“I’m not deceived. I know what you’re up to, the plans you’re cooking up to bring me down. Naively you claim that the castles of tyrants fall to pieces, that the achievements of the wicked collapse. Have you ever asked world travelers how they see it? Have you not listened to their stories Of evil men and women who got off scot-free, who never had to pay for their wickedness? Did anyone ever confront them with their crimes? Did they ever have to face the music? Not likely—they’re given fancy funerals with all the trimmings, Gently lowered into expensive graves, with everyone telling lies about how wonderful they were.
Job 19:7The Message“Look at me—I shout ‘Murder!’ and I’m ignored; I call for help and no one bothers to stop. God threw a barricade across my path—I’m stymied; he turned out all the lights—I’m stuck in the dark. He destroyed my reputation, robbed me of all self-respect. He tore me apart piece by piece—I’m ruined! Then he yanked out hope by the roots. He’s angry with me—oh, how he’s angry! He treats me like his worst enemy. He has launched a major campaign against me, using every weapon he can think of, coming at me from all sides at once. See the chapter |
20 Cross References
“I shout for help, God, and get nothing, no answer! I stand to face you in protest, and you give me a blank stare! You’ve turned into my tormenter— you slap me around, knock me about. You raised me up so I was riding high and then dropped me, and I crashed. I know you’re determined to kill me, to put me six feet under.
“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.”
“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’?
“Do you presume to tell me what I’m doing wrong? Are you calling me a sinner so you can be a saint? Do you have an arm like my arm? Can you shout in thunder the way I can? Go ahead, show your stuff. Let’s see what you’re made of, what you can do. Unleash your outrage. Target the arrogant and lay them flat. Target the arrogant and bring them to their knees. Stop the wicked in their tracks—make mincemeat of them! Dig a mass grave and dump them in it— faceless corpses in an unmarked grave. I’ll gladly step aside and hand things over to you— you can surely save yourself with no help from me!
“God and I are not equals; I can’t bring a case against him. We’ll never enter a courtroom as peers. How I wish we had an arbitrator to step in and let me get on with life— To break God’s death grip on me, to free me from this terror so I could breathe again. Then I’d speak up and state my case boldly. As things stand, there is no way I can do it.”
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