Job: But Now They Mock Me
1 “But now those who are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I considered unworthy to put with my sheep dogs. 2 Of what use is the strength of their hands to me, men in whom ripe age has perished? 3 They are gaunt from lack and famine. They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of waste and desolation. 4 They pluck salt herbs by the bushes. The roots of the broom tree are their food. 5 They are driven out from among men. They cry after them as after a thief, 6 so that they live in frightful valleys, and in holes of the earth and of the rocks. 7 They bray among the bushes. They are gathered together under the nettles. 8 They are children of fools, yes, children of wicked men. They were flogged out of the land. 9 “Now I have become their song. Yes, I am a byword to them. 10 They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and don’t hesitate to spit in my face. 11 For he has untied his cord, and afflicted me; and they have thrown off restraint before me. 12 On my right hand rise the rabble. They thrust aside my feet. They cast their ways of destruction up against me. 13 They mar my path. They promote my destruction without anyone’s help. 14 As through a wide breach they come. They roll themselves in amid the ruin. 15 Terrors have turned on me. They chase my honor as the wind. My welfare has passed away as a cloud. 16 “Now my soul is poured out within me. Days of affliction have taken hold of me. 17 In the night season my bones are pierced in me, and the pains that gnaw me take no rest. 18 My garment is disfigured by great force. It binds me about as the collar of my tunic. 19 He has cast me into the mire. I have become like dust and ashes. 20 I cry to you, and you do not answer me. I stand up, and you gaze at me. 21 You have turned to be cruel to me. With the might of your hand you persecute me. 22 You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it. You dissolve me in the storm. 23 For I know that you will bring me to death, to the house appointed for all living. 24 “However doesn’t one stretch out a hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help? 25 Didn’t I weep for him who was in trouble? Wasn’t my soul grieved for the needy? 26 When I looked for good, then evil came. When I waited for light, darkness came. 27 My heart is troubled, and doesn’t rest. Days of affliction have come on me. 28 I go mourning without the sun. I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help. 29 I am a brother to jackals, and a companion to ostriches. 30 My skin grows black and peels from me. My bones are burned with heat. 31 Therefore my harp has turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of those who weep.
The reversal is measured by who is laughing, and Job's last complaint is not that God struck him but that God will not answer.
But now Job 30:1. The chapter is the exact negative of the one before it, and the pivot is a single phrase.
The humiliation is measured socially, and the measurement is unattractive. His mockers are young men whose fathers he considered unworthy to put with my sheep dogs — outcasts driven from settlements, living in holes and ravines, eating salt herbs and broom roots Job 30:1–7.
Job is not at his best here, and the book does not tidy it. A man who a chapter ago was eyes to the blind is now measuring his disgrace by the social rank of the people despising him. Suffering has not made him gracious about it, and the record stands as it is.
What they do to him is specific: they abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and don't hesitate to spit in my face Job 30:10. And his account of why it is possible names God: he has untied his cord, and afflicted me; and they have thrown off restraint Job 30:11.
The figure is of a restraint removed. Something had been holding those people back, and it is not there now. That is an accurate description of what happened, and Job has again reasoned his way close to the prologue without knowing it — a hedge was taken down Job 1:10 Job 1:12.
The siege imagery returns, with a rabble instead of an army Job 30:12–14, and then the physical description, which is the most detailed in the book. Bones pierced in the night by pains that take no rest; a garment that binds like a collar; skin that grows black and peels; bones burned with heat Job 30:17–18 Job 30:30.
At the center of it stands the complaint that has replaced all the others. I cry to you, and you do not answer me. I stand up, and you gaze at me Job 30:20.
Not the losses. Not the disease. The silence, and worse than silence — a God who is present, looking at him, and saying nothing. That is the condition the whole poem has been written under, and it is stated here more plainly than anywhere else.
What he accuses God of is deliberateness: you have turned to be cruel to me Job 30:21. He is wrong, and the reader knows why, and the book lets him say it.
The question in verse 24 is his last argument and it is a fair one. Doesn't a falling man put out a hand? Doesn't a man in calamity cry for help? Then: didn't I weep for him who was in trouble? Wasn't my soul grieved for the needy? Job 30:25.
He wept for other people. He is asking to be granted what he granted, and nobody is granting it.
The chapter closes on music. My harp has turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of those who weep Job 30:31. The instruments are the same ones the wicked man's children were dancing to nine chapters earlier Job 21:12.
settled What this mark means