TEXT: Job 4:1-16:22

SUBJECT: Meditations on Job #4: The Friends

If I asked you for the three vilest men who ever lived, who would you name? If you consulted Dante’s Inferno, you’d find Brutus and Cassius (who assassinated Julius Caesar), and Judas Iscariot (who betrayed the Lord). If you read the history of the Twentieth Century, you’d say Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Mao Tse Tong (dictators who ordered the murder of millions of innocent men, women, and children).

But if you got your list from the Bible, it wouldn’t be long until you wrote in the names Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. Ironically, the men are called Job’s three friends—and that’s what they thought they were, and what Job thought too--for a time--but, in fact, they were his worst enemies—and among the proudest and most hateful men who ever lived.

We know they are foreigners. They are Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuite, and Zophar, the Naamathite. They might have been immigrants in Job’s country, but I don’t think so. Job was a rich man with business contacts all over the world. The men may have been his customers or suppliers once, but now they were more than that: they are now his friends—loved and trusted friends.

Friendship, in the Near East, was a sacred thing. It was often formalized by a covenant, complete with promises of loyalty, and curses for not living up to them. The men take their vows seriously.

They are up in age, and one of them is older than Job’s father. But they are not doddering old men—senile, sentimental, and easily worn out. No! Their minds are as sharp as a razor, their words flow like a poem, and they sit with Job, day after day, without a hint of weariness. Like Moses at 120 years old, their eyes are not dim and their natural forces are not abated.

They are theologians. Their nine speeches are about one thing: God! They believe in Him and they praise His power, wisdom, mercy—and most of all, His justice. When Job seems to doubt the Lord, they stand up for God, and defend Him against any hint of wrongdoing.

Because Job is an important man, the news about him spreads quickly. When his three friends hear it, they know he needs them, and they agree to meet somewhere and come together.

Here they come, lordly men all of them—dignified, wise, and powerful. When they get to Job’s home, they find he is not there. Where is he? At the city dump!

They ride there, thinking the worst of their friend. But their terrible thoughts are not terrible enough. There he is, the wealthiest and most respected man in the world, sitting on an ash heap, scraping his body with a broken piece of pottery. He is covered with running sores and he smells like a dead man.

The friends did not live in our age, where the sick and dying are sent off to a hospital to be cared for by nurses and doctors. No, the sick stayed home and were cared for by their families, and they died in their own beds. Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, had seen sick men before—men with leprosy and tuberculosis and cancer. They had heard the rattle of death. They had seen dead bodies without makeup and not in their Sunday best.

But they had never seen anything like Job. His sorrow and sickness had so mangled his body that they didn’t even recognize him. The man had become a monster.

When they saw their friend, they cried out in sympathy, tore their clothes, put dirt on their heads, and sat down horrified and speechless.

For seven day they sat there without saying a word.

This was the best thing they ever did. Had the Story ended here, with the men sitting quietly at Job’s side, they would have become models of friendship, heroes for all to admire and imitate.

What do you say to the man whose wife died at thirty-five years old and without warning? What do you say to the couple whose baby got under the mattress in his crib and suffocated? What do you say to the young woman whose eyelids have been sewn shut because of AIDS?

What do you say? You say nothing—that’s what you say! They don’t need a sermon on Providence or a lesson in philosophy. What they need is someone to sit there.

Two or three years ago, Warren Zevon was diagnosed with inoperable throat cancer. He went home from the doctor’s determined to cut one last album. In one of the songs, he calls an old friend to come see him before he dies—and to hurry. But the friend is nervous, he doesn’t know what to say. But, that’s all right, come anyway,

Job didn’t need words, he needed friends. As long as the men sat there quietly, they were his friends. But when they opened their mouths, the became his tormentors.

What did they say? A lot of things, of course, but they all amount to this: The Lord is punishing Job because of his sins.

Of what sins was he guilty? They couldn’t say. But he must be. Why? Because their theology requires it! If there is justice with God, saints will be rewarded and sinners will be punished. Because Job is being punished, he must be a sinner. And because his punishment is great, he must be a great sinner.

The more he says he isn’t, the more they know he is.

Were they right? Job didn’t think so. And he wasn’t alone: there was a young man, standing to the side, taking in their wisdom, and he agreed with Job. The friends got it wrong:

But, more to the point, the Lord said they were wrong. He would have killed the men had Job not prayed for them, because—He said—You have not spoken of Me what is right as My servant Job has.

What was wrong with their argument? Or, to put a finer point on it, what was wrong with the men who made it?

First, they had a wrong view of God. They were always affirming His sovereignty—With God is terrible majesty. But they also thought He had to meet their expectations or live up to their beliefs about Him. But if the Lord is sovereign, He doesn’t have to do what you expect of Him! He is faithful, but He is not predictable. He’s a Father who answers prayer, but He’s not a dog who comes when you whistle for Him! He is not a tame lion!

When Nebuchadnezzar praised the Lord, he was thinking of kings, but it applies equally to theologians, both professional and amateur,

God doesn’t have to be fair—as you and I define fairness. He is the Lord! And He doesn’t answer to us!

Secondly, they had a wrong view of themselves. They took themselves for philosophers, when in fact, they were fools. What made them fools? It wasn’t ignorance, but pride. They knew a lot about God and His ways, but not quite as much as they thought they did. And that was their folly: they left no room for mystery.

Some things can be explained, but others can’t. If they can’t be, we shouldn’t try to do it. Not all loose ends need tying up. A life without mystery is not worth living. A theology without mystery is heresy. Philip Melanchton said some doctrines are better adored than explained.

The wisest man in the world knew the limits of wisdom and the horizons of pride,

Brother, sister: you are not a thinker! You might believe you are, others might say you are, but you’re not! What seems wise to you is foolishness with God. And what seems inconsistent to you, makes perfect sense to the Lord.

A man far smarter than you and I could only marvel,

I wonder what the Lord thought of the sweeping banalities of Eliphaz or the profound idiocies of Bildad? I can only guess:

Thirdly, they had a wrong view of justice. Does everyone get what’s coming to him? Yes he does. But on God’s timetable, not yours and mine. The Bible plainly teaches this—especially the Book of Job, Psalms 37 and 73, and in the crucifixion and resurrection of our Lord.

Justice will prevail! The meek shall inherit the earth! The proud will be destroyed! God is just—more just than the friends of Job ever thought He was.

But it’s His justice that will executed, not ours! The saints on earth have to wait patiently. Even the Redeemed in heaven want the Lord to hurry. But He won’t. The saints will be justified and the sinners condemned when God says so. And not before.

Fourthly, they had a wrong view of suffering. They thought of pain as an idea to be examined and explained and debated by learned men like themselves. But Job knew better. After listening to a dreary round of speeches, he broke through the cant,

Pain, sorrow, and despair are real things and they are not cured by empty words! Not the words of Eliphaz; and not yours and mine either.

Finally, they had a wrong view of friendship. Job didn’t need their sermons, he needed their sympathy. He needed them to listen to his groans and rants and raves. He needed them to pray for him. But they wanted to be his teachers, not his friends. And when he didn’t like it, they scolded the man they should have loved.

The arguments were bad and the men who made them were worse. We have them for examples—not examples to follow, but to avoid! And we ought to. Beware of being a know it all. Be content with being a friend.

Though the friends of Job were stupid and sinful men, they were not lost men. At the end of the Story, Job offered sacrifices for them, and prayed for them. And the Lord forgave them.

His pardon made them new men. If the second half of Job’s life was happier than the first, he must have kept his old friends, who were now his true friends.

Friends are the gift of God. You need to be a friend to others and to let others be your friend. Friendship depends on two things: love and wisdom. I believe Job’s friends loved him, but their foolishness made their love feel like hate and made their good intentions torture the man they wanted to comfort.

Let us cherish the friends we have, make new friends, and pray for the wisdom to be their friends. For Christ’s sake. Amen.