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Job Chapter
Six
Job 6
Chapter Contents
Job justifies his complaints. (1-7) He wishes for death.
(8-13) Job reproves his friends as unkind. (14-30)
Commentary on Job 6:1-7
(Read Job 6:1-7)
Job still justifies himself in his complaints. In
addition to outward troubles, the inward sense of God's wrath took away all his
courage and resolution. The feeling sense of the wrath of God is harder to bear
than any outward afflictions. What then did the Saviour endure in the garden
and on the cross, when he bare our sins, and his soul was made a sacrifice to
Divine justice for us! Whatever burden of affliction, in body or estate, God is
pleased to lay upon us, we may well submit to it as long as he continues to us
the use of our reason, and the peace of our conscience; but if either of these
is disturbed, our case is very pitiable. Job reflects upon his friends for
their censures. He complains he had nothing offered for his relief, but what
was in itself tasteless, loathsome, and burdensome.
Commentary on Job 6:8-13
(Read Job 6:8-13)
Job had desired death as the happy end of his miseries.
For this, Eliphaz had reproved him, but he asks for it again with more
vehemence than before. It was very rash to speak thus of God destroying him.
Who, for one hour, could endure the wrath of the Almighty, if he let loose his
hand against him? Let us rather say with David, O spare me a little. Job
grounds his comfort upon the testimony of his conscience, that he had been, in
some degree, serviceable to the glory of God. Those who have grace in them, who
have the evidence of it, and have it in exercise, have wisdom in them, which
will be their help in the worst of times.
Commentary on Job 6:14-30
(Read Job 6:14-30)
In his prosperity Job formed great expectations from his
friends, but now was disappointed. This he compares to the failing of brooks in
summer. Those who rest their expectations on the creature, will find it fail
when it should help them; whereas those who make God their confidence, have
help in the time of need, Hebrews 4:16. Those who make gold their hope,
sooner or later will be ashamed of it, and of their confidence in it. It is our
wisdom to cease from man. Let us put all our confidence in the Rock of ages,
not in broken reeds; in the Fountain of life, not in broken cisterns. The
application is very close; "for now ye are nothing." It were well for
us, if we had always such convictions of the vanity of the creature, as we have
had, or shall have, on a sick-bed, a death-bed, or in trouble of conscience.
Job upbraids his friends with their hard usage. Though in want, he desired no
more from them than a good look and a good word. It often happens that, even
when we expect little from man, we have less; but from God, even when we expect
much, we have more. Though Job differed from them, yet he was ready to yield as
soon as it was made to appear that he was in error. Though Job had been in
fault, yet they ought not to have given him such hard usage. His righteousness
he holds fast, and will not let it go. He felt that there had not been such
iniquity in him as they supposed. But it is best to commit our characters to Him
who keeps our souls; in the great day every upright believer shall have praise
of God.
── Matthew Henry《Concise Commentary on Job》
Job 6
Verse 2
[2] Oh
that my grief were throughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances
together!
My grief —
The cause of my grief.
Weighed —
Were fully understood, and duly considered. O that I had an equal judge! that
would understand my case, and consider whether I have not cause for complaints.
Together —
Together with any other most heavy thing to be put into the other scale.
Verse 3
[3] For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea: therefore my words
are swallowed up.
Sea —
Which is heavier than dry sand.
Swallowed — My
voice and spirit fail me. I cannot find, or utter words sufficient to express
my sorrow or misery.
Verse 4
[4] For
the arrows of the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my
spirit: the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me.
Arrows — So
he fitly calls his afflictions, because, like arrows, they came upon him swiftly
and suddenly one after another, immediately shot by God into his spirit.
Poison —
Implying that these arrows were more keen than ordinary, being dipped in God's
wrath, as the barbarous nations used to dip their arrows in poison, that they
might not only pierce, but burn up and consume the vital parts.
Drinketh —
Exhausteth and consumeth my soul.
In array —
They are like a numerous army, who invade me on every side. This was the sorest
part of his calamity, wherein he was an eminent type of Christ, who complained
most of the sufferings of his soul. Now is my soul troubled. My soul is
exceeding sorrowful. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Indeed trouble
of mind is the sorest trouble. A wounded spirit who can bear.
Verse 5
[5] Doth
the wild ass bray when he hath grass? or loweth the ox over his fodder?
Doth, … —
Even the brute beasts, when they have convenient food, are quiet and contented.
So it is no wonder that you complain not, who live in ease and prosperity, any
more than I did, when I wanted nothing.
Verse 6
[6] Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any taste
in the white of an egg?
Can, … — Do
men use to eat unsavoury meats with delight, or without complaint? Men commonly
complain of their meat when it is but unsavoury, how much more when it is so
bitter as mine is?
Verse 7
[7] The
things that my soul refused to touch are as my sorrowful meat.
The things, … —
The sense may be, those grievous afflictions, which I dreaded the very thought
of, are now my daily, though sorrowful bread.
Verse 9
[9] Even
that it would please God to destroy me; that he would let loose his hand, and
cut me off!
Destroy — To
end my days and calamities together.
Verse 10
[10] Then
should I yet have comfort; yea, I would harden myself in sorrow: let him not
spare; for I have not concealed the words of the Holy One.
Harden — I
would bear up with courage under all my torments, with the hopes of death, and
blessedness after death.
Spare —
Not suffer me to live any longer.
Concealed — As
I have steadfastly believed them, and not wilfully departed from them, so I
have not been ashamed, nor afraid, boldly to profess and preach the true
religion in the midst of Heathens. And therefore I know if God doth cut me off,
I shall be a gainer by it.
Verse 11
[11] What
is my strength, that I should hope? and what is mine end, that I should prolong
my life?
Strength — My
strength is so spent, that it is vain for me to hope for such restitution as
thou hast promised me, chap. 5:22.
End —
What is death to me? It is not terrible, but comfortable.
That —
Then why should I desire to prolong my life. But as desirous of death as Job
was, yet he never offered to put an end to his own life. Such a thought will
never be entertained by any, that have the least regard to the law of God and
nature. How uneasy soever the soul's confinement in the body may be, it must by
no means break the prison, but wait for a fair discharge.
Verse 12
[12] Is
my strength the strength of stones? or is my flesh of brass
Is, … — I
am not made of stone or brass, but of flesh and blood, as others are, therefore
I am unable to endure these miseries longer, and can neither hope for. nor
desire the continuance of my life.
Verse 13
[13] Is
not my help in me? and is wisdom driven quite from me?
What, … — If
my outward condition be helpless and hopeless? Have I therefore lost my
understanding, cannot I judge whether it is more desirable for me to live or to
die, whether I be an hypocrite or no, whether your words have truth and weight
in them; whether you take the right method in dealing with me?
Verse 14
[14] To
him that is afflicted pity should be shewed from his friend; but he forsaketh
the fear of the Almighty.
To him —
Heb. to him that is melted or dissolved with affections.
But. … —
But thou hast no pity for thy friend; a plain evidence that thou art guilty of
what thou didst charge me with, even of the want of the fear of God. The least
which those that are at ease can do for them that are pained, is to pity them,
to feel a tender concern for them, and to sympathize with them.
Verse 15
[15] My
brethren have dealt deceitfully as a brook, and as the stream of brooks they
pass away;
Brethren —
Friends; for though Eliphaz only had spoken, the other two shewed their
approbation of his discourse.
Deceitfully —
Adding to the afflictions which they said they came to remove. And it is no new
thing, for even brethren to deal deceitfully. It is therefore our wisdom to
cease from man. We cannot expect too little from the creature, or too much from
the creator.
Verse 16
[16]
Which are blackish by reason of the ice, and wherein the snow is hid:
Which —
Which in winter when the traveller neither needs nor desires it, are full of
water congealed by the frost.
Snow —
Under which the water from snow, which formerly fell, and afterward was
dissolved, lies hid. So he speaks not of those brooks which are fed by a
constant spring, but of them which are filled by accidental falls of water or
snow.
Verse 17
[17] What
time they wax warm, they vanish: when it is hot, they are consumed out of their
place.
Warm —
When the weather grows milder.
Hot — In
the hot season, when waters are most refreshing and necessary.
Verse 18
[18] The
paths of their way are turned aside; they go to nothing, and perish.
Perish —
They are gone out of their channel, flowing hither and thither, 'till they are
quite consumed.
Verse 19
[19] The
troops of Tema looked, the companies of Sheba waited for them.
Tema —
This place and Sheba were both parts of the hot and dry country of Arabia, in
which waters were very scarce, and therefore precious and desirable, especially
to travellers.
Companies —
Men did not there travel singly, as we do, but in companies for their security
against wild beasts and robbers.
Verse 20
[20] They
were confounded because they had hoped; they came thither, and were ashamed.
Hoped —
They comforted themselves with the expectation of water.
Ashamed — As
having deceived themselves and others. We prepare confusion for ourselves, by
our vain hopes: the reeds break under us, because we lean upon them.
Verse 21
[21] For
now ye are nothing; ye see my casting down, and are afraid.
Nothing —
You are to me as if you had never come to me; for I have no comfort from you.
Afraid —
You are shy of me, and afraid for yourselves, lest some further plagues should
come upon me, wherein you for my sake, should be involved: or, lest I should be
burdensome to you.
Verse 22
[22] Did
I say, Bring unto me? or, Give a reward for me of your substance?
Did I say —
Give me something for my support or relief. You might have at least given me
comfortable words, when I expected nothing else from you.
Verse 23
[23] Or,
Deliver me from the enemy's hand? or, Redeem me from the hand of the mighty?
Deliver — By
the force of your arms, as Abraham delivered Lot.
Redeem — By
price or ransom.
Verse 24
[24]
Teach me, and I will hold my tongue: and cause me to understand wherein I have
erred.
Teach —
Convince me by solid arguments.
I will — I
will patiently hear and gladly receive your counsels.
Verse 25
[25] How
forcible are right words! but what doth your arguing reprove?
Forcible —
The words of truth have a marvellous power.
Reprove —
But there is no truth in your assertions or weight in your arguments.
Verse 26
[26] Do
ye imagine to reprove words, and the speeches of one that is desperate, which
are as wind?
Words — Do
you think it is sufficient to quarrel with some of my words, without giving
allowance for human infirmity, or extreme misery.
Desperate — Of
a poor miserable, hopeless and helpless man.
As wind —
Which pass away and are forgotten.
Verse 27
[27] Yea,
ye overwhelm the fatherless, and ye dig a pit for your friend.
Overwhelm —
You load with censures and calumnies.
Desolate — Me
who am deprived of all my children, my estate, and my friends. I spoke all I
thought, as to my friends, and you thence occasion to cast me down.
Verse 28
[28] Now
therefore be content, look upon me; for it is evident unto you if I lie.
Look —
Consider my cause better than you have done, that you may give a more righteous
judgment.
Evident —
You will plainly discover it.
Verse 29
[29]
Return, I pray you, let it not be iniquity; yea, return again, my righteousness
is in it.
Return —
Turn from your former judgment.
Iniquity —
Or, there shall be no iniquity, in my words.
Righteousness — In
this cause or matter between you and me; and you will find the right to be on
my side.
Verse 30
[30] Is
there iniquity in my tongue? cannot my taste discern perverse things?
Is there —
Consider if there be any untruth or iniquity in what I have already said, or
shall farther speak.
Taste — My
judgment, which judgeth of words and actions, as the palate doth of meats.
── John Wesley《Explanatory Notes on Job》
06 Chapter 6
Verses 1-30
But Job answered and said.
Job’s answer to Eliphaz
We must come upon grief in one of two ways and Job seems to have
come upon grief in a way that is to be deprecated. He came upon it late in
life. He was in solid prosperity and positive and genuine comfort. Grief must
tell heavily whenever it comes upon a man in such a condition. This accounts
for his lamentation, and whine, and long-drawn threnody. He was not accustomed
to it. Some have been born into trouble, and they have become acclimatised.
Blessed are they who come upon grief in that method. Such a method appears to
be the method of real mercy. Grief must come. The devil allows no solitary life
to pass upward into heaven without fighting its way at some point or other.
Grief delights in monologue. Job seems scarcely to lay himself down mentally
upon the line adopted by Eliphaz. It is most difficult to find the central line
of Job’s speech. Too much logic would have spoiled the grief. Reasoning there
is, but it comes and goes; it changes its tone; it strikes the facts of life as
the trained fingers of the player might strike a chord of music. Note how interrogative
is Job’s speech. More than twenty questions occur in Job’s reply. Grief is
great in interrogation. Job is asking, “Are the old foundations still here?
Things have surely been changed in the nighttime, for I am unaccustomed to what
is now round about me.” Notice how many misunderstandings there are in the
speech of the suffering man! Job not only misunderstood his friends and his
pain, he misunderstood all men, and the whole system and scheme of things. How
suffering not rightly accepted or understood colours and perverts the whole
thought and service of life! Job thinks life not worth living. So much depends
on our mental mood, or our spiritual condition. Hence the need of our being
braced up, fired, made strong. We are what we really are in our heart and mind.
Keep the soul right and it will rule the body. The Bible never shrinks from
telling us that there is grief in the world, and that grief can be accounted
for on moral principles. The Bible measures the grief, never makes light of it.
But it can be sanctified, turned into blessing. Any book which so speaks as it
does deserves the confidence of men who know the weight and bitterness of
suffering. Do not come to the Bible only for condolence and sympathy; come to
it for instruction, inspiration, and then you may come to it for consolation,
sympathy, tenderest comfort, for the very dew of the morning, for the balm of
heaven, for the very touch of Christ. (J. Parker, D. D.)
Job’s first reply
In his reply to Eliphaz, Job first takes hold of the charge of
impatience and hasty indignation made in the opening of the fifth chapter. He
is quite aware that his words were rash when he cursed his day and cried
impatiently for death. But had Eliphaz duly considered his state, the weight of
his trouble causing a physical sense of indescribable oppression? We need not
fall into the mistake of supposing that it is only the pain of his disease
which makes Job’s misery so heavy. Rather is it that his troubles have come
from God; they are “the arrows of the Almighty.” Mere suffering and loss, even
to the extremity of death, he could have borne without a murmur, But he had
thought God to be his friend. Why on a sudden have these darts been launched
against him by the hand he trusted? What does the Almighty mean? The evil-doer
who suffers knows why he is afflicted. The martyr, enduring for conscience’
sake, has his support in the truth to which he bears witness, the holy cause
for which he dies. Job has no explanation, no support. He cannot understand
Providence. The God with whom he supposed himself to be at peace suddenly
becomes an angry, incomprehensible Power, blighting and destroying His
servant’s life. Existence poisoned, the couch of ashes encompassed with
terrors, is it any wonder that passionate words break forth from his lips? A
cry is the last power left to him. So it is with many. The seeming needlessness
of their sufferings, the impossibility of tracing these to any cause in their
past history, in a word, the mystery of the pain confounds the mind and adds to
anguish and desolation an unspeakable horror of darkness. Sometimes the very
thing guarded against is that which happens; a man’s best intelligence appears
confuted by destiny or chance. Why has he, amongst the many, been chosen for
this? Do all things come alike to all, righteous and wicked? The problem
becomes terribly acute in the case of earnest, God-fearing men and women who
have not yet found the real theory of suffering. Endurance for others does not
always explain. All cannot be rested on that. Nor, unless we speak falsely for
God, will it avail to say, These afflictions have fallen on us for our sins.
For even if the conscience does not give the lie to that assertion, as Job’s
conscience did, the question demands a clear answer, why the penitent should
suffer--those who believe--to whom God imputes no iniquity. If it is for our
transgression we suffer, either our own faith and religion are vain, or God
does not forgive excepting in form, and the law of punishment retains its
force. We have here the serious difficulty that legal fictions seem to hold
their ground even in the dealings of the Most High with those who trust Him The
truth is, that suffering has no proportion to the guilt of sin, but is related
in the scheme of Divine providence to life in this world, its movement,
discipline, and perfecting in the individual and the race. (Robert A.
Watson, D. D.)
Job’s great suffering
It was--
I. Unappreciated
by men. This is the meaning of the first five verses. Eliphaz had no conception
of the profundity and poignancy of Job’s suffering. There are two things
indicated here in relation to them.
1. They were unutterable. “My words are swallowed up.” His whole
humanity was in torture.
2. They were irrepressible. “Doth the wild ass bray when tie hath
grass? Or loweth the ox over his fodder?” The idea here is, I cannot but cry;
my cries spring from my agonies. Had not the wild ass his grass, he would bray
with a ravenous hunger; and had not the ox his fodder, he too would low in an
agony for food; this is nature, and my cries are natural--I cannot help them.
Who can be silent in torture? His suffering was--
II. Misunderstood
by friends. “Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any
taste in the white of an egg?” This language seems to me to point to Job’s
impression of the address which Eliphaz had delivered to him. Job seemed to
feel--
1. That the address of Eliphaz was utterly insipid. “Can that which
is unsavoury be eaten without salt?” As if he had said, your speech lacks that
which can make it savoury to me; it does not apply: you misunderstand my
sufferings: I suffer not because I am a great sinner, as you seem to imply: my
own conscience attests my rectitude: nor because I need this terrible
chastisement, as you have said: you neither understand the cause nor the nature
of my sufferings, therefore your talk is beside the mark.
2. That the address of Eliphaz was truly offensive. “The things that
my soul refused to touch are as my sorrowful meats.” Does not this mean what
Dr. Bernard says, “the things you speak--your unmeaning, insipid words and
similes--are as the loathsomeness of my food, or are as loathsome to my soul as
food now is to my body”? You intrude remarks on me that are not only tasteless,
because of their unsuitability, but that are as disgusting as loathsome food.
III. Intolerable to
himself. He longed for death; he believed that in the grave he would have rest.
1. Though his life was unbearable, he would not take it away himself.
He felt that he Was not the proprietor, only the trustee of his life.
2. He was not forgetful of his relation to his Maker. “I have not
concealed the words of the Holy One.” I have not shunned to declare my
attachment to Himself and His cause. His sufferings did not obliterate his
memory of his Creator, drive him from His presence, or impel him to blasphemy
or atheism. No, he still held on. God was the Great Object in his horizon; he
saw Him through the thick hot steam of his fiery trials.
3. Though his life was unbearable, he knew that it could not last
long. “What is my strength that I should hope? and what is mine end that I
should prolong my life?” etc. Whether God will loose His hand and cut me off,
and thus put an end to my existence or not, I cannot endure long. I am not made
“of stone or brass,” and I cannot stand these sufferings long. However powerful
the human frame may be, great sufferings must sooner or later break it to
pieces.
4. Though his life was unbearable, he was conscious of an inner
strength. “Is not my help in me? And is wisdom driven quite from me?” No
strength like this, physical strength is good, intellectual strength is better,
but moral strength is the best of all. (Homilist.)
But Job answered and said.
Job’s answer to Eliphaz
We must come upon grief in
one of two ways and Job seems to have come upon grief in a way that is to be
deprecated. He came upon it late in life. He was in solid prosperity and
positive and genuine comfort. Grief must tell heavily whenever it comes upon a
man in such a condition. This accounts for his lamentation, and whine, and
long-drawn threnody. He was not accustomed to it. Some have been born into
trouble, and they have become acclimatised. Blessed are they who come upon
grief in that method. Such a method appears to be the method of real mercy.
Grief must come. The devil allows no solitary life to pass upward into heaven
without fighting its way at some point or other. Grief delights in monologue. Job
seems scarcely to lay himself down mentally upon the line adopted by Eliphaz.
It is most difficult to find the central line of Job’s speech. Too much logic
would have spoiled the grief. Reasoning there is, but it comes and goes; it
changes its tone; it strikes the facts of life as the trained fingers of the
player might strike a chord of music. Note how interrogative is Job’s speech.
More than twenty questions occur in Job’s reply. Grief is great in
interrogation. Job is asking, “Are the old foundations still here? Things have
surely been changed in the nighttime, for I am unaccustomed to what is now
round about me.” Notice how many misunderstandings there are in the speech of
the suffering man! Job not only misunderstood his friends and his pain, he misunderstood
all men, and the whole system and scheme of things. How suffering not rightly
accepted or understood colours and perverts the whole thought and service of
life! Job thinks life not worth living. So much depends on our mental mood, or
our spiritual condition. Hence the need of our being braced up, fired, made
strong. We are what we really are in our heart and mind. Keep the soul right
and it will rule the body. The Bible never shrinks from telling us that there
is grief in the world, and that grief can be accounted for on moral principles.
The Bible measures the grief, never makes light of it. But it can be
sanctified, turned into blessing. Any book which so speaks as it does deserves
the confidence of men who know the weight and bitterness of suffering. Do not
come to the Bible only for condolence and sympathy; come to it for instruction,
inspiration, and then you may come to it for consolation, sympathy, tenderest
comfort, for the very dew of the morning, for the balm of heaven, for the very
touch of Christ. (J. Parker, D. D.)
Job’s first reply
In his reply to Eliphaz,
Job first takes hold of the charge of impatience and hasty indignation made in
the opening of the fifth chapter. He is quite aware that his words were rash
when he cursed his day and cried impatiently for death. But had Eliphaz duly
considered his state, the weight of his trouble causing a physical sense of
indescribable oppression? We need not fall into the mistake of supposing that
it is only the pain of his disease which makes Job’s misery so heavy. Rather is
it that his troubles have come from God; they are “the arrows of the Almighty.”
Mere suffering and loss, even to the extremity of death, he could have borne
without a murmur, But he had thought God to be his friend. Why on a sudden have
these darts been launched against him by the hand he trusted? What does the
Almighty mean? The evil-doer who suffers knows why he is afflicted. The martyr,
enduring for conscience’ sake, has his support in the truth to which he bears
witness, the holy cause for which he dies. Job has no explanation, no support.
He cannot understand Providence. The God with whom he supposed himself to be at
peace suddenly becomes an angry, incomprehensible Power, blighting and
destroying His servant’s life. Existence poisoned, the couch of ashes
encompassed with terrors, is it any wonder that passionate words break forth
from his lips? A cry is the last power left to him. So it is with many. The
seeming needlessness of their sufferings, the impossibility of tracing these to
any cause in their past history, in a word, the mystery of the pain confounds
the mind and adds to anguish and desolation an unspeakable horror of darkness.
Sometimes the very thing guarded against is that which happens; a man’s best
intelligence appears confuted by destiny or chance. Why has he, amongst the
many, been chosen for this? Do all things come alike to all, righteous and
wicked? The problem becomes terribly acute in the case of earnest, God-fearing
men and women who have not yet found the real theory of suffering. Endurance
for others does not always explain. All cannot be rested on that. Nor, unless
we speak falsely for God, will it avail to say, These afflictions have fallen
on us for our sins. For even if the conscience does not give the lie to that
assertion, as Job’s conscience did, the question demands a clear answer, why
the penitent should suffer--those who believe--to whom God imputes no iniquity.
If it is for our transgression we suffer, either our own faith and religion are
vain, or God does not forgive excepting in form, and the law of punishment
retains its force. We have here the serious difficulty that legal fictions seem
to hold their ground even in the dealings of the Most High with those who trust
Him The truth is, that suffering has no proportion to the guilt of sin, but is
related in the scheme of Divine providence to life in this world, its movement,
discipline, and perfecting in the individual and the race. (Robert A.
Watson, D. D.)
Job’s great suffering
It was--
I. Unappreciated
by men. This is the meaning of the first five verses. Eliphaz had no conception
of the profundity and poignancy of Job’s suffering. There are two things
indicated here in relation to them.
1. They
were unutterable. “My words are swallowed up.” His whole humanity was in
torture.
2. They
were irrepressible. “Doth the wild ass bray when tie hath grass? Or loweth the
ox over his fodder?” The idea here is, I cannot but cry; my cries spring from
my agonies. Had not the wild ass his grass, he would bray with a ravenous
hunger; and had not the ox his fodder, he too would low in an agony for food;
this is nature, and my cries are natural--I cannot help them. Who can be silent
in torture? His suffering was--
II. Misunderstood
by friends. “Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any
taste in the white of an egg?” This language seems to me to point to Job’s
impression of the address which Eliphaz had delivered to him. Job seemed to
feel--
1. That
the address of Eliphaz was utterly insipid. “Can that which is unsavoury be
eaten without salt?” As if he had said, your speech lacks that which can make
it savoury to me; it does not apply: you misunderstand my sufferings: I suffer
not because I am a great sinner, as you seem to imply: my own conscience
attests my rectitude: nor because I need this terrible chastisement, as you
have said: you neither understand the cause nor the nature of my sufferings,
therefore your talk is beside the mark.
2. That
the address of Eliphaz was truly offensive. “The things that my soul refused to
touch are as my sorrowful meats.” Does not this mean what Dr. Bernard says,
“the things you speak--your unmeaning, insipid words and similes--are as the
loathsomeness of my food, or are as loathsome to my soul as food now is to my
body”? You intrude remarks on me that are not only tasteless, because of their
unsuitability, but that are as disgusting as loathsome food.
III. Intolerable
to himself. He longed for death; he believed that in the grave he would have
rest.
1. Though
his life was unbearable, he would not take it away himself. He felt that he Was
not the proprietor, only the trustee of his life.
2. He
was not forgetful of his relation to his Maker. “I have not concealed the words
of the Holy One.” I have not shunned to declare my attachment to Himself and
His cause. His sufferings did not obliterate his memory of his Creator, drive
him from His presence, or impel him to blasphemy or atheism. No, he still held
on. God was the Great Object in his horizon; he saw Him through the thick hot
steam of his fiery trials.
3. Though
his life was unbearable, he knew that it could not last long. “What is my
strength that I should hope? and what is mine end that I should prolong my
life?” etc. Whether God will loose His hand and cut me off, and thus put an end
to my existence or not, I cannot endure long. I am not made “of stone or
brass,” and I cannot stand these sufferings long. However powerful the human
frame may be, great sufferings must sooner or later break it to pieces.
4. Though
his life was unbearable, he was conscious of an inner strength. “Is not my help
in me? And is wisdom driven quite from me?” No strength like this, physical
strength is good, intellectual strength is better, but moral strength is the
best of all. (Homilist.)
Verse 2
Oh that my grief were
thoroughly weighed.
Heaping up one scale
We have no objection to
weigh all Job’s griefs. But what shall we put in the other scale? He who counts
the hairs of our head, and puts our tears in a bottle, will not make light of
human grief. In His scale it will be weighed to the utmost grain. But God has
two scales, whereas Job has evidently only one.
1. In
one scale look how he has put his self. The first personal pronoun is heavy
enough in these speeches. Job’s friends perceived his egoistic spirit, and
heaped up therefore the opposite scale. What art thou compared to the Eternal?
Very sublime is the God whom Eliphaz puts over against Job. He fills all--man
is nothing. No man’s thoughts or sufferings are to be seen or heard or reckoned
against the Absolute. But should I not say “I”? Am I in no sense to feel myself
and be an egoist? in my solemn hours I cannot but know and dwell with a very
real being within me which is my ego. God and sin are nothing to me unless
first of all I have a personality, What is the indwelling of Christ, unless I
have a separate individuality Into which He can come? David says, “I am a
little lower than the angels.” May I not say the same? Yes, say it; say it loud
and clear. But balance it. Put into the other scale, for example, your fellow
men. Other men have as intense a self as you. They, too, are crowned with glory
and dignity, and have their range of feelings, strong and tender, like thyself.
“Let each esteem other better than himself.” Put also into the other scale over
against thyself the great Other. Down on the seashore when we wander, or when
we look out on the starry heavens, how clearly and with all its mystery we say
“I.” But as we say it, there comes back from the ebon walls of night the echo
of the voice of That Other, which brings ourself into equilibrium. We sweep our
hands out and whisper to ourselves, “my power,” or we lift up our heads, proud
in the consciousness of our knowledge. But when God sweeps His hand across the
heavens, or lifts up the might of His knowledge, then the pride of the human
heart is humbled. We bow our heads in silence; not crushed out of all
consciousness, but balanced and rightly weighed by the thoughts of men and God.
2. Job’s
egoism arose from his sorrow. How much he makes of his afflictions. His howling
is dismal. Chapters 6 and 7 are one long lamentation, with much poetry in them,
but truly a terrible heaping up of one scale. What shall we do to balance human
sorrow? Laugh at it? Call it nothing? Call it commonplace? Nay, let us try and
put something over against it which may outweigh it. Philosopher! hast thou
aught which can balance a broken heart or a soul convulsed with agony? Surely
thou hast something. Let us try your maxims, your precepts of self-control and
of wholesome thought. Put them into the opposite scale; Bacon’s “Essay on
Adversity,” beautiful extracts from Marcus Aurelius. Put them all in. Now lift
up the balance and see. Ah! they weigh nothing. Scientist! canst thou do this
great work? Go and tell Job your germ theories. Explain to him the nature of
his sloughing sores, and see if you can answer his complaint. No, never.
Religionist, what can you put into the opposite scale? Let us hear your
doctrine. “God is the potter and man the clay. We are creatures of His, and He
can do as seems best. Let us learn to submit to His sovereign will. The
discipline is good, though bitter.” Oh, what bitter drops of acid are all these
to wounded souls. You only crush a man when you hurl at him, at such a time,
God’s sovereignty. No, lot us put into the opposite scale human sympathy. Let
us acknowledge all the pain and sorrow and affliction of the sufferer. Let us
suffer it, and feel its weight. Let our tears flow. Put our sufferings and our
feelings into the opposite scale. Let us seek to put God’s sympathy into the
opposite scale. Not the absolute hard stern Deity Eliphaz labours to construct.
Let us speak of His tenderness and pity. Is it not said, Jesus wept? Christ’s
tears will outweigh ours. When looking down into the dark and horrid grave,
listen what Christ says, “Thy brother shall rise again.” That is Christ’s
sympathy to balance thy crushing pain.
3. Job
asks of God the question, “What have I done?” Ah! well might he heap up that
scale; piling up to the heavens his sins, and offences, and ignorance. Probably
there would be no scale large enough to hold our iniquities. Is this right? Oh
yes. Know thy sins, O soul, all of them, black as hell and heavy as lead, and
high enough to hide the light of heaven. But be not men of one idea. Have two
ideas. Look into the other scale and see, if you can, a drop of Christ’s
precious blood. Lift up the scales, and see if this drop of precious blood does
not balance all your sins. Yes! Thank God it does, cries out Bunyan. Nay, more,
it outweighs them. “The blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanseth us from all
sin.” (J. D. Watters, M. A.)
Afflictions weighed
1. It is
a duty to weigh the saddest estate and afflicted condition of our brethren
thoroughly. But what is it to weigh them thoroughly? It is not only to weigh
the matter of an affliction, to see what it is which a man suffers, but to
weigh an affliction in every circumstance and aggravation of it; the
circumstance of an affliction is often more considerable then the matter of the
affliction. If a man would confess his sins, he is to confess not only the
matter of them, as sins are the transgressions of the law, and errors against
the rule, but he must eye the manner in which sin hath been committed, the
circumstances with which it is clothed, these render his sin out of measure,
and out of weight sinful. Likewise, would a man consider the mercies and
favours received from God, would he know them thoroughly, and see how much they
weigh, let him look, not only what, but how, and when, and where, and by whom
he hath received them. There may be a great wickedness in a little evil
committed, and a great mercy in a little good received. Secondly, He that would
weigh an affliction thoroughly, must put himself in the case of the afflicted,
and (as it were) make another’s grief his own: he must act the passions of his
brother, and a while personate the poor, the sick, the afflicted man: he must
get a taste of the wormwood and of the gall upon which his brother feedeth: in
a word, he must lay such a condition to heart. In these two points, this holy
art of weighing grief, consists: consideration of circumstances, and sympathy
of the smart. Mere speculation moves little. We have no feeling of another’s
suffering, till we have a fellow feeling. The bare theory of affliction affects
no more than the bare theory of fire heats.
2. It is
an addition to a man’s affliction, when others are not sensible of his affliction.
Our high priest is none of your senseless priests, who care not what the people
endure, so they be warm and at ease.
3. We
can never rightly judge till we thoroughly weigh the condition of an afflicted
brother. For Job conceived that Eliphaz proceeded to judgment before he had
been in consideration.
4. A man
who hath not been, or is not afflicted himself, can hardly apprehend what
another endures who is under affliction. If we had a Mediator in heaven that
had not been tempted on earth, we might doubt whether He would be touched with
the feeling of our infirmities, whether sinning infirmities or sorrowing
infirmities. (J. Caryl.)
Verse 4
For the arrows of the
Almighty are within me.
Sharp arrows
Arrows are--
1. Swift.
2. Secret.
3. Sharp.
4. Killing.
(J. Caryl.)
The poisoned arrows of the
Almighty
By “poisoned arrows” we
must understand, not only his boils, the heat and inflammation of which had
dried up Job’s moisture, vigour, and strength, but all his other outward
troubles also, which stuck fast in him; and his inward temptations, and sense
of God’s wrath flowing therefrom, which, like the inward deep wound of the
arrow, had, by the furious poison thereof, so exhausted him that he was ready
to faint, and give it over. Learn--
1. Though
to quarrel and complain of God, in any case, be a great fault, yet it pleads
for much compassion to saints when they do not make a stir about their lot,
except when their trouble is extreme.
2. It is
the duty of those in trouble to turn their eyes off all instruments, that they
may look to God.
3. As it
is our duty always to entertain high and reverent thoughts of God, so trouble
will cause men to know His almighty power.
4. It is
a humbling sight of God Almighty’s power in trouble, when His strokes are like
arrows, and do not only pierce deep, and come suddenly and swiftly upon men, as
an arrow doth, but especially do speak God angry at them, in that He makes them
His burr (target) at which He shoots.
5. In
this case of Job, the number of troubles doth contribute much to afflict the
child of God, every particular stroke adding to the weight.
6. Albeit
sharp troubles, inflicted by the hand of God, be very sad to the people of God,
yet all that is easy in comparison of the apprehension of God’s anger in the
trouble and perplexities of spirit, and temptations arising upon those
troubles.
7. Temptations,
and sense of Divine displeasure under trouble, will soon exhaust created
strength, and make the spirits of men succumb.
8. It is
a great addition to the present troubles and temptations of saints, when
terrors and fears for the future do assault and perplex them; especially when
they apprehend that God is pursuing them by these terrors.
9. When once
a broken mind is haunted with terrors add fears, their wit and fancy may
multiply them beyond what they are, or will be, in reality. (George
Hutcheson.)
Of religious melancholy
Job’s affliction was sent
to him for the trial of an exemplary and unshaken virtue; and because it was
sent for that reason only, and not as any mark of Divine displeasure, therefore
how great soever the calamity was in another respect, yet was it by no means
insupportable, because there still remained to him the great foundation of
comfort, in the assurance of a good conscience, and the expectation of God’s
final favour. He had in his own mind, even in the midst of his affliction, the
satisfaction to reflect with pleasure on his past behaviour, and to strengthen
his resolutions of continuing in the same course for the future. Though no
calamity could well be heavier than that of Job, yet when the disposition of
the person comes also to be taken into the act, there is a trouble far greater
than his, namely, when the storm falls where there is no preparation to bear
it; when the assault is made from without, and within there is nothing to
resist it. In other cases, the spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but
when the spirit itself is wounded, who can bear it? There is another state,
most melancholy and truly pitiable, and that is of those who, neither by the
immediate appointment of Providence, as in the case of Job, nor by the proper
effect of their own wickedness, as in the case of an evil conscience, but by
their own imagination and groundless fears, by indisposition of body and
disorder of mind, by false notions of God and themselves, are made very
miserable in their own minds. They fancy, though without sufficient reason,
that the arrows of the Almighty are within them. Consider the chief occasions
of such religious melancholy.
1. Indisposition
or distemper of body. This is by no means to be neglected, slighted, or
despised: for, as the mind operates continually upon the body, so the body
likewise will of necessity influence and operate upon the mind. It is not
unusual to see the good understanding even of a reasonable person, borne down
and overburdened by bodily disorder. The principal sign by which we may judge
when the indisposition is chiefly or wholly in the body is this, that the
person accuses himself highly in general, without being able to give any
instances in particular; that he is very apprehensive, of he does not well know
what; and fearful, yet can give no reason why. The misery is very real, though
without good foundation. In such cases all endeavours ought to be used to
remove the bodily indisposition.
2. Want
of improvement under the exercise of religious duties is complained of. Many
piously and well-disposed persons, but of timorous and melancholy constitutions,
are under continual apprehensions that they do not grow better, that they make
little or no improvement in the ways of religion, and that they cannot find in
themselves such a fervent zeal and love towards God, as they think is necessary
to denominate them good Christians. If by want of improvement is only meant
want of warmth and affection in the performance of their duty, then there is no
just ground for trouble of mind upon that account. In the same person there are
sure to be different degrees of affection at different times, according to the
varying tempers of the body. No man can keep up at all times an equal vigour of
mind. Vain suspicions that our obedience proceeds not from a right principle,
from a true and unfeigned love of God, are by no means any just cause for
uneasiness of mind, provided that we sincerely perform that obedience, by a
life of virtue and true holiness.
3. An
apprehension of exclusion from mercy by some positive decree and
fore-appointment of God. From nature and reason, this apprehension cannot
arise. Nor in Scripture is there any foundation for any such apprehension.
There may be some obscure texts, which unstable persons may be apt to
misinterpret to their own and others disquiet; but surely the whole tenour,
design, and aim of Scripture should be the interpreter of particular passages.
The plain texts should be the rule by which the obscurer ones are interpreted.
It is quite evident that there is no ground in Scripture for any pious person
to apprehend that possibly he may be excluded from mercy by any positive decree
or fore-appointment of God.
4. The
fear of having committed the sin against the Holy Ghost. But distinguish
between sin against the Holy Ghost and blasphemy against the Holy Ghost. Such
blasphemy was the sign of an incurably wicked and malicious disposition. It is
quite impossible for any truly sincere and well-meaning person to be guilty of
this malignity, or to have any reason of apprehending he can possibly have
fallen into it.
5. A
cause of much trouble to some is found in wicked and blasphemous thoughts.
These are not so much sin as weakness of imagination arising from infirmity of
body. They may he only signs of a tender conscience, and of a pious disposed
mind.
6. Another
cause is the conscience of past great sins, and of present remaining
infirmities. Infirmities as weaknesses and omissions, are fully allowed for in
the Gospel. Forgiveness of them is annexed to our daily prayers. And sins
blotted out, ought to be forgotten by us, as God says they are by Him. (S.
Clarke, D. D.)
Verse 5
Doth the wild ass bray
when he hath grass?
The satisfied ass
The patriarch introduces
this illustration to prove to his friends that his complainings were not in
vain. His troubles were not imaginative. This quaint subject is instructive and
interesting to all. It teaches two lessons.
I. He
who is satisfied does not complain. He goes straight on to the enjoyment of the
possession he has acquired. The ox or the ass that has abundance of food does
not make lamentation. Job meant to say that this was the case with him. If he
were only reaping the fruit of his conduct, he would not complain; or even if
his suffering had been the result of sinful indulgence, or came to him from
evil doing, or thinking, he would have submitted. But he suffered greatly,
knowing at the same time that he was altogether innocent. He had not received
his just reward, and therefore he did complain.
II. Employment
is the root of content. Laziness breeds contention. The man who has honest work
to do, and does it, eats and is satisfied. It is your hungry, idle men who are
agitators. It is so--
1. Because
the busy man has no time for brooding on his cares. The ass or the ox at his
food has something to occupy his attention, and has therefore not a moment to
spare for braying.
2. Because
he has no opportunity for shallow noise. If he wished to bray or low, the very
fact of having his mouth full would prevent him. So men whose hands are full of
employment, cannot cast down the work they are engaged upon, for the mere sake
of airing their grievances. When the wild ass has been well filled, and when
the ox has finished his fodder, then they will waste their time in mischief and
discontent. The proper remedy for restless agitation is plenty of work, and the
labour which is ever necessary to procure and prepare our daily wants. (J.
J. S. Bird.)
Verse 6
Can that which is
unsavoury be eaten without salt?
Seasoning for Christianity
Salt gives a zest to many
unpalatable things, and is an invaluable condiment. The health, the digestion,
the entire well-being of man, demand its use. The patriarch is alluding to those
matters which give zest to life, even as salt gives zest to food. Some things
axe pleasant enough to eat, and require nothing wherewith to be seasoned. Sugar
is sweet in itself. So there are some occupations and pleasures of life which
need nothing to render them enjoyable. But there are other things which, like
unsavoury or tasteless food, demand some addition to give them a zest or make
them more pleasant to perform. A few examples will make the meaning plain:--
I. Take
a mother and her babe. If we look at her disinterestedly, we shall see what a
vast amount of unpleasant labour she must undergo. No toil is too great, no
work too exhausting, no effort too repulsive. In itself such patience or
self-denial would be considered an intolerable hardship. But when the unsavoury
morsel is taken with the salt of love, how sweet to the taste does it become!
What would otherwise be a painful labour is turned into a delightful joy.
II. Take
a man and his business. What is business but a toil--a painful, bitter, wearisome
contest, rising early and toiling late? It is One of the unsavoury things to
which the words of the patriarch may allude. To swallow it for its own sake
alone would cause a good many to make a very wry face. And what is the salt of
business? Why, it is money and gain. What a zest these impart to the hardest
labour and the early toil! How sweetly goes down the hardship when the clinking
coins are counted from the till at night.
III. Take
the toiling student. How hard he labours over his midnight lamp! Amusement is
forsworn, pleasures and relaxation are given up. But the flavour improves when
eaten with the salt of ambition or the desire of honour. Then the toil is
transformed into a pleasure and the trouble into a labour of love.
IV. So
also we may take the Christian soldier. Who can say that the Christian life is
pleasant in itself? It is humiliation, sorrow, bitterness, disappointment. It
means an apparently unavailing contest with powers that are more powerful than
ourselves. But once flavour the Christian life with salt, and how different it
becomes! Flavour the bitterness with the love of God, the blessed sympathy of
Christ, the glorious reward beyond, and then as the golden sunshine gilds and
beautifies the most rugged scene, so the bitterness is turned into a sheen of
glory and the toil is forgotten. (J. J. S. Bird.)
The treatment of the
unsavoury
Unsavoury means insipid,
without taste. It is necessary to add salt in order to make it either palatable
or wholesome. The literal truth of this no one can doubt. Insipid food cannot
be relished, nor would it long sustain life. “The Orientals eat their bread
often with mere salt, without any other addition except some dry and pounded
summer savory, which last is the common method at Aleppo.” It should be remembered
also that the bread of the Orientals is commonly mere unleavened cakes. The
idea of Job in this adage or proverb is, that there was a fitness and propriety
in things. Certain things went together, and were necessary companions. One
cannot be expected without the other; one is incomplete without the other.
Insipid food requires salt in order to make it palatable and nutritious, and so
it is proper that suffering and humiliation should be united. There was a
reason for his complaints, as there was for adding salt to unsavoury food. Some
have supposed that Job means to rebuke Eliphaz severely for his harangue on the
necessity of patience, which he characterises as insipid, impertinent, and
disgusting to him; as being, in fact, as unpleasant to his soul as the white of
an egg was to his taste. Dr. Good explains it as meaning, “Doth that which hath
nothing of seasoning, nothing of a pungent or irritating power, within it,
produce pungency or irritation? I, too, should be quiet, and complain not if I
had nothing provocative or acrimonious; but, alas! the food I am doomed to
partake of is the very calamity which is most acute to my soul, that which I
most loathe, and which is most grievous and trying to my palate.” But I see no
reason to think that in this he meant to reproach Eliphaz for an insipid and
unmeaning address. (Albert Barnes.)
A cure for unsavoury
meats: or, salt for the white of an egg
This is a question which
Job asked of his friends, who turned out to be so unfriendly. Thus he battles
with those “miserable comforters” who inflamed his wounds by pouring in
verjuice and vinegar instead of oil and wine. The first of them had just opened
fire upon him, and Job by this question was firing a return shot. He wanted the
three stern watchers to understand that he did not complain without cause. His
were not sorrows which he had imagined; they were real and true, and hence he
asks this question first, “Doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass? or loweth
the ox over his fodder?” If these creatures lift up their notes of complaint,
it is when they are starving. He was like one who finds no flavour in his food,
and loathes the morsel which he swallows. That which was left to him was
tasteless as the white of an egg; it yielded him no kind of comfort; in fact, it
was disgusting to him. The speech, also, to which Job had listened from Eliphaz
the Temanite did not put much sweetness into his mouth; for it was devoid of
sympathy and consolation. Here he tells them that Eliphaz had administered unto
him unsavoury meat without salt;--mere whites of eggs, without taste. Not a
word of love, pity, or fellow feeling had the Temanite uttered. We may now
forget the much tortured patriarch Job, and apply this text to ourselves.
I. The
first point will be this, that a want of savour is a very great want in
anything that is meant for food. Everybody knows that all kinds of animal life
delight in food that has a flavour in it. It is exactly the same with regard to
the food of our souls. It is a very great fault with a sermon when there is no
savour in it. It is a killing fault to the people of God when a book contains a
good deal of what may be true, but vet lacks holy savour--or what, in others
words, we call “unction.” But what and of savour is that which we expect in a
sermon?
1. I
answer, first, it is a savour of the Lord Jesus Christ.
2. The
next necessity to secure savour is a devout spirit in the preacher--a savour of
devotion.
3. Another
matter goes to make up sweet savour in a discourse, and that is, a savour of
experience. But these three things are not the whole of it. There is a sacred
something: it is not nameless, for I will name it by and by: it is a heavenly
influence which comes into man, but which has no name among the things that
belong to men. This sacred influence pervades the speaker, flavouring his
matter, and governing his spirit, while at the same time it rests upon the
hearer so that he finds his mind awake, his faculties attentive, his heart
stirred. Under this mysterious influence the hearer’s spirit is in a receptive
condition, and as he hears the truth it sinks into his soul as snowflakes drop
into the sea. Take away from any preaching or any teaching Christ as the
subject, devotion as the spirit, experience as the strength of testimony, and
the Holy Ghost as being all in all, and you have removed all the savour; and
what is left? What can we do with a savourless Gospel?
II. I
find a rendering given to the text, which, if it be not absolutely accurate,
nevertheless states an important truth, namely, that that which is unsavoury
from want of salt must not be eaten.
1. There
is a great deal in this world which is unsavoury for want of salt; I mean in
common conversation. Alas, it is easy to meet with people--and even people
wearing the Christian name--whose conversation has not a particle of salt, in
it. Nothing that tends to edification is spoken by them. Their talk has an
abundance of gaiety, but no grace in it. They exhibit any amount of frivolity,
but no godliness. Again, there is some talk in the world--I hope not among
professors--which has no salt in it even of common morality; and consequently
it corrupts, and becomes impure and obnoxious.
2. Now,
the same thing is true, not only of common conversation, but of a great deal of
modern teaching. If a man’s discoursing has not salt enough in it to keep false
doctrine out of it, it is not the kind of food for you. Clean provender is not
so scarce that you need to eat carrion.
III. The
third point is, that there are certain things in the world which need something
else with them. “Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there
any taste in the white of an egg?” There are many things in this world which we
cannot tolerate by themselves; they need seasoning with them.
1. One
of the first of these may read us a lesson of prudence; that is, reproof. It is
a Christian duty to reprove a brother who is in a fault, and we should speak to
him with all gentleness and quietness, that we may prevent his going farther
into evil, and lead him back to the right way. It is the habit of some brethren
to do everything forcibly; but in this case one needs more love than vigour,
more prudence than warmth, more grace than energy. Rebuke, however kindly you
put it, and however prudently you administer it, will always be an unsavoury
thing: therefore, salt it well. Think over it. Pray over it. Mix kindness with
it. Rub the salt of brotherly love into it. Speak with much deference to your
erring friend, and use much tenderness, because you are not faultless yourself.
Savour your admonitions with affection, and may the Lord make them acceptable
to those who need them.
2. Now
for other matters which many people do not like by themselves; I mean, the
doctrines of the Gospel. The true doctrines of the Gospel never were popular,
and never will be; but there is no need for any of us to make them more
distasteful than they naturally are. Man is a king, so he thinks, and when he
hears of another king he straightway grows rebellious. If the Gospel be
distasteful we must add a flavouring to it. What shall it be? We cannot do
better than flavour it with holiness! Where there is a holy life men cannot
easily doubt the principles out of which it springs.
3. Now,
a third egg which cannot be eaten without salt is affliction. Afflictions are
very unsavoury things. Afflictions are unsavoury meat. What is to be done with
them, then? Why, let us salt them, if we can. Salt your affliction with
patience, and it will make a royal dish. By grace, like the apostle, we shall
“glory in tribulations also.”
4. I
will not detain you longer to speak about persecution, though that is another
unsavoury article, with which salt of consolation is much to be desired.
5. But,
lastly, there is the thought of death. Is not death an unsavoury thing in
itself? The body dreads dissolution and corruption, and the mind starts back
from the prospect of quitting the warm precincts of this house of clay, and
going into what seems a cold, rarefied region, where the shivering spirit flits
naked into mystery untried. “What salt,” say you, “shall I mingle with my
thoughts of death?” Why, the thought that you cannot die; since because He
lives you shall live also. Add to it the persuasion that though you be dead,
yet shall you live. Thoughts of the resurrection and the swinging open of the
pearly gates, and of your entrance there. (C. H. Spurgeon.)
Verse 10
I have not concealed the
words of the Holy One.
Concealing the words of
God
1. The
testimony of a good conscience is the best ground of our willingness to die.
2. The
counsels of God, His truths, must be revealed. It is as dangerous, if not more,
to conceal what God hath made known, as to be inquisitive to know what God hath
concealed.
3. The study
of a godly man is to make the Word of God visible.
4. It is
a dangerous thing for any man to conceal the Word of God, either in his opinion
or in his practice. (J. Caryl.)
God, the Holy One
This is a title too big
for anyone but God. All holiness is in God. God is so holy that properly He
only is holy. God is called the Holy One in three respects: Because He is all
holy in Himself; because we receive all holiness from Him; and because we are
to serve Him in holiness and righteousness all our days. God is holy in His
nature. His essence is purity. He is holy in His Word. He is holy in His works.
These three put together lift up the glory of God in this title, “The Holy
One.” Or we may consider God, the Holy One,
1. Radically
and fundamentally, because the Divine nature is the root and original, the
spring of all holiness and purity.
2. God
is the Holy One by way of example and pattern, or in regard of the rule and
measure of holiness.
3. By
way of motive. He is, as the rule of holiness, so likewise the reason of our
holiness.
4. God
is the Holy One effectively, because He works, conveys, and propagates all
holiness to and in the creature. Man can no more make himself or another holy,
than he can redeem another or himself.
5. He is
called the Holy One by way of eminency, or super-excellence, because His
holiness is infinitely beyond all the holiness of men and angels. Holiness in
angels is a quality; holiness in God is His essence. God is above men and
angels, because He is absolutely perfect in holiness. And God is ever equally
holy, ever in the same degree and frame of holiness. The holiness of man
consists in his conformity to the holiness of God. There is a two-fold
conformity: a conformity to the nature of God, and a conformity to the will of
God, or to that which God wills. These make up the total holiness of the
creature. (Joseph Caryl.)
Concealing the words of
God
Job’s distress was
aggravated by the remarks of his friends, but he turned the guns of the enemy
upon themselves, and extracted comfort from what was meant to grieve. He had
not concealed the words of the Holy One; had taught his family the great
sacrificial truth; was a most faithful witness for God, and made open
confession of his own faith in the one holy God.
I. Here
is a sin to be avoided--concealing the words of the Holy One.
1. We
can conceal these words from ourselves. We do this when we will not permit this
word to search our own heart and ways--when we conceal the Gospel, and go about
to find out some way of our own for self-salvation. We should hide the Gospel
in our heart, but not from our heart. We conceal it when we do not receive the
whole of revelation, but pick and choose out portions of it.
2. We
conceal these words from others by not confessing the truth at all, or by a
sinful silence after confession, or by concealing the words of the Lord by our
own words, or by clouding the truth with error, or by an inconsistent life. We
must shine as lights.
II. Arguments
for avoiding this sin.
1. The
man who conceals the Word is out of order with God. The design of words is to
make known the speaker’s mind. If you conceal His words you are not in harmony
with anything God has made. All declare His glory. Think of the consequences
which would have followed if others had done so.
2. The
motive to conceal is sinful. It may be cowardice, self-love, or the avoidance
of shame.
3. By
concealing God’s words we are disloyal to God and unlike the Saviour. Think of
how this will appear on a dying bed--“I knew the saving secret, but I never
told even a child of it.” How will this look at the last day?
III. Two
methods by which we may avoid this sin.
1. By
taking care that you make an open profession of your faith and unite with the
people of God.
2. When
you have done that, by keeping yourself clear of sinful silence by very often
speaking to others of the things of God. (C. H. Spurgeon.)
Verses 14-30
To him that is afflicted pity should be showed from his friend.
A message to doubters
Such is the rendering of the Authorised Version; but,
unfortunately, it is a rendering which misses almost entirely the thought of
the sacred writer. As a glance at the context will show, the words form a part
of Job’s complaint against his friends. In the darkest hour of his need, when
he was despairing, and ready to faint, when, as he says, he was “forsaking” or
“losing his hold of the fear of the Almighty,” they had failed him. He had
looked to them for kindness, for sympathy, and trust, and lo! they had turned
against him; and what he says is this: “To him that is ready to faint, kindness
is due from his friend. Even to him that is forsaking the fear of the
Almighty.” And now, beside this retranslation, set this admirable comment from
the pen of one of our most brilliant Old Testament scholars: “How ignored,” he
says, “this great verse has been! How different were the history of religion if
men had kept it in mind! How much sweeter and swifter would the progress of
Christianity have proved! The physicians of religious perplexity have too often
been Job’s comforters; and the souls in doubt who should have been gathered to
the heart of the Church, with as much pity and care as the penitent or the
mourner, have been scorned, or cursed, or banished, or even put to death.” My
message is to doubters, to those who are forsaking or losing their hold of the
fear of the Almighty. The ministers of the temple of truth, it has been happily
said, are of three kinds: first, there are those stationed at the gate of the
temple to constrain the passers-by to enter in; secondly, there are those whose
function it is to accompany inside all who have been persuaded to enter, and
display and explain to them the treasures and secrets of the place; and thirdly,
there are those whose duty it is to patrol the temple, keeping watch and ward,
and defending the shrine from the attacks of its enemies. It was, I need hardly
say, this last duty which, in the providence of God, was assigned to Bishop
Butler. With what marvellous vigilance and skill he performed his Divinely
appointed task every student of his great work knows full well. “Defences of
Christianity” usually become obsolete as rapidly as modern weapons of warfare.
There is perhaps no class of literature to which the saying “Every age must
write its own books” more literally applies than the literature of Apologetics.
Nevertheless, greatly as the lines both of attack and defence have shifted
since the days of Butler and the eighteenth century, there are few books in the
whole range of religious literature which will so well repay the care of the
student today as Butler’s great Analogy. “Forty-five years ago,” Mr.
Gladstone once wrote in a letter to his friend James Knowles, “Bishop Butler
taught me to suspend my judgment on things I knew I did not understand. Even
with his aid, I may often have been wrong. Without him, I think I should never
have been right. And, oh! that this age knew the treasure it possesses in him,
and neglects.” Without attempting to indicate even in outline the aim and
purpose of Butler’s work, two or three points may be singled out for special
emphasis:
1. There is one lesson at least which no student of Butler can well
fail to learn, namely, to treat serious things seriously. From his youth up
Butler had been accustomed to meditate deeply on some of the greatest problems
of life and religion. The search after truth, he tells us, he had made the
business of his life. And it wounded him to the quick to hear men, who had
given scarce as many days as he had given years to thinking about Christianity,
calmly assuming it to be false, and with a light heart proclaiming to all the
world that there was “nothing in it.” That a man should be compelled,
reluctantly and sorrowfully compelled, to relinquish his old faith, and to
sever the ties that bound him to his past--that Butler could understand. But
that any man could witness the discrediting of Christianity with something like
a chuckle of satisfaction and delight, filled him with amazement. Yes, Butler
is very serious, “serious,” it has been well said, “as a gamester, serious as a
physician with life and death hanging on the clearness of his thoughts and the
courage of his resolve, serious as a general with a terrible and evenly
balanced battle on his hands.” And is not this a temper which we need more and
more to cultivate today in our handling of the great questions of religion?
There is something truly heartrending in the fashion in which nowadays men will
suffer themselves to reason about religion, cheerfully indifferent to the
magnitude of the issues at stake. Christianity may be true, Christianity may be
false; at least do not let us treat it as though its truth or falsity no more
concerned us than the truth or falsity of a mathematical proposition. Let us
realise what Christianity is, what it has done, what it is doing, before we
strive to discredit its message to men. For, remember, if Christianity be
destroyed, it will not mean simply that one star has faded from the firmament
above us; it will mean that the sun has gone forever from our sky.
2. My next point will bring us into closer grips with our subject.
Let me remind you, still following Butler’s guidance, that intellectual
difficulties may be for some of us a necessary part of our probation. I do not
mean that this, even supposing it to be true, is sufficient to dispose of our
difficulties. But it may help us to look upon them more calmly, more
reasonably, if we can learn to think of them as our part in the vast and
complex moral discipline which God has appointed for the perfecting of His
children on earth. It is not unreasonable to conclude, as Butler does, that
“what constitutes, what chiefly and peculiarly constitutes, the probation of
some may be the difficulties in which the evidence of religion is involved; and
their principal and distinguished trial may be how they will behave under and
with respect to these difficulties.” Temptation, we know, assails every man;
but the methods of the tempter are manifold. Some are tempted to covetousness,
some to indulgence of the flesh, some to quick and angry speech, some to sullen
gloom and moroseness. But for some among us God has willed it that our testing
shall come in the uncertainties and doubts which crowd in upon our minds
whensoever we contemplate Him and His truth. As the hammer’s stroke on the
metal plate reveals the hidden flaw, so in our intellectual trials does God
make proof of us. He discovers our pride, He lays bare our insincerity, He
tests our love of truth, the moral soundness of our whole being. Blessed,
thrice blessed, is he whose life rings true under that all-revealing stroke.
3. It may be, however, this is a line of argument which does not
appeal to us. Then let us, still following Butler’s guidance, seek the help we
need by yet another path. Is not the root of most of the things which are
objected against Christianity, and consequently of most of our difficulties in
regard to it, in the limitations of our knowledge? And is it not the frank
recognition of these limitations which is needed, perhaps above everything
else, to win back for us our lost peace of mind? Some of you will remember the
quiet scorn which Butler pours upon those who, as he says, “are weak enough to
think they are acquainted with the whole course of things.” “Let reason be kept
to,” he goes on; “and, if any part of the Scripture account of the redemption
of the world by Christ can be shown to be really contrary to it, let the
Scripture, in the name of God, be given up; but let not such poor creatures as
we go on objecting against an infinite scheme, that we do not see the necessity
or usefulness of all its parts, and call this reasoning.” We ask questions
which no man can answer, questions to which Christ Himself has given us no
answer, and then we murmur because the heavens are silent to our cry. Who will
solve for us the grievous mystery of pain? Why is nature “red in tooth and
claw”? Why do little children die? Why is all our life so full of griefs and
graves? “My God, my God, why--?” Questions like these are naked swords, which
pierce the hand that strives to grasp them. Men will meet, said an old Greek,
with many surprises when they are dead; and perhaps, adds one of our modern
thinkers, one will be the recollection that when we were here we thought the
ways of Almighty God so easy to argue about.
4. But, if this is so, if, indeed, we know so little, how, it may be
asked, is it possible to come to a decision at all? Press the argument from our
ignorance to its logical conclusion, and what does it spell but intellectual
suspense, the paralysis of action? What in the long-run is Butler’s doctrine
but just so much grist to the agnostic’s mill? But to argue thus is to forget
what Butler himself is careful to point out, namely, that our knowledge, though
limited, is real. “We know in part,” but we know; “we see in a mirror darkly,”
but we see. “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path”--not
more than that, but also not less than that; not light everywhere, for even
revelation does not solve all questions, but light on my path, light to walk
by. Many things are dark, but some at least are clear, and we can begin with
these. Is not goodness the principal thing? Is not man’s duty to follow after
goodness, the highest goodness which is known to him? “We needs must love the
highest when we see it.” And is not this highest goodness incarnate for us in
Jesus Christ? Therefore, whatever else is dark, it must be right to follow
Christ. Keep the things that perplex, and perhaps confound you, in their right
place. Do not let them blind you to your first and plainest duty. After all, we
are under no necessity to have a definite answer for every question which the
restless wit of man can frame. Concerning many of them, it does not matter
whether we have any opinion or not; neither if we have are we the better nor if
we have not are we the worse. These things can wait. That which ought not to
wait, which with many of us has waited far too long already, is our decision to
yield ourselves to Christ. Once more I say, Whatever else is dark, it must be
right to follow Christ. (G. Jackson, B. A.)
Mistaken friendship
It would be unfair to call the three men false friends. They were
sincere, but being mistaken, they failed to discharge the high offices of true
friendship.
I. There are times
in a man’s life when the need of friendship is deeply felt.
1. Man was made for friendship. Deep and constant is his craving for
the love of others, and equally deep and strong is his tendency to reciprocate
the same. Without friendship his nature could no more be developed than could
the acorn without the sunshine or the shower. Isolation would be man’s death,
solitary confinement has always been felt the most severe and intolerable of
punishments.
2. Man requires friendship. Without the aid of friendship he would
die in infancy; he requires friendship to nourish, to succour, and to train
him.
3. Affliction intensifies the need of friendship. In times of
suffering the need of friendship is specially felt.
II. At these times
professed friends are often terribly disappointing. Job says in language of
great poetic beauty and tenderness, that he was as much disappointed with his
friends now as were the troop of Tema, and the companies of Sheba, who
travelling over the hot sand, parched and wearied, came to a spot where they
expected to find refreshing streams and found none. “My brethren have dealt
deceitfully as a brook,” etc. He does not mean perhaps that they were false,
but that they deceived him not intentionally but by mistake.
1. Instead of pity they gave him unsympathetic talk. Had they wept
and said nothing he would have been comforted; or had they spoken to the point
and expressed sympathy he might have been comforted; or had they tenderly
acknowledged the mystery of the Divine procedure in all, it might have soothed
in some measure his anguished heart. But Eliphaz talked grandly and perhaps
with a cold heart, he never touched the mark but by implication, charged him
with being a great sinner because he was a great sufferer, and strongly reprobated
his language of distress.
2. Instead of “pity” they gave him intrusive talk. “Did I say bring
unto me, or give a reward for me of your substance?” etc. “If a man applies to
his friends for pecuniary aid, and that aid is refused him he may be disappointed,
but he cannot at once condemn them and charge them with unkindness, as they may
be under circumstances which render it perfectly impossible for them to comply
with his request. But if he asks of them nothing but commiseration and
sympathy, and even these are denied him, he cannot but consider such denial as
a great piece of inhumanity and cruelty. Now this was precisely the case with
Job.”--Bernard.
3. Instead of “pity” they gave him irrelevant talk. “Teach me, and I
will hold my tongue; and cause me to understand wherein I have erred. How
forcible are right words! but what doth your arguing prove?” etc. In all this
he evidently reproves Eliphaz for the irrelevancy of his talk. He seems to say,
you have not taught me anything, you have not explained the true cause of my
affliction. Nothing that you have said is applicable to me in my miserable
condition.
4. Instead of “pity” they gave him ungenerous talk. Here the
patriarch acknowledges that the extravagant language which, in the wildness of
his anguish, he used in the fourth chapter was mere “wind.” “Do you imagine to
reprove words?” etc., and states that their carping at such utterances was as
cruel as the overwhelming of the fatherless. Language spoken in certain moods
of mind should be allowed to pass by, almost without notice. Anguish often
maddens the mind, and causes the tongue to run riot. It is ungenerous in
friends to notice language which, under the tide of strong emotions, may be
forced from us.
Verses 15-20
My brethren have dealt deceitfully as a brook.
The uses and lessons of disappointment
The meaning of this passage is, that Job had been disappointed. He
hoped his friends would have comforted him in his sorrows; but all his
expectations from that quarter had failed. He had been like weary and thirsty
travellers in a desert, who came to the place where they hoped and expected to
find water, but who, when they came, found that the streams were dried up, and
had vanished away.
I. The forms in
which disappointments occur. They are as numerous and as varied as our hopes.
There are two uses of hope. One is to stimulate us to exertion by the prospect
of some good to be obtained and enjoyed. The other is to be held in the Divine
hand as a means of checking, restraining, humbling, recovering, and controlling
us.
1. Disappointments which relate to the acquisition of property. Some
desire to be rich; and some desire the reputation of being rich. The majority
of those who with such ends in view seek property, are destined to be
disappointed.
2. Those who aim at distinction in honour and office are often
disappointed.
3. Those who attempt to build up their family name, and obtain
distinction in their children. Few hopes are more likely to be disappointed. A
blight often rests upon the effort to found a family name. Honours are
scattered by a rule that no one can study out.
4. Those who seek for happiness solely in the things of this life.
Multitudes seek it; a few profess to find it to an extent that rewards their
efforts; the man disappointed in one thing, at one time, hopes to find it in
another.
II. The reasons why
disappointments occur.
1. Because the plans and expectations which were formed were beyond
any reasonable ground of calculation, based on the ordinary course of events,
or what ordinarily happens to man. Many illusions play upon the minds and
around the hearts of men. They arise from several sources. We are either
ignorant of or forgetful of the usual course of events, and do not take that
into our calculation; or we anticipate in the future what does not commonly
occur; or we trust in our “star,” or our destiny, and suppose that ours is to
be an exception to the common lot; or we are merely presumptuous, relying on
what we suppose is our talent, or something in us which will exempt us from the
common lot of mankind; or we feel that there is a charm around us and our
family. So we engage in the execution of our plans with as sanguine a feeling
as if we were certain that they would be all successful. As a law of our nature
it is wise that this should be so, if we would only admit the possibility that
we might be disappointed, and if we would not murmur when disappointment comes.
2. Because our expectations were such as were improper in themselves.
They related to things in which we ought not to have cherished hope.
3. Because disappointments may be for our good. He who sees all
things perceives that success may be perilous for us.
III. Lessons which
our disappointments should teach.
1. All our plans in life should be formed with the possibility of
failure in view. Possibility, not gloomy foreboding. Life would be a burden if
fear had the same place in the economy which hope now has.
2. We should form such plans and cherish such hopes as will not be
subject to disappointment. Such as relate to religion and are founded on that.
Others may be successful, these certainly will be. For evidence of this see
that they who become true Christians are not disappointed in what religion
promises in this life. The mind has a conviction of its own that religion will
not disappoint. And we have God’s promises. Those, therefore, who have felt
what disappointment is in regard to worldly hopes and prospects, religion
invites to herself, with the assurance that it will never disappoint them; and
she points them to heaven as the place where disappointment never comes. (Albert
Barnes.)
Brethren as brooks
The figure is derived from the winter brooks which pour down the
Arabian wadies, full, turgid, roaring, fed by snow and ice, discoloured--black
with the melted ice, but which vanish away under the first heat of the summer
sun.
I. Friends are
often, like winter brooks, full so long as they are fed. In this, then, may be
found their likeness to that false friendship which is never so strong and
noisy and babbling as when it is living upon your substance. As long as these
friends can draw from your abundance, their professions are loud--they are like
the full, strong stream of winter.
II. Friends often
give, like “winter brooks,” promises which are unfulfilled. The Arabs say of a
treacherous friend, “I trust not in thy torrent.” The caravan wends its way
through the sultry desert. The drivers remember a valley where, in the spring,
the waters flowed in a copious stream. They turn aside to seek it. Behold,
nothing but a torrent-scarred gorge! (Note--Verse 18 should be translated thus:
“[The caravans] turn aside out of the way; they go to a desert and perish.”)
Thus with false friendship. In your adversity you recall the promises of those
whom you befriended. You turn to them in your distress and perplexity. You go
“to a desert”!
III. Friends often
withdraw in adversity like brooks in summer. “What time they wax warm they
become slender; when it is hot they are consumed out of their place.” “First
the stream flows more narrowly,--then becomes silent and still; at length every
trace of water disappears by evaporation.” Accurate description of the conduct
of “friends,” who have not the courage to break openly with you, but desert you
by degrees. In the light of this how comforting the reflection that there is a
Friend who sticketh closer than a brother. He is the river of the water of
life--no failing stream. (J. L. Lafferty.)
Friends jail in adversity
Sir W. Scott had become a bankrupt by lavish expenditures on his
castle, etc. The heaviest blow was, I think, the blow to his pride. Very early
he begins to note painfully the different way in which different friends greet
him, to remark that some smile as if to say, “Think nothing about it, my lad,
it is quite out of our thoughts”; that others adopt an affected gravity, “such
as one sees and despises at a funeral,” and the best-bred “just shook hands and
went on.”
Verse 24
Teach me, and I will hold my tongue.
The virtue of silence
This is the passionate outcry of a soul in trouble. Misfortune and
loss have fallen heavily upon Job. His spirit is sorely stricken. The presence
of Eliphaz and his many words of advice bring neither comfort nor hope, and
almost in angry defiance the cry bursts from his lip. “Teach me, and I will
hold my tongue. Cause me to understand wherein I have erred. How forcible are
right words! but what doth your arguing reprove?” Angrily and hopelessly Job
describes himself as “one that is desperate.” His eager demand is to know
whether the trials and calamities that have come upon him are in reality due to
exceeding wickedness and special sinfulness on his part. Let us take the words,
“Teach me, and I will hold my tongue,” as the prayer of the earnest soul in the
presence of God. In the experience of every Christian man occasions
arise--alas, how often!--when words of unrestrained anger are allowed to escape
from the lips--bitter, biting words that wound many a heart, that work havoc in
the home, that make others wonder and even stumble, that bring discredit on the
Christian profession. Truly the words of the apostle James are not the language
of exaggeration. The tongue is a fire; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly
poison. Well may our prayer to God daily be, “Teach me, and I will hold my
tongue.” Or, again, is not the same prayer needed in regard to our common
conversation? Our speech is not always “with grace,” and, apart altogether from
words of wrath and bitterness, there is a general carelessness which is to be
deplored. Through sheer thoughtlessness incalculable harm is often done. The
prayer is indeed necessary. “Teach me, and I will hold my tongue.” Usefully,
however, as this text may be employed in enforcing common Christian duties and
graces, my chief aim is to apply it to the culture of our deeper spiritual
experience. The golden virtue of silence is not much in demand at the present
time. On all hands the tendency is towards speech. It is a superficial age.
Loudness and self-advertisement are in evidence rather than quietness and
contemplation. Now I submit that when the prayer for Divine teaching is
earnestly offered, there will be greater readiness to keep silence, greater
desire for the quieter side of Christian life, greater longing for that deeper
spirituality which does not always, or even chiefly, manifest itself in words.
Even in the ordinary affairs of life the instructed man is not the man most
eager to speak. Knowledge should bring humility, and a deepening sense of the
tasks yet to be achieved. It is the man of little knowledge who is generally
most eager to parade his opinions. In the spiritual culture of men it is not
those who have passed through the deepest experiences that are most ready to
speak of such things. The Divine teaching emphasises the importance and the
value of silence quite as much as of speech. It enforces the need for quietness
and meditation. How weary one often grows of the way in which Christ and
Christianity are talked about on every side! How terrible is the lack of
serious thought, or the presence of empty and complacent speech! Dr. Martineau
has well said, “If theological gossip were the measure of religious faith, we
should be the devoutest of all human generations.” I fear not! Curiosity,
rather than reality, is the note that is sounded. Even in our Churches we must
surely be grieved, and sometimes alarmed, by the lack of depth and seriousness.
Earnest thought and prayerful aspiration are not too much in evidence. We talk
too much: we strive too much. With our many organisations, societies, schemes,
we are in danger of putting too high a value on the power of speech to the
depreciation of the spirit that waits in silence and communes with God. Our aim
seems largely to be to make speakers. Now I know well the need that exists for
such help. Far be it from me to depreciate it! Yet I feel strongly that we are
confronted by the peril of overestimating this kind of service. We are only too
apt to forget the value of the man of quiet spirit, and to exalt unduly the man
of many words and ready speech. I want to enter a plea on behalf of the silent
man. There are undoubtedly in all the Churches many who could not give utterance
to the deep thoughts and lofty aspirations stirring within them, and yet whose
lives have in them the very spirit of Jesus Christ, and stamped upon them what
is none other than the beauty of holiness. The time of difficulty and crisis
clearly reveals their strength and their value. Great, indeed, is our loss when
we fail to appreciate the man of few words, but of real spiritual power. One of
our besetting dangers today is that of words outrunning experience. This peril
must always prevail where speech is unduly exalted and praised. Where all are
encouraged and frequently over persuaded to speak, utterance and conviction
will find considerable difficulty in keeping company. Let the expression exceed
the experience, and the spirit of unreality will creep in and will soon rule.
Unreality will in the end beget contempt for the things professed, and
indifference towards them. This is undoubtedly one of the explanations of the
falling away of some in our Churches whose zeal has, for a time, been greatly in
evidence. On the other hand we often find, especially among young people, that
some of the very best of them are reserved in speech on religious matters,
unwilling to discuss what is most sacred to them, unprepared as yet to reveal
their deepest thoughts and experiences. The forcing house has no attraction for
them, and they shrink back from what seems undue familiarity with Divine
things. Too often such are looked upon with suspicion, or spoken of with
censure, by many glib of tongue yet unworthy to stand by their side. Let it be
borne in mind, then, that while the Divine illumination may make men preachers
and teachers, yet its result in producing silence and meditation is not to be
overlooked nor lightly regarded. An intense hatred of sin, a clear conception
of pardon, an earnest meditation on the wonders of grace and redemption, a
tarrying long at the Cross of Calvary and dwelling on its mystery and
glory--such vital experiences may well produce in the soul humility, awe, and
silence. The quietness of the Divine method must not, then, be lost sight of.
The virtue of silence must be more highly prized. Growth should be steady, not
sudden; regular, not spasmodic. To this end personal communion with God,
individual fellowship with Him is indispensable. The soul that waits in silence
learns the deepest lessons, finds the richest treasures. Christ Himself found
His truest strength in His solitary companionship with the Father. Silence has
its place, therefore, in spiritual development. Speech is not to be underestimated.
But there is little danger of that mistake being made. Far greater is the peril
of an undue exaltation of the value of speech, and a corresponding depreciation
of the virtue of silence. “Teach me, and I will hold my peace,” is a prayer
full of promise for the common days and common ways of life, as well as for its
special experiences and special crises. (H. P. Young.)
And cause me to understand
wherein I have erred.--
Man liable to error
1. Man is subject to error. To error in speech, to error in practice,
to error in judgment. Man by nature can do nothing else but err. All his goings
are goings astray, and all his knowledge is bottomed upon an heap of false
principles. All his works (by nature) are errata, and the whole edition of his
life a continued mistake.
2. That man is in a fair way to truth, who acknowledgeth he may err.
3. An error strictly and properly taken is that which we hold or do
out of bare ignorance of the truth.
4. That an erring brother or friend must not be importuned barely to
leave his error, but he must be made to understand his error. (J. Caryl.)
Verse 25
How forcible are right words!
The force of right words
Who has not felt the superiority of the power of Job’s
words compared with those of the words of his friends?
How is this? Job suffered, struggled, and sorrowed, and therefore he learned
something of the human heart. Irritating to him were the words of his friends.
Those words were as nothing; they reproved nothing; they appealed to nothing in
the sorrow-stricken man. Righteous words would have been precious to him; hence
his bitter disappointment after listening to the effusion of Eliphaz. Who has
not felt the feebleness of mere platitudes when the soul has longed for
sympathy?
I. That words may
possess a righteous or unrighteous character. “Right words.” God declared to
Job’s friends, “Ye have not spoken of Me the thing that is right, as My servant
Job hath.”
1. The power of speech is a Divine gift. Whether words were
originally given, or were elaborated by the faculty of speech, does not alter
the question of the Divine origin of the gift. Without speech, where would have
been the outcome of man’s spiritual energies? How the soul speaks in the
voice! “Burning words” proclaim the power of the spirit that is in man.
2. The Divine gift of words is intended to be a righteous power. By
perversion of words sin was introduced; by the righteousness of words error and
evil shall be destroyed. The words of God “are spirit and life.”
3. In proportion to the excellence of the gift will be the
responsibility of the speaker. “By thy words shalt thou be justified,” etc.
II. The power of
words for good or evil is in proportion to their righteousness or unrighteousness.
“Doth not the ear try words?” “Righteous words reprove.”
1. The words of God are instruments of righteousness. “Do not My
words do good?” (Micah 2:7.)
2. The words of man are only righteous as they harmonise with the
words of God. “Let your speech be always with grace” (Colossians 4:6).
3. In the “war of words” the righteous words shall be victorious.
Great is truth, and must prevail.
4. Divine power operates through the words of the good. “I will be to
thee a mouth and wisdom.” Therefore “how forcible are right words!”
5. Evil words are destructive. “Whose word doth eat as doth a
canker.” The unrighteous words of Job’s friends possessed a power that forced
him to exclaim, “How forcible are right words!” (Bishop Percival.)
Right words
Words are right three ways.
I. In the matter,
when they are true.
II. In the manner,
when they are plain, direct, and perspicuous.
III. In their use,
when they are duly and properly applied; when the arrow is carried home to the
white, then they are right words, or words of righteousness. When this
threefold rightness meets in words, how forcible, how strong are such words! (J.
Caryl.)
The potency of language
Language is more than the expression of ideas. It sustains a more
vital relation. Thought is a remote abstraction until it becomes visible,
tangible, concrete, in words. Hence Wordsworth, with profound philosophy, wrote,
“Language is the incarnation of thought.” But more than this, a man knows not
what he thinks until he tries to put it into words. The tongue or pen sometimes
like a whetstone sharpens thought, giving it edge and point; sometimes like a
painter’s pencil, it communicates definiteness, precision, and exquisite
colouring to the outlines of thought; again, like a prism, it seems to analyse
and separate blended ideas; again, like a crystal, it imparts clearness,
symmetry, brilliance; or like a mirror, it reflects and multiplies the rays of
light. Verily, “how forcible are right words!” (A. T. Pierson, D. D.)
──《The Biblical Illustrator》