Thus far, then, we see Job “holding fast his integrity.” He meets with calmness all the heavy afflictions which Satan is allowed to bring upon him; and, moreover, he refuses the foolish counsel of his wife. In a word, he accepts all as from the hand of God, and bows his head in the presence of His mysterious dispensations.
All this is well. But the arrival of Job’s three friends produces a marked change. Their very presence—the bare fact of their being eye-witnesses of his trouble—affects him in a very remarkable manner. “Now when Job’s three friends heard of all this evil that was come upon Him, they came everyone from his own place; Eliphaz the Temanite, and Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite: for they had made an appointment together to come to mourn with him and to comfort him. And when they lifted up their eyes afar off, and knew him not, they lifted up their voice and wept; and they rent everyone his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven. So they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that his grief was very great.” Chapter 2:11-13.
Now, we can fully believe that those three men were governed, in the main, by kindly feelings toward Job; and it was no small sacrifice on their part, to leave their homes and come to condole with their bereaved and afflicted friend. All this we can easily believe. But it is very evident that their presence had the effect of stirring up feelings and thoughts in his heart and mind which had hitherto lain dormant. He had borne submissively the loss of children, of property, and of bodily health. Satan had been dismissed, and the wife’s counsel rejected; but the presence of his friends caused Job to break down completely. “After this Job opened his mouth, and cursed his day.”
This is very remarkable. It does not appear that the friends had spoken a single sentence. They sat in total silence, with rent garments and covered with dust, gazing upon a grief too profound for them to reach. It was Job himself who first broke silence: and the whole of the third chapter is an outpouring of the most bitter lamentation, affording melancholy evidence of an unsubdued spirit. It is, we may confidently assert, impossible that anyone who had learned, in any little measure, to say, “Thy will be done,” could ever curse his day, or use the language contained in the third chapter of Job. It may, doubtless, be said, “It is easy for those to speak who have never been called to endure Job’s heavy trials.” This is quite true; and it may further be added, that no other man would have done one whit better under the circumstances. All this we can fully understand; but it in nowise touches the great moral of the book of Job—a moral which it is our privilege to seize. Job was a true saint of God; but he needed to learn himself, as we all do. He needed to have the deep roots of his moral being laid bare in his own sight, so that he might really abhor himself and repent in dust and ashes. And, furthermore, he needed a truer and deeper sense of what God was, so that he might trust Him and justify Him under all circumstances.
But we look in vain for aught of this in Job’s opening address. “Job spake and said, Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived......Why died I not from the womb?” These are not the accents of a broken and contrite spirit, or of one who had learned to say, “Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.” It is a grand point in the soul’s history when one is enabled to bow with meekness to all the dispensations of our Father’s hand. A broken will is a rich and rare endowment. It is a high attainment in the school of Christ to be able to say, “I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, to be content.” (Phil. 4:11.) Paul had to learn this. It was not natural to him; and, most surely, he never learned it at the feet of Gamaliel. Saul of Tarsus would never have been content with the very highest attainments in this world. He had to be thoroughly broken down, at the feet of Jesus of Nazareth, ere he could say from his heart, “I am content.” He had to ponder the meaning of those words, “My grace is sufficient for thee” ere he could “take pleasure in infirmities.” The man who could use such language was standing at the very antipodes of the man who could curse his day, and say, “Why died I not from the womb?” Only think of a saint of God, an heir of glory, saying, “Why died I not from the womb?” Ah! if Job had been in the presence of God he never could have uttered such words. He would have known full well why he had not died. He would have had a soul-satisfying sense of what God had in store for Him. He would have justified God in all things. But Job was not in the presence of God, but in the presence of his friends; who proved, very distinctly, that they understood little or nothing of the character of God or the real object of His dealings with His dear servant Job.
It is not, by any means, our purpose to enter minutely into the lengthened discussion between Job and his friends—a discussion extending over twenty-nine chapters. We shall merely quote a few sentences from the opening address of each of the friends which will enable the reader to form an idea of the real ground occupied by these mistaken men.
Eliphaz was the first speaker. “Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered and said, If we assay to commune with thee, wilt thou be grieved? but who can withhold himself from speaking? Behold, thou hast instructed many, and thou hast strengthened the weak hands. Thy words have upholden him that was falling, and thou hast strengthened the feeble knees. But now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest; it toucheth thee, and thou art troubled. Is not this thy fear, thy confidence, thy hope, and the uprightness of thy ways? Remember, I pray thee, whoever perished, being innocent? or where were the righteous cut off? Even as I have seen, they that plow iniquity, and sow wickedness, reap the same.” (Chap. 4:1-8.) And again, “I have seen the foolish taking root: but suddenly I cursed his habitation.” (Chap. 5:8, see also chap. 15:17.)
From these sentences it seems very evident that Eliphaz belonged to that class of people who argue very much from their own experience. His motto was, “As I have seen.” Now, what we have seen may be all true enough, so far as we are concerned. But it is a total mistake to found a general rule upon individual experience; and yet it is a mistake to which thousands are prone. What, for instance, had the experience of Eliphaz to do with Job? It may be he had never met a case exactly similar; and if there should happen to be a single feature of dissimilarity between the two cases, then the whole argument based on experience must go for nothing. And that it went for nothing in Job’s case is evident, for no sooner had Eliphaz ceased speaking than, without the slightest attention to his words, Job proceeds with the tale of his own sorrows, intermingled with much self-vindication and bitter complaints against the divine dealings. Chapters 6, 7.
Bildad is the next speaker. He takes quite different ground from that occupied by Eliphaz. He never once refers to his own experience, or to what had come under his own observation. He appeals to antiquity. “Inquire, I pray thee, of the former age, and prepare thyself to the search of their fathers. (For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because our days upon earth are a shadow.) Shall not they teach thee, and tell thee, and utter words out of their heart?” Chapter 8:8-10.
Now, it must be admitted that Bildad conducts us into a much wider field than that of Eliphaz. The authority of a number of “fathers” has much more weight and respectability than the experience of a single individual. Moreover, it would argue much more modesty to be guided by the voice of a number of wise and learned men than by the light of one’s own experience. But the fact is that neither experience nor tradition will do. The former may be true, so far as it goes, but you can hardly get two men whose experience will exactly correspond; and as to the latter, it is a mass of confusion, for one father differs from another, and nothing can be more slippery or uncertain than the voice of tradition—the authority of the fathers.
Hence, as might be expected, Bildad’s words had no more weight with Job than those of Eliphaz. The one was as far from the truth as the other. Had they appealed to divine revelation, it would have been a different matter altogether. The truth of God is the only standard—the one grand authority. By that all must be measured; to that all must, sooner or later, bow down. No man has any right to lay down his own experience as a rule for his fellows; and if no one man has a right, neither have any number of men. In other words, it is not the voice of man but the voice of God which must govern us all. It is not experience or tradition which shall judge at the last day, but the word of God. Solemn and weighty fact! May we consider it! Had Bildad and Eliphaz understood it, their words would have had much more weight with their afflicted friend.
Let us now very briefly refer to the opening address of Zophar the Naamathite.
He says, “Oh that God would speak, and open his lips against thee; and that he would show thee the secrets of wisdom, that they are double to that which is! Know therefore that God exacteth of thee less than thine iniquity deserveth.” And again, “If thou prepare thine heart, and stretch out thine hands toward him; if iniquity be in thine hand, put it far away, and let not wickedness dwell in thy tabernacles. For then shalt thou lift up thy face without spot: yea, thou shalt be steadfast, and shalt not fear.” Chapter 11:5, 6, 13, 14, 15.
These words savor strongly of legality. They prove, very distinctly, that Zophar had no right sense of the divine character. He did not know God. No one possessing the true knowledge of God could speak of Him as opening His lips against a poor afflicted sinner, or as exacting aught from a needy helpless creature. God is not against us, but for us, blessed forever be His Name. He is not a legal exactor, but a liberal giver. Then again, Zophar says, “If thou prepare thine heart.” But if not, what then? No doubt a man ought to prepare his heart, and if he were right he would. But then he is not right, and hence when he sets about preparing his heart, he finds nothing there but evil. He finds himself perfectly powerless. “What is he to do? Zophar cannot tell. No, nor can any of his school. How can they? They only know God as a stern exactor—as one who, if He opens His lips, can only speak against the sinner.
Need we marvel, therefore, that Zophar was as far from convincing Job as either of his two companions? They were all wrong. Legality, tradition, experience were alike defective, one-sided, false. Not any one of them, or all of them put together, could meet Job’s case. They only darkened counsel by words without knowledge. Not one of the three friends understood Job: and what is more they did not know God’s character or His object in dealing with His dear servant. They were wholly mistaken. They knew not how to present God to Job; and, as a consequence, they knew not how to lead Job’s conscience into the presence of God. In place of leading him to self-judgment, they only ministered to a spirit of self-vindication. They did not introduce God into the scene. They said some true things; but they had not the truth. They brought in experience, tradition, legality, but not the truth.
Hence the three friends failed to convince Job. Their ministry was one-sided, and instead of silencing Job, they only led him forth into a field of discussion which seemed almost boundless. He gives them word for word, and far more. “No doubt,” he says, “but ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you. But I have understanding as well as you, I am not inferior to you: yea, who knoweth not such things as these?” “What ye know, the same do I know also; I am not inferior to you”— “ye are forgers of lies, ye are all physicians of no value. Ο that ye would altogether hold your peace! and it should be your wisdom”— “I have heard many such things: miserable comforters are ye all. Shah vain words have an end? or what emboldeneth thee that thou answereth? I also could speak as ye do: if your soul were in my soul’s stead, I could heap up words against you, and shake mine head at you”— “How long will ye vex my soul, and break me in pieces with words? These ten times have ye reproached me: ye are not ashamed that ye make yourselves strange to me”—“Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, Ο ye my friends; for the hand of God hath touched me.”
All these utterances prove how far Job was from that true brokenness of spirit and humility of mind which ever flow from being in the divine presence. No doubt, the friends were wrong—quite wrong—wrong in their notions about God—wrong in their method of dealing with Job. But their being wrong did not make him right. Had Job’s conscience been in the presence of God, he would have made no reply to his friends, even though they had been a thousand times more mistaken and severe in their treatment. He would have meekly bowed his head and allowed the tide of reproof and accusation to roll over him. He would have turned the very severity of his friends to profitable account, by viewing it as a wholesome moral discipline for his heart. But no; Job had not yet reached the end of himself. He was full of self-vindication—full of invective against his fellows—full of mistaken thoughts about God. It needed another ministry to bring him into a right attitude of soul.
(To be continued, if the Lord will)