

“But all of you, come and try again! I will not find a wise man among you. My days are over. My plans are shattered, and so are my heart’s desires. These men turn night into day; in the face of darkness they say, ‘Light is near.’ If the only home I hope for is Sheol, if I spread out my bed in the darkness, if I say to the grave, ‘You are my father,’ and to the worm, ‘My mother,’ and ‘My sister,’ then where is my hope? Who can see any hope for me? Will it go down with me to the gates of Sheol? Will we go down together into the dust?”

“Yes, the lamp of the wicked will be put out; the flame of his fire will stop shining. The light in his tent will grow dark. His strong steps will grow weak, and his own plans will bring him down. His own feet lead him into a net; a trap catches him by the heel. A noose is hidden for him in the ground, and a trap lies on his path. Terrors frighten him on every side and chase him at every step. Hunger eats away his strength, and disaster waits at his side.

“Parts of his body are eaten away; death’s firstborn devours his limbs. He is torn from the safety of his tent and marched off to the king of terrors. Strangers live in his tent, and burning sulfur is scattered over his home. His roots dry up below, and his branches are cut off above. His memory vanishes from the earth; no one in the streets remembers his name. He is driven from light into darkness and chased out of the world. He has no children or grandchildren among his people, and no one left where he lived. Those who come after him are shocked at his fate, as those who went before were terrified. This is what happens to the homes of the wicked, to the place of those who do not know God.”

“Look, I cry out, ‘I have been wronged!’ but no one hears me. I cry for help, but there is no justice. He has walled up my road so that I can’t get through, and covered my paths with darkness. He has stripped me of my honor and taken the crown from my head. He tears me down on every side until I am gone, and he has pulled up my hope like a tree. His anger burns against me; he counts me as one of his enemies. His troops come against me together; they build a ramp to attack me and camp around my tent.

“He has driven my brothers far from me; the people I know have become strangers. My relatives have gone away, and my close friends have forgotten me. The people who live in my house and my servant girls treat me like a stranger; I am a foreigner in their eyes. I call my servant, and he doesn’t answer, even when I beg him. My breath is offensive to my wife, and I disgust my own brothers. Even little children look down on me; when I get up, they make fun of me. All my closest friends hate me, and the people I loved have turned against me. I am nothing but skin and bones; I have escaped by the skin of my teeth. Have pity on me, have pity on me, my friends, for the hand of God has struck me! Why do you hunt me down as God does? Will you never have enough of my flesh?

“I wish my words were written down! I wish they were written in a book, carved forever into the rock with an iron pen and lead! But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and in the end he will stand on the earth. After my skin has been destroyed, then in my flesh I will see God. I myself will see him on my side. My own eyes will see him, and not as a stranger. My heart wastes away inside me.

“If you say, ‘We will hunt him down!’ because the cause of it all is in me, then be afraid of the sword yourselves, because anger brings the punishment of the sword. Then you will know that there is a judgment.”

“Though evil tastes sweet in his mouth and he hides it under his tongue, keeping it in his mouth, it turns sour in his stomach; it becomes cobra venom inside him. He swallows riches and vomits them up again; God makes his stomach throw them out. He will suck the poison of cobras; the viper’s tongue will kill him. He will never enjoy the rivers of honey and cream. He will have to give back what he worked for without swallowing it, and he will not enjoy the wealth he has gained, because he has crushed the poor and left them helpless. He has seized a house by force, but he will never build it up.

“Because he was never at peace inside, he will not save anything he delights in. Nothing was left that he didn’t gobble up, so his good times will not last. In the middle of plenty, trouble will catch up with him, and every miserable person will come against him. Just as he is about to fill his belly, God will send his burning anger on him and rain it down on him while he eats. He may run from an iron weapon, but a bronze arrow will pierce him. He pulls it out, and it comes out of his body; the shining point comes out of his liver, and terrors come over him. Total darkness waits for his treasures. A fire no one lit will burn him up and destroy whatever is left in his tent. The heavens will expose his guilt, and the earth will rise up against him. All his house has gained will be lost, swept away on the day of his anger. This is what God gives the wicked, the inheritance God has assigned to him.”

“Why do the wicked live on, growing old and becoming more and more powerful? Their children grow up around them; their descendants are there before their eyes. Their homes are safe from fear, and God doesn’t punish them. Their bulls breed without fail, and their cows give birth without losing their calves. They send their little ones out like a flock, and their children dance. They sing to the tambourine and harp and celebrate to the sound of the flute. They spend their days in good times and go down to Sheol in an instant. Yet they say to God, ‘Leave us alone! We don’t want to know your ways. Who is the Almighty, that we should serve him? What would we gain by praying to him?’ But their good fortune is not in their own hands. I want nothing to do with the plans of the wicked.

“How often is the lamp of the wicked put out? How often does disaster come on them, or does God send them pain in his anger? How often are they like straw in the wind, like husks of grain the storm blows away? You say, ‘God stores up a man’s punishment for his children.’ Let God punish the man himself, so that he knows it! Let his own eyes see his ruin; let him drink the anger of the Almighty. What does he care about his family after he is gone, when his months have run out? Can anyone teach God anything, when he judges even those in high places? One man dies in full strength, completely secure and at ease, his pails full of milk and his bones full of marrow. Another dies bitter, never having tasted anything good. They lie down together in the dust, and worms cover them both.

“I know what you are thinking, the plans you have to wrong me. You say, ‘Where is the great man’s house now? Where are the tents of the wicked?’ Haven’t you asked people who travel? Don’t you know what they say, that the evil man is kept for the day of disaster and led out on the day of anger? Who will accuse him to his face? Who will pay him back for what he has done? He is carried to the grave, and people keep watch over his tomb. The soil of the valley is sweet to him, and everyone follows after him, as countless people went before him. So how can you comfort me with nonsense? Your answers are nothing but lies.”