but confusion of spirit; his mind was in a constant hurry, and he was almost distracted, Ps. lxxxviii. 15.
2. He complains of the severity of the execution. God (he thought) did not only punish him for every failure, but punish him in a high degree, v. 16, 17. His affliction was, (1.) Grievous, very grievous, marvellous, exceeding marvellous. God hunted him as a lion, as a fierce lion hunts and runs down his prey. God was not only strange to him, but showed himself marvellous upon him, by bringing him into uncommon troubles, and so making him a prodigy, a wonder unto many. All wondered that God would inflict, and that Job could bear, so much. That which made his afflictions most grievous, was, that he felt God's indignation in them; that was it that made them taste so bitter, and lie so heavy. They were God's witnesses against him, tokens of his displeasure; this made the sores of his body wounds in his spirit. (2.) It was growing, still growing, worse and worse. This he insists much upon; when he hoped the tide would turn, and begin to ebb, still it flowed higher and higher. His affliction increased, and God's indignation in the affliction; he found himself no way better; these witnesses were renewed against him, that, if one did not reach to convict him, another might. Changes and war were against him. If there was any change with him, it was not for the better; still he was kept in a state of war. As long as we are here in this world, we must expect that the clouds will return after the rain, and perhaps the sorest and sharpest trials may be reserved for the last. God was at war with him, and it was a great change. He did not use to be so, which aggravated the trouble, and made it truly marvellous. God usually shows himself kind to his people; if at any time he shows himself otherwise, it is his strange work, his strange act, and he doth in it show himself marvellous.
3. He complains of his life, and that ever he was born to all this trouble and misery; (v. 18, 19.) "If this was designed for my lot, why was I brought out of the womb, and not smothered there, or stifled in the birth?" This was the language of his passion, and it was a relapse into the sin he fell into before. He had just now called life a favour, (v. 12.) yet now he calls it a burthen, and quarrels with God for giving it, or rather laying it upon him. Mr. Caryl gives this a good turn in favour of Job. "We may charitably suppose," (says he,) "that that which troubled Job was, that he was in a condition of life which (as he conceived) hindered the main end of his life, which was the glorifying God. His harp was hung on the willow-trees, and he was quite out of tune for praising God. Nay, he feared lest his troubles should reflect dishonour upon God, and give occasion to his enemies to blaspheme; and, therefore, he wishes, O that I had given up the ghost! A godly man reckons that he lives to no purpose, if he do not live to the praise and glory of God." But, if that had been his meaning, it was grounded on a mistake, for we may glorify the Lord in the fires. But this use we may make of it, not to be over-fond of life, since the case has been such, sometimes, even with wise and good men, that they have complained of it. Why should we dread giving up the ghost, or covet to be seen of men, since the time may come, when we may be ready to wish we had given up the ghost, and no eye had seen us? Why should we inordinately lament the death of our children in their infancy, that are as if they had not been, and are carried from the womb to the grave, when perhaps we ourselves may sometimes wish it had been our own lot?
II. Job's humble requests. He prays,
1. That God would see his affliction, (v. 15.) take cognizance of his case, and take it into his compassionate consideration. Thus David prays, (Ps. xxv. 18.) Look upon mine afflictions and my pain. Thus we should, in our troubles, refer ourselves to God, and may comfort ourselves with this, that he knows our souls in adversity.
2. That God would grant him some ease. If he could not prevail for the removal of his troubles, yet might he not have some intermission? "Lord, let me not be always upon the rack, always in extremity; O let me alone, that I may take comfort a little! v. 20. Grant me some respite, some breathing time, some little enjoyment of myself." This he would reckon a great favour. Those that are not duly thankful for constant ease, should think how welcome one hour's ease would be, if they were in constant pain. Two things he pleads;
(1.) That life and its light were very short; "Are not my days few? v. 20. Yes, certainly, they are very few; Lord, let them not be all miserable, all in the extremity of misery. I have but a little time to live, let me have some comfort of life while it does last." This plea fastens on the goodness of God's nature, the consideration of which is very comfortable to an afflicted spirit. And if we would use this as a plea with God for mercy, "Are not my days few? Lord, pity me;" we should use it as a plea with ourselves, to quicken us to duty. "Are not my days few? Then it concerns me to redeem time, to improve opportunities; what my hand finds to do, to do it with all my might, that I may be ready for the days of eternity, which shall be many."
(2.) That death and its darkness were very near, and would be very long; (v. 21, 22.) "Lord, give me some ease before I die," that is, "lest I die, of my pain." Thus David pleads, (Ps. xiii. 3.) "Lest I sleep the sleep of death, and then it will be too late to expect relief; for, Wilt thou show wonders to the dead? (Ps. lxxxviii. 10.) Let me have a little comfort before I die, that I may take leave of this world calmly, and not in such confusion as I am now in." Thus earnest should we be for grace, and thus should we plead; "Lord, renew me in the inward man; Lord, sanctify me before I die, for then it will never be done."
See how he speaks here of the state of the dead.
[1.] It is a fixed state, whence we shall not return ever again to live such a life as we now live, ch. vii. 10. At death, we must bid a final farewell to this world. The body must then be laid where it will lie long, and the soul adjudged to that state in which it must be for ever. That had need be well done, which is to be done but once, and done for eternity.
[2.] It is a very melancholy state; so it appears to us. Holy souls, at death, remove to a land of light, where there is no death; but their bodies they leave to a land of darkness, and the shadow of death. He heaps up expressions here of the same import, to show that he has as dreadful apprehensions of death and the grave as other men naturally have, so that it was only the extreme misery he was in, that made him wish for it. Come and let us look a little into the grave, and we shall find, First, That there is no order there; it is without any order; perpetual night, and no succession of day. All there lie on the same level, and there is no distinction between prince and peasant, but the servant is there free from his master, ch. iii. 19. No order is observed in bringing people to the grave, not the eldest first, not the richest, not the poorest, and yet every one in his own order, the order appointed by the God of life. Secondly, That there is no light there. In the grave there is thick darkness, darkness that cannot be felt indeed, yet cannot but be feared by those that enjoy the
