9:1–10 Bildad counseled Job to “seek God and plead with the Almighty for mercy” (8:5). Job now, in his second speech in the first cycle, contemplates that suggestion and explores its complexities. While he agrees with Bildad that a hearing before God is what is needed (“Truly I know that it is so”; 9:2a), he cannot figure out how he would “contend with him” (v. 3a). Two impossible obstacles are before Job. The first obstacle is man’s inability to achieve moral perfection. Echoing and agreeing with Eliphaz (cf. 4:17), Job ponders, “How can a man be in the right before God?” (9:2b). Job believes that there is no sin that he has committed that has led to his family catastrophes and personal sufferings (“I am in the right,” 9:15, 20; “I am blameless,” 9:20, 21; “I am not guilty,” 10:7). However, Job grasps that God’s holiness is greater than anything he or any holy human can achieve. The second obstacle is that subpoenaing God for questioning is a misguided idea, for if Job was to put him in the dock, God would turn the tables on him. Job would be on trial.

    If one wished to contend with him,

    one could not answer him once in a thousand times. (9:3)

If God took the stand, it would be Job, not God, who would be unable to answer the tough questions. Job would be no match for God’s wisdom.

In verses 4–10 Job moves from his legal language and a possible courtroom drama to a stunning poem addressing the power of God. This theme ties into verses 2–3 in that it is the second part of the second obstacle, namely, the idea of subpoenaing God for questioning. Such an idea is misguided not only because it will not work (“Who has hardened himself against him, and succeeded?”; v. 4b) but also because God is smart (“wise in heart”) and strong (“mighty in strength”; v. 4a). The attribute of God’s obvious but incalculable strength is the theme of verses 5–10, where his strength is demonstrated in doing the impossible (vv. 5–6) and ruling the heavens and seas (vv. 7–9). The concluding verse—“who does great things beyond searching out, and marvelous things beyond number” (v. 10)—simply highlights that Job is only scraping the surface of God’s transcendent power, for the limits of such strength are beyond human comprehension.

First, God’s strength is demonstrated in doing the impossible (vv. 5–6). Here God is viewed not merely as touching the mountains so they smoke (Ps. 144:5) but as picking up Mount Everest and Pike’s Peak (“he who removes mountains”) so quickly and powerfully that they have no idea how they ended up in Cleveland (“and they know it not”; Job 9:5a) or at the bottom of the sea (Mark 11:23; Rev. 8:8), as the case may be. In fact, his power is vaster than one’s power over a few mountains: he can lift the earth (“who shakes the earth out of its place”) from its foundations (“and its pillars tremble”; Job 9:6). This image is bigger than God sending an earthquake. Rather, it is, as stated, God moving the whole earth, just as he moved many mountains.

Second, God’s strength is demonstrated in doing the impossible and ruling the heavens and seas. Between what God does in relation to the lights of the universe—in general (“commands the sun, . . . seals up the stars”; v. 7) and with specific constellations (“made the Bear and Orion, the Pleiades and the chambers of the south”; v. 9)—stands emphatic antithetical parallelism (v. 8):

This imagery is that of God’s awesome strength stretching throughout the universe. His power is so great that he can not only move the mountains and the earth (v. 5), as well as turn off the sun and stars, if desired (v. 7), but can also walk on water (v. 8b), an image of subduing any evil and chaotic forces that might oppose him. Just as the “thick darkness” (Ps. 18:9//2 Sam. 22:10) is under his feet, so too are the dark waves.

9:11–12 After Job’s magnificent hymn lauding the power of God (vv. 5–10), we are ready for him to conclude with the doxology: “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; Praise him, all creatures here below; Praise him above, ye heavenly host . . .” Instead, Job shares his problem with God’s power (vv. 11–12). Such strength, as Job sees it, is not working toward his deliverance. He cannot sing with the psalmist of God’s hearing his cry for help (“In my distress I called upon the Lord; . . . [and] he heard my voice”; Ps. 18:6) and coming to the rescue (“He bowed the heavens and came down; . . . He rescued me”; Ps. 18:9, 17) because of his godly character (“The Lord dealt with me according to my righteousness”; Ps. 18:20).

Two other aspects of God’s strength, each introduced with the word “behold” (Job 9:11, 12), with which Job takes issue are that such strength makes God both incomprehensible and incontestable. In verse 11, Job starts with “behold” to attract our attention and also to highlight the irony—as he cannot behold God:

Unlike Moses, who grasped when God had crossed his path (“the Lord passed before him”; Ex. 34:6, with the Hb. verb ʻabar), Job is unaware of God’s mysterious movements; God “passes” (ʻabar) by him (Job 9:11), but Job is blind to his actions.

Beyond seeing him as incomprehensible, Job also sees God as incontestable,78 a theme Job will develop further in verses 13–21. Here, as he concludes this small section, he simply asks two basic questions. Following his “behold,” he first speaks of God’s taking something from someone (“he snatches away,” perhaps an allusion to the sudden loss of his possessions) who, because he is not strong enough, has no way to combat it (“Who can turn him back?”; v. 12a). The second question, “Who will say to him, ‘What are you doing?’” (v. 12b) reinforces the notion that even humans who might seek to question God’s inexplicable and seemingly unjust actions do not possess enough clout to make him stop nor to accuse him of wrongdoing.

9:13–21 The word “God” (Hb. ʼeloah) begins this next section (cf. the beginning of the first section—ʼel is used in v. 2), verses that reiterate much of what has already been stated. Again, Job sighs over God’s strength. If the allies of the strong and almost supernatural sea monster (“the helpers of Rahab”; v. 13b; cf. Ps. 89:10) submit to God (“beneath him bowed”; Job 9:13b), how can a mere human like Job change God’s mind if he chooses to target someone (“God will not turn back his anger”; v. 13a)? The word for anger is literally “nose” (Hb. ʼap), which relates to the almost dragon-like picture of God’s strength over any opposition:

    By the breath of God they perish,

    and by the blast of his anger they are consumed. (4:9; cf. 9:5)

Beyond sighing over God’s strength, Job also and again speaks of the ill-advised idea of a court date with the divine. Here the illustration starts with Job’s taking the stand and playing the role of the defendant. God, playing the role of prosecuting attorney, asks Job question after question, to which Job gives no reply. He refuses to speak not because he is hiding something but because he honestly does not know the answers. Even when words come to mind, he does not know how to properly express them:

    How then can I answer him,

    choosing my words with him? (v. 14)

This is not his only problem. The only way forward is to obstruct the judicial system—to ask the prosecuting attorney, who is his “accuser” (v. 15), to be his judge as well (“my accuser” is meshopti in Hebrew, often rendered “judge”):

    Though I am in the right, I cannot answer him;

    I must appeal for mercy to my accuser. (v. 15)

Job needs “mercy” from this accuser-turned-judge. However, even if this were granted, a new problem would arise. If God agrees to play the role of judge, then Job does not think he would get a fair hearing:

    If I summoned him and he answered me,

    I would not believe that he was listening to my voice. (v. 16)

Job does not sound like himself anymore. What is going on here? Does he no longer fear God? Why does he feel this way? The answer to this final question is simple, but hard for the reader to grasp because the reader at this point might have forgotten what Job has been through and is going through. In verses 17–18 Job reminds us:

    For he crushes me with a tempest

    and multiplies my wounds without cause;

    he will not let me get my breath,

    but fills me with bitterness.

To him, God’s hand of suffering is too much. Job is trying to carry a cyclone over his head as his sores breed like mosquitoes after a bite of blood (v. 17). Meanwhile, with each breath he takes, God pours into his mouth a wormwood smoothie (v. 18). He gives up!

    If it is a contest of strength, behold, he is mighty!

    If it is a matter of justice, who can summon him?

    Though I am in the right, my own mouth would condemn me;

    though I am blameless, he would prove me perverse. (vv. 19–20)

In these verses Job summarizes the themes of verses 2–18, along with his imaginary courtroom scenario. God wins the man-versus-God weightlifting competition (v. 19a). He also wins the legal battle, in two ways. First, he cannot be subpoenaed (“who can summon him?”; v. 19b). Second, if he appears in the courtroom, he will come as the prosecuting attorney, asking Job questions that would only make him look guilty (vv. 19b–20). So what is Job to do? The reality that he cannot sue God and win leaves him hating life. He is innocent (“I am blameless”) but is not concerned with what happens anymore (“I regard not myself”; v. 21a). We might say he sounds suicidal; he will say, “I loathe my life” (v. 21b).

9:22–24 Job thinks that God is unjust because he will not save Job from his sorrows and vindicate him (see 10:2–7). He is also unjust, as Job states here, because God has a pattern of treating the good badly and the bad well, or at least dealing the same hand to both the righteous (“the blameless,” 9:22; “the innocent,” v. 23) and the unrighteous (“the wicked”; v. 22): “It is all one; therefore I say, ‘He destroys both the blameless and the wicked’” (v. 22).

Verses 23–24 develop this theme further but take it to a darker place. Job first relives his own experience (cf. 1:13–19): “When disaster” [a flood or, in Job’s case, lightning and a great wind] “brings sudden death” [like to his children and servants], God “mocks at the calamity [or “despair,” Hb. massat] of the innocent” (9:23). That God mocks Job’s despair is a strong accusation. The image of God not only folding his arms (he does not care) but hurling insults is a statement Job will live to regret (cf. 42:1–6). So too the exaggerated claim (found elsewhere in Scripture; cf. Psalm 73) that the ungodly rule the world and God does nothing to stop it. The clause “the earth is given into the hand of the wicked” (Job 9:24a) implies that God has granted this power; the clause “he covers the faces of its judges” (v. 24b) restates the same idea at a deeper and more diabolical level—the corruption has reached even the judicial system; and the final question, “If it is not [God], who then is it?” takes the theme to its most foundational level. If injustice exists, God must be to blame.

Job’s assessment of God is off, and God will confront him on this point (see 38:2–40:2, which ends, “Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?”; 40:2a). But the reader is sympathetic with him at this point. Why is Job suffering? Why is a holy man writing depressing couplets on a pile of dirt? When will God rescue him? Why would anyone in Job’s situation not answer Bildad’s question, “Does God pervert justice?” (8:3a), with a resounding “yes,” or at least a timid, “It seems to be so”?

9:25–35 Job again (cf. 7:7–10, 16) employs several similes about the brevity of his life (“my days are swifter than a runner; they flee away,” 9:25; “like an eagle swooping on the prey,” v. 26b). It is a miserable life (his days “see no good”; v. 25b). It is also a quick but fragile life, like a speedboat made of papyrus (“like skiffs of reed”; v. 26a).

He then in verses 27–35 returns to courtroom imagery (cf. vv. 2–3, 14–16, 19). Estes explains well the scene:

In his soliloquy . . . Job turns over in his mind whether he should enter a legal complaint as a plaintiff against God . . . , because God appears to be almost arbitrary in his treatment of humans. As he thinks it through, Job finds himself left with three unsatisfying alternatives. Job could drop his complaint against God (9:27–28), but then he would not have the opportunity to be declared innocent by God. Job could try to purify himself (9:29–31), but he senses that this would still not satisfy God’s requirements. Or Job could find an impartial arbiter to mediate the case (9:32–35), but where could he find a suitable person to fill this role?79

With slight alterations and additions to Estes’ suggestions, we can explore each alternative.

First, Job could drop his complaint against God (“If I say, ‘I will forget my complaint’”; v. 27a). In fact, he could change his disposition and demeanor completely (saying, “I will put off my sad face, and be of good cheer”; v. 27b). The problem with this is that he dreads further punishment, either for no reason or for pretending he is not in pain (cf. comment on 1:4–5):

    I become afraid of all my suffering,

    for I know you will not hold me innocent. (9:28)

If he is to be punished (“I shall be condemned”; v. 29a) for staying on the ash heap and looking like he does or for getting off it, taking a shower, and returning to work, why make any changes (“why then do I labor in vain?”; v. 29b)? It is better to stay put and do nothing.

Second, Job could try to purify himself (v. 30). He could “wash” himself with a pure substance from nature (“snow”) and “cleanse” his “hands” with the strongest man-made substance (“lye”; v. 30). He could do it twice, which might be part of the reason for the poetic redundancy: I wash/cleanse; myself/my hands; with snow/with lye. “Yet” (v. 31a, and an ominous word in this context), what good would it do? God’s righteous requirements will not be met. Job would soon be dirty, as soon as God decided to act against him again (“you will plunge me into a pit”; v. 31a). Then, all the scrubbing with pure frozen rain and super-soap will be in vain. For, as he speaks humorously and with hyperbole and personification, even his garments getting a whiff of him after soaking in the sewer again will be repulsed by the smell: “my own clothes will abhor me” (v. 31b).

Third, Job contemplates finding an impartial umpire to mediate his case. He reasons that if he cannot sue God (“he is not a man, as I am”) or answer any of God’s questions in a court of law (“that we should come to trial together”; v. 32), perhaps some supernatural arbiter will help. Again, another problem arises: this is a good idea, but where would he find such a mediator?

    There is no arbiter between us,

    who might lay his hand on us both. (v. 33)

The image here is gentle and sweet. Oh, that there would be someone among the heavenly beings or upon the earth who would take one hand and place it on God and another and place it on Job, and then say to each party, “Can we both get along?” Job will not give up on this idea (cf. 16:19–21; 19:23–27; 33:23–28). He is surely on to something, but he wishes he knew what.

With three solutions contemplated and then dismissed, Job returns to the only realistic solution he can think of. He asks God to remove his wrath:

    Let him take his rod away from me,

    and let not dread of him terrify me. (9:34)

Job wants to move beyond an unhealthy terror of God to a holy fear of him. He also wants to speak to God and of God without fear of further repercussions:

    Then I would speak without fear of him,

    for I am not so in myself. (v. 35)

10:1–10 In chapter 10, the scene and speech patterns have not shifted much. Job is still speaking about abhorring his existence (“I loathe my life”; 10:1a; cf. 9:21). Although Job now turns to prayer (addressing God directly, “I will say to God”; 10:2), we wonder if he has fallen into an abysmal despair. Is he praying to God or is he accusing him in “prayer”? The start of his direct address to God is less than promising. Job follows his “I loathe my life” with

The pain is too deep for Job to pray properly; he has abandoned himself to bitterness. So, while he lingers briefly on familiar themes such as his hope for deliverance (“Do not condemn me”; v. 2a) and desire for understanding (“let me know why you contend against me”; v. 2b), the thrust of the petition is antagonistic and accusatory. With five questions (vv. 3–10), Job questions God’s workings in the world and personal care (or lack thereof) of Job.

The first question is, “Does it seem good to you to oppress?” (v. 3a). More pointedly, why do you seem “to despise” someone you have seemingly crafted to follow your ways (“the work of your hands”; v. 3b) but to reward someone who disregards your laws (“and favor the designs of the wicked”; Job 10:3)? It is one thing to say that God “makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matt. 5:45), but why, in Job’s case, is the sovereign Lord sending him only thunderstorms and the wicked only rainbows after the storm?

The second question is, “Have you eyes of flesh?” (Job 10:4a). Put differently, “Do you see as man sees?” (v. 4b). Put less poetically and more pointedly, “Is your perception of reality as shortsighted as human beings?” This question is asked because it seems to Job that God is acting like a mere mortal, a human judge who does not have all of the facts in front of him.

Job knows that this cannot be the case, so he supports his second question by asking his third: “Are your days as the days of man, or your years as a man’s years, that you seek out my iniquity and search for my sin, although you know that I am not guilty, and there is none to deliver out of your hand?” (vv. 5–7). The question (accusation!) here is that Job is stuck in a hard place. If God knows Job is innocent (which he does—if he is the infinite God, not a finite man), why is he actively looking for some moral flaw? What is Job to do? He cannot call on anyone but God to rescue him from God.

The fourth question follows right on the thematic tail of the third, and we might paraphrase it as, “Why, why, why? God, please tell me why?” The fuller sense of it is, “Why, if you took great care and time to create me [“Your hands fashioned and made me”; v. 8a], would you take so little time and care to abolish me [“and now you have destroyed me altogether”; v. 8b]?” In verse 9 Job puts this point differently. He asks God to “remember” (Hb. zekar)! This term can have very negative connotations, namely, that Job is reproving God for being forgetful, something of which God often accuses Israel (e.g., Judg. 3:7; 1 Sam. 12:9). Or the plea for remembrance can be positive, in the sense of God remembering his promises to someone or his people (cf. esp. its use in Genesis and Exodus; see Gen. 8:1; 9:15; 19:29; 30:22; Ex. 2:24; 6:5).

With Job’s statement and question—“Remember that you have made me like clay; and will you return me to the dust?” (Job 10:9)—the connotation might be both positive and negative. Job is not holding out much hope at this time. However, there might be an ounce of optimism. Even though Job is a fragile and easily breakable human (“you have made me like clay”; v. 9a) and will die like every human dies (“return . . . to the dust”; v. 9b; cf. Eccles. 12:7), Job is hopeful that God will remember why he created this unique individual, someone who has honored, loved, and served him so well, and restore him. Is he humming Psalm 139 beneath his breath?

If the fourth question has an ounce of optimism, the fifth and final question of this section has quickly drained all positivity from Job’s outlook. The sense is a pause in questions, followed by a “Wait a minute.”

Here Job remembers that his relationship with God as of late has been quite sour. God has treated him like milk well past its expiration date.

10:11–17 Some commentators take the reference to milk and curdled cheese in verse 10 as a veiled reference to semen and the embryo produced through sexual reproduction. Whether this is the case or not, what follows takes us not to the moment of conception but to the gestation period. At this point (v. 11), we surmise that Job, or more likely the author of Job, has meditated upon Psalm 139. The verb translated “knit me together” (Hb. tesokekeni) is used only in Job 10:11 and Psalm 139:13:

What a picture of intimacy! Job is no deist. His God took the time with him, and apparently everyone, knitting each muscle and ligament and clothing human beings with billions of freckles and millions of unique beauty marks.

In verse 12, Job continues in this theologically sentimental mood:

    You have granted me life and steadfast love,

    and your care has preserved my spirit.

He pauses to praise. He recognizes that God (not his mother and father) has given him life and, more than that, has carefully and caringly guarded every step and breath Job has taken. The clause “your care has preserved my spirit” is special. It is an oasis in the wilderness for Job.

The “yet” that starts verse 13, however, sours any sentimentality.80 Job wonders why God would create him if his purpose, an apparently secret and sinister purpose, is to punish him:

    Yet these things you hid in your heart;

    I know that this was your purpose.

The particle “if” (Hb. ʼim) begins both verses 14 and 15. The ESV also includes an implied “if” in verse 15b. This one word, used three times, introduces Job’s three thoughts here. First, in verse 14 he wants to know why God does not just forgive him if some sin is the cause of Job’s suffering. Job sees no sin. But he is not God. God can and should use his omniscience to help Job:

    If I sin, you watch me

    and do not acquit me of my iniquity.

Second, in verse 15a, Job admits that if he has sinned (“If I am guilty”), he deserves what has been handed out (“woe to me!”). But, third, in verse 15bcd, if he has not sinned (“If I am in the right”), then nothing has changed. As he reflects on his present condition (“look on my affliction”), he is drowning in dishonor (“I am filled with disgrace”), so much so that he is too embarrassed to hold up his head and look his friends in the eye (“I cannot lift up my head”; v. 15). And even if he could do so (“And were my head lifted up”; v. 16a), it would only make him a bigger target. He thinks God “would hunt” him “like a lion” and once “again work” his awesome power (“wonders”; Hb. palaʼ) “against” him (v. 16). Both images are frightful, and both echo other scriptural language of judgment. In Hosea (5:14; 13:7–8) and Amos (3:4, 8; 5:19), God is pictured as “executing his judgment against his people as a lion rends its prey,”81 and in Exodus 3:20 God speaks of stretching out his hand to “strike Egypt with . . . wonders” (Hb. palaʼ) so that Pharaoh will let his people go.

In 10:17ab Job returns to the courtroom, where God recommences his accusations:

Worse than that, there is no order in this court. Instead of the bailiff handcuffing Job and bringing him back to his cell, God commands his army to take Job away (and perhaps do violence to him): “you bring fresh troops against me” (v. 17c).

10:18–22 Like the previous section, this one begins with Job’s recollection of his gestation: “Why did you bring me out from the womb?” (v. 18a). Moreover, as in verses 3–10, Job asks God questions. The first question is about his birth: Job again (cf. 3:11–16) wonders why God brought him into the world. He wishes he were stillborn:

    Would that I had died before any eye had seen me

    and were as though I had not been,

    carried from the womb to the grave. (10:18b–19)

The second question is about his impending death: “Are not my days few?” (v. 20a). Job’s logic here is simple: he reasons with God, saying in effect, “If I am soon to die and go to a dark place, then stop the suffering so I can enjoy a few moments of sunshine.”

    Are not my days few?

    Then cease, and leave me alone, that I may find a little cheer

    before I go—and I shall not return—

    to the land of darkness and deep shadow,

    the land of gloom like thick darkness,

    like deep shadow without any order,

    where light is as thick darkness. (vv. 20–22)

Job’s imagery ends by shedding great light on his dark night of the soul (note the use of “darkness,” “deep shadow,” “thick darkness,” “deep shadow,” “thick darkness”). He has no hope in death; he has no hope in life. But he would prefer the “land of darkness” to his apartment of ash in Uz.