#665 Howling Desolation

“But now they mock at me, men younger than I,

Whose fathers I disdained to put with the dogs of my flock.

2 Indeed, what profit is the strength of their hands to me?

Their vigor has perished.

3 They are gaunt from want and famine,

Fleeing late to the wilderness, desolate and waste,

4 Who pluck mallow by the bushes,

And broom tree roots for their food.

5 They were driven out from among men,

They shouted at them as at a thief.

6 They had to live in the clefts of the valleys,

In caves of the earth and the rocks.

7 Among the bushes they brayed,

Under the nettles they nestled.

8 They were sons of fools,

Yes, sons of vile men;

They were scourged from the land.

9 “And now I am their taunting song;

Yes, I am their byword.

10 They abhor me, they keep far from me;

They do not hesitate to spit in my face.

11 Because He has loosed my bowstring and afflicted me,

They have cast off restraint before me.

12 At my right hand the rabble arises;

They push away my feet,

And they raise against me their ways of destruction.

13 They break up my path,

They promote my calamity;

They have no helper.

14 They come as broad breakers;

Under the ruinous storm they roll along.

15 Terrors are turned upon me;

They pursue my honor as the wind,

And my prosperity has passed like a cloud.

16 “And now my soul is poured out because of my plight;

The days of affliction take hold of me.

17 My bones are pierced in me at night,

And my gnawing pains take no rest.

18 By great force my garment is disfigured;

It binds me about as the collar of my coat.

19 He has cast me into the mire,

And I have become like dust and ashes.

20 “I cry out to You, but You do not answer me;

I stand up, and You regard me.

21 But You have become cruel to me;

With the strength of Your hand You oppose me.

22 You lift me up to the wind and cause me to ride on it;

You spoil my success.

23 For I know that You will bring me to death,

And to the house appointed for all living.

24 “Surely He would not stretch out His hand against a heap of ruins,

If they cry out when He destroys it.

25 Have I not wept for him who was in trouble?

Has not my soul grieved for the poor?

26 But when I looked for good, evil came to me;

And when I waited for light, then came darkness.

27 My heart is in turmoil and cannot rest;

Days of affliction confront me.

28 I go about mourning, but not in the sun;

I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help.

29 I am a brother of jackals,

And a companion of ostriches.

30 My skin grows black and falls from me;

My bones burn with fever.

31 My harp is turned to mourning,

And my flute to the voice of those who weep. Job 30 NKJV

I have always found it one of life's crueler peculiarities, that a good man can be at the mercy of dimwits. It is astonishing at times to see the rise of fools over those who must compose themselves in patience, praying for the heart of unjust rulers, mockers of the righteous. The men that now mocked Job did not consider the respect unto elders, forgot who he was, and even the worst examples of mankind, those that Job would not trust to tend sheep alongside his dogs, they now mocked him. Men that were cast out of society for their wickedness now looked down on Job. These were boys whose fathers dealt recklessly, thieves who were that by generations, driven out into the clefts of the rocks, where they were on the fringe of society, yet unwelcome. They would be those ripe for the bands of robbers, looking for a friendly smile they would not turn it down from the devil himself, and such men were now the crows around Job's weary carcass, the circling vultures.

Job is still a byword today, no one would want to suffer like that, few can even come near the claim, yet todays children would claim it for want of an IPhone or something that someone else had. He is their new taunting song, they have found someone who was high and lifted, found him here, exiled to the town dump, picking at his sores. He would probably love to be left alone, but once vultures find carrion they don't leave and the picture of them circling is seen afar off, a beacon of the coming feast. 

My soul is poured out must be the ultimate expression of emptiness. We deny God's right as Creator, His authorship, not just atheist, but some who claim to know of God also deny His sovereignty, His just and Holy nature. They will not understand this, but those who have called Him father, who have had the light of the eyes turned on and their ears opened, the thought of this absence is sorrow, emptiness and pain. Job cries out to God but feels that God is gone, yet he still cries and this is to him as hell, "You do not answer me."

He is certain of God's ill intent towards him and he predicts that this will surely end in his death, it is finished, but no, he has yet to hear the mind of God on this matter. Will you die Job? Is that for you to say when or how? Yes, death is the way of all men under the curse, and you will see it, but keep calling out while you have breath.

The sensitive soul of Job was another demonstration of his godliness, and appropriate for any servant of God. “I know that a man in the ministry who cannot feel had much better resign his office. We have heard some hold forth the doctrines of grace, as if they were a nauseous medicine, and men were to be forced to drink thereof by hard words and violent abuse. We have always thought that such men did more hurt than good, for while seeking to vindicate the letter, they evidently missed the spirit of the faith once delivered unto the saints. Cold and impassive are some of our divines; they utter truth as though it were no concern of theirs whether men received it or not. To such men heaven and hell, death and eternity, are mere themes for oratory, but not subjects for emotion.” (Spurgeon)

Job wonders at the loss of God's presence, this feels as though it is punishment, and he makes the comparison of his treatment of others. Job wept for those who suffered, he was a champion of justice for the poor and the widow, and he held this out as religion expectable and the very picture of God Himself, so why have I sought to do that good only to find this evil? How is the God I once knew as merciful, how is He reconciled to this? I would love to quit thinking about it, to let my mind rest from at least this much, for the physical turmoil is enough, but he aches and yelps, like the jackal when he cries for the lion. He is desolate, void of hope, lonely for a true companion. His song is a sad, sad song, his poetry is a calamity. 

Then the governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole company of soldiers around him. 28 They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, 29 and then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand. Then they knelt in front of him and mocked him. “Hail, king of the Jews!” they said. 30 They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again. 31 After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him. Matthew 27: 27-31