would gladly appeal to a third person, who had just weights and just balances with which to weigh his grief and calamity, and would do it with an impartial hand; he wished that they would set his grief in one scale, and all the expressions of it; his calamity in the other, and all the particulars of it; and (though he would not altogether justify himself in his grief, yet) they would find (as he says, ch. xxiii. 2.) that his stroke was heavier than hie groaning; for, whatever his grief was, his calamity was heavier than the sand of the sea; it was complicated, it was aggravated, every grievance weighty, and all together numerous as the sand: Therefore (says he) my words are swallowed up; that is, "Therefore you must excuse both the brokenness and the bitterness of my expressions; do not think it strange if my speech be not so fine and polite as that of an eloquent orator, or so grave and regular as that of a morose philosopher: no, in these circumstances I can pretend neither to the one nor to the other; my words are, as I am, quite swallowed up."
Now, 1. He hereby complains of it as his unhappiness, that his friends undertook to administer spiritual physic to him, before they thoroughly understood his case, and knew the worst of it. It is seldom that those who are at ease themselves, rightly weigh the afflictions of the afflicted; every one feels most from his own burthen, few feel from other people's. 2. He excuses the passionate expressions he had used when he cursed his day. Though he could not himself justify all he had said, yet he thought his friends should not thus violently condemn it, for really the case was extraordinary; and that might be connived at in such a man of sorrows as he now was, which, in any common grief, would by no means be allowed of. 3. He bespeaks the charitable and compassionate sympathy of his friends with him, and hopes, by representing the greatness of his calamity, to bring them to a better temper toward him. To those that are pained, it is some ease to be pitied.
II. He complains of the trouble and terror of mind he was in, as the sorest part of his calamity, v. 4. Herein he was a type of Christ, who, in his sufferings, complained most of the sufferings of his soul; Now is my soul troubled, John xii. 27. My soul is exceeding sorrowful, Matth. xxvi. 37, 38. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Matth. xxvii. 46. Poor Job sadly complains here, 1. Of what he felt: The arrows of the Almighty are within me. It was not so much the troubles themselves he was under that put him into this confusion, his poverty, disgrace, and bodily pain; that which cut him to the heart, and put him into this agitation, was, to think that the God he loved, and served, had brought all this upon him, and laid him under these marks of his displeasure. Note, Trouble of mind is the sorest trouble: a wounded spirit who can bear? Whatever burthen of affliction, in body or estate, God is pleased to lay upon us, we may well afford to submit to it as long as he continues to us the use of our reason, and the peace of our consciences; but if, in either of these, we be disturbed, our case is sad indeed, and very pitiable. The way to prevent God's fiery darts of trouble, is, with the shield of faith, to quench Satan's fiery darts of temptation. Observe, He calls them the arrows of the Almighty; for it is an instance of the power of God above that of any man, that he can with his arrows reach the soul. He that made it can make his sword to approach to it. The poison or heat of these arrows is said to drink up his spirit, because it disturbed his reason, shook his resolution, exhausted his vigour, and threatened his life; and therefore his passionate expressions, though they could not be justified, yet might be excused. 2. Of what he feared. He saw himself charged by the terrors of God, as by an army set in battle-array, and surrounded by them. God, by his terrors, fought against him: as he had no comfort when he retired inward into his own bosom, so he had none when he looked upward toward Heaven. He that used to be encouraged with the consolations of God, not only wanted those, but was amazed with the terrors of God.
III. He reflects upon his friends for their severe censures of his complaints, and their unskilful management of his case. 1. Their reproofs were causeless. He complained, it is true, now that he was in this affliction, but he never used to complain, as those do who are of a fretful unquiet spirit, when he was in prosperity: he did not bray when he had grass, nor low over his fodder, v. 5. But now, that he was utterly deprived of all his comforts, he must be a stock or a stone, and not have the sense of an ox or a wild ass, if he did not give some vent to his grief. He was forced to eat unsavoury meats, and was so poor, that he had not a grain of salt, wherewith to relish them, nor to give a little taste to the white of an egg, which was now the choicest dish he had at his table, v. 6. Even that food which once he would have scorned to touch, now he was glad of, and it was his sorrowful meat, v. 7. Note, It is wisdom not to use ourselves or our children to be nice and dainty about meat and drink, because we know not how we or they may be reduced, nor how that which we now disdain may be made acceptable by necessity. 2. Their comforts were sapless and insipid; so some understand, v. 6, 7. He complains he had nothing now offered him for his relief, that was proper for him; no cordial, nothing to revive and cheer his spirits; what they had afforded, was in itself as tasteless as the white of an egg, and, when applied to him, as loathsome and burthensome as the most sorrowful meat. I am sorry he should say thus of what Eliphaz had excellently well said, ch. v. 8, &c. But peevish spirits are too apt thus to abuse their comforters.
8. Oh that I might have my request; and that God would grant me the thing that I long for; 9. Even that it would please God to destroy me ; that he would let loose his hand, and cut me off! 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. 11. What is my strength, that I should hope? and what is mine end, that I should prolong my life? 12. Is my strength the strength of stones? or is my flesh of brass? 13. Is not my help in me? and is wisdom driven quite from me?
Ungoverned passion often grows more violent when it meets with some rebuke and check: the troubled sea rages most when it dashes against a rock. Job had been courting death, as that which would be the happy period of his miseries, ch. iii. For this, Eliphaz had gravely reproved him; but he, instead of unsaying it, says it here again with more vehemence than before; it is as ill said as almost any thing we meet with in all his discourses, and is recorded for our admonition, not our imitation.
I. He is still most passionately desirous to die, as if it were not possible that he should ever see good days again in this world, or that, by the exercise of
