6 September 2025 — My Lawyer Wears Sandals: My Redeemer Lives
Job • Sermon • Submitted • Presented
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· 8 viewsIn Job 19, amid deep isolation and crushing accusations, Job declares with unshakable confidence, “I know that my Redeemer lives.” This sermon explores how Job’s cry from the ash heap becomes a prophetic testimony of the great controversy, where God’s justice and character are vindicated before the universe. We follow Job from the courtroom of human opinion to the final judgment where Christ, our living Redeemer, stands for His people. Through raw lament and resolute hope, this message calls us to hold fast to the certainty of resurrection and vindication in Christ—no matter how dark the present trial.
Notes
Transcript
Introduction Story – Real, verifiable, gripping
Introduction Story – Real, verifiable, gripping
In 2015, Chris Mintz, a 30-year-old Army veteran, was in his first week of college at Umpqua Community College in Oregon when a gunman opened fire on campus. Instead of running for safety, Chris rushed toward the danger to help other students escape. In the process, he confronted the shooter, tried to block a door, and was shot seven times. Lying on the ground, bleeding and in immense pain, Chris kept telling arriving medics, “It’s my son’s birthday today.” He wanted to live, but even more, he wanted to make sure the people he was protecting were safe.
Chris survived, though with serious injuries, and his actions saved many lives. His story captures something essential to Job’s experience—when all comfort, safety, and normalcy are stripped away, what remains is what you cling to. For Chris, it was protecting others. For Job, it was his Redeemer. In moments when the world seems against us, the core of who we are—and whom we trust—comes into full view.
Introduction
Introduction
We return to the middle of the most emotionally charged section of the book of Job. The friends’ speeches have grown sharper, and Job’s responses more desperate. Job 19 is perhaps the rawest mixture of lament and faith in the entire book. Here, Job stands battered by accusation, abandoned by those closest to him, and physically crushed by his affliction. Yet out of this pit, he declares one of the most powerful statements of hope in Scripture: “I know that my Redeemer lives.”
This chapter is not a neatly packaged testimony. It’s a cry from the courtroom of suffering, where Job calls heaven and earth to witness his integrity and clings to the certainty that God Himself will vindicate him. To appreciate Job 19, we must remember the cosmic dimension of this story. As Theodicy of Love reminds us, Job’s trial is not simply about personal misfortune—it is a skirmish in the great controversy, where God’s character and justice are on trial before the watching universe.
The Weight of Isolation
We begin with Job’s words in verses 1–6:
Then Job answered and said: “How long will you torment me and break me in pieces with words? These ten times you have cast reproach upon me; are you not ashamed to wrong me? And even if it be true that I have erred, my error remains with myself. If indeed you magnify yourselves against me and make my disgrace an argument against me, know then that God has put me in the wrong and closed his net about me.
Job is not just enduring the loss of wealth, health, and family. He is enduring the crushing weight of isolation—wounds inflicted not by boils or bereavement, but by the very people who should have upheld him. His friends, once silent in shared grief, now wield their words like weapons.
“How long will you torment me and break me in pieces with words?
he cries. This is more than irritation—it is the testimony of a man whose soul is being dismantled piece by piece by accusations that miss the truth entirely.
In the language of the great controversy, Satan delights to use false charges to break the spirit of the faithful. Revelation 12:10 calls him
…the accuser of our brothers… who accuses them day and night before our God.
Here, Job’s companions have—perhaps unknowingly—become echo chambers for that same accusatory voice. They have taken his disgrace, which is the visible mark of his suffering, and made it “an argument against” him. This is the cruel logic of sin: to interpret affliction as proof of guilt.
Job, however, refuses to let them own the narrative. In verse 4 he insists,
And even if it be true that I have erred, my error remains with myself.
He is saying, in effect, My failings, if I have them, are between me and God—not fodder for your self-exalting judgments. This is not defiance against God but resistance against false witnesses in the cosmic courtroom.
Yet Job’s words in verse 6 are difficult:
…God has put me in the wrong and closed his net about me.
Is Job accusing God of injustice? Here we must remember what Theodicy of Love teaches us—Job is speaking from the perspective of a sufferer who does not yet see the unseen dialogue between God and the accuser. Job feels that heaven itself has turned against him, but in reality, God is allowing a trial to unfold whose outcome will silence Satan’s claims for eternity.
From a human vantage point, it feels like God has trapped him. From the cosmic vantage point, God is sustaining him, even as He allows the contest to play out before the watching universe. This tension is central to the great controversy. In moments of darkness, the believer may feel abandoned, but faith is holding on when heaven is silent.
And so, Job’s isolation becomes part of the evidence in the trial of God’s character. Every whispered falsehood, every misunderstood wound, is weighed in that heavenly court. Psalm 56:8 assures us that God
…put my tears in your bottle…
Not one is wasted. Job’s friends may misjudge him, but the Judge of all the earth will do right.
This is where we must remember: in the cosmic conflict, isolation is not the absence of God—it is often the stage where His vindication will shine the brightest.
Darkness Without Escape
We now move to Job’s next words in verses 7–12:
Behold, I cry out, ‘Violence!’ but I am not answered; I call for help, but there is no justice. He has walled up my way, so that I cannot pass, and he has set darkness upon my paths. He has stripped from me my glory and taken the crown from my head. He breaks me down on every side, and I am gone, and my hope has he pulled up like a tree. He has kindled his wrath against me and counts me as his adversary. His troops come on together; they have cast up their siege ramp against me and encamp around my tent.
If the first six verses showed the pain of isolation from friends, these verses reveal the agony of what feels like isolation from God. Job cries,
…I call for help, but there is no justice.
This is the experience every believer dreads—that moment when you pray with all your heart and the heavens feel like brass. Psalm 13:1 gives voice to the same question:
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?…
Job uses imagery that’s both legal and military. Legally, he pleads his case—
…I cry out, ‘Violence!’…
—as though filing a charge in court. But there’s no answer. Militarily, he feels besieged, surrounded by God’s “troops,” with no way of escape. The imagery of verse 8—
He has walled up my way…
—echoes Lamentations 3:7, where Jeremiah says,
He has walled me about so that I cannot escape…
The sense is total entrapment.
Here is where Theodicy of Love offers us a crucial perspective. In the great controversy, moments like this are not signs that God has abandoned His people; they are the points at which the adversary’s accusations are most sharply tested. Satan claims that our faith is just a transaction—that we only trust God when the blessings flow. But when the blessings stop, when the path is walled in with darkness, when the siege engines surround the tent—that is where faith proves whether it is rooted in love or in self-interest.
Job’s lament in verses 9–10 is especially raw:
He has stripped from me my glory and taken the crown from my head.
This is not merely the loss of possessions or social standing; it’s the loss of dignity, the unraveling of everything that once gave him a place of honor. It’s as if the very tree of his hope has been uprooted. Isaiah 40:24 uses similar imagery of uprooting, but there it’s God’s enemies who are blown away like stubble. Here, Job feels like the one swept aside.
In verse 11, Job voices the hardest thought yet:
He… counts me as his adversary.
From Job’s limited perspective, God seems to have switched sides. This is the emotional toll of living in the fog of the great controversy—we may not see the Advocate in the courtroom; we may only feel the opposition pressing in.
And yet, as we read, we must remember what Job cannot see: God is not his enemy but his defender. The “troops” that seem to be against him are not the final truth. Behind the scenes, God is allowing Job’s faith to stand as living testimony before a watching universe. In the apparent darkness without escape, Job is still part of the plan to reveal the unshakable love and justice of God.
The Loneliness of the Afflicted
“He has put my brothers far from me, and those who knew me are wholly estranged from me. My relatives have failed me, my close friends have forgotten me. The guests in my house and my maidservants count me as a stranger; I have become a foreigner in their eyes. I call to my servant, but he gives me no answer; I must plead with him with my mouth for mercy. My breath is strange to my wife, and I am a stench to the children of my own mother. Even young children despise me; when I rise they talk against me. All my intimate friends abhor me, and those whom I loved have turned against me. My bones stick to my skin and to my flesh, and I have escaped by the skin of my teeth. Have mercy on me, have mercy on me, O you my friends, for the hand of God has touched me! Why do you, like God, pursue me? Why are you not satisfied with my flesh?
The downward spiral of Job’s isolation reaches a devastating depth here. It is one thing to be accused falsely by friends; it is another to feel abandoned by every circle of human relationship. Job catalogs the collapse: brothers, relatives, friends, houseguests, servants, his own wife, even children—none remain as sources of comfort. The man who was once the most respected in the city gate is now treated like an unclean stranger. This is loneliness in its most bitter form: not just being alone, but being unseen, unwanted, and unloved.
The great controversy framework helps us see that this is not merely social misfortune; it is part of the adversary’s strategy. Theodicy of Love reminds us that Satan seeks to isolate the faithful, to strip away every human support so that their trust in God alone is tested. Revelation 12:17 tells us that
Then the dragon became furious… and went off to make war on the rest of her offspring, on those who keep the commandments of God and hold to the testimony of Jesus…
In Job’s case, the war takes the form of relational devastation. It is as if the enemy whispers into every ear around him, “Distance yourself from Job—he’s cursed.”
The relational losses in verses 13–14 hit hardest because they dismantle the very communities God designed for human flourishing. Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 reminds us,
Two are better than one… For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow…
But when every companion walks away, the fall feels endless. For Job, even those who once shared his table now treat him as a foreigner. Hospitality has been replaced by hostility.
In verse 15, Job describes calling to his servant and receiving silence. In the ancient world, even the lowest servant owed basic respect to the master of the house. But here, the hierarchy has inverted—Job must plead for mercy from one who once served him. Affliction has not only broken his health but has inverted the social order of his life.
Then comes perhaps the most personal wound:
My breath is strange to my wife…
The one who was bone of his bones now recoils from him. This echoes the fracture of Eden, where sin drove a wedge between Adam and Eve. In the great controversy, Satan delights to break apart the most intimate human bonds, hoping to leave the sufferer convinced that they are unworthy of love.
Verses 18–19 take the isolation even further—children mock him, close friends abhor him. The Hebrew word for “abhor” here is intense, meaning to loathe or to shrink back from in disgust. This is not passive neglect; it is active rejection. In the cosmic courtroom, this appears as evidence that Job is indeed cursed. But the heavenly reality is the opposite: the deeper the rejection, the more clearly Job’s unshaken trust will testify against Satan’s claims.
Verse 20 paints a haunting physical image:
My bones stick to my skin and to my flesh, and I have escaped by the skin of my teeth.
Job’s emaciated body becomes a visual symbol of how close he is to total collapse. Yet here, we should pause and remember Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 4:8–9:
We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair… struck down, but not destroyed;
Even in this skeletal state, Job still speaks, still appeals—meaning faith still lives.
His cry in verse 21 is heartbreaking:
Have mercy on me, have mercy on me, O you my friends, for the hand of God has touched me!
He does not deny that God’s hand is involved; he acknowledges divine sovereignty. But he pleads that their treatment should not add to the blow. This is a lesson for the church today: when someone is under God’s mysterious providence, our role is not to amplify their pain with suspicion or coldness, but to be channels of mercy.
Finally, in verse 22, Job confronts his friends directly:
Why do you, like God, pursue me? Why are you not satisfied with my flesh?
The irony is sharp—Job feels hunted, as though God and man alike are chasing him down. But here is the truth that Theodicy of Love insists we keep in mind: God is not the pursuer in wrath; Satan is. God permits the test, but He is for Job, not against him. Isaiah 41:10 assures,
fear not, for I am with you…I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
Job cannot see that hand now, but the cosmic audience can. And when the trial ends, that unseen hand will be the one to lift him up.
In this section, the loneliness of the afflicted becomes another stage on which God’s justice and love will be vindicated. For the sufferer, the pain is unbearable; for the universe, it is evidence that love for God can survive the loss of every other love. And when that is proven, the accuser’s argument collapses.
A Desire for Permanent Testimony
Job’s words in verses 23–24 break through the fog of accusation and despair with a determined plea:
“Oh that my words were written! Oh that they were inscribed in a book! Oh that with an iron pen and lead they were engraved in the rock forever!
He is not seeking a fleeting defense before fickle men, but a lasting testimony that cannot be twisted by his accusers. In the cosmic courtroom, where the adversary thrives on distortion, Job longs for a record so enduring it will stand until God Himself reveals the truth. Stone and lead in the ancient world meant permanence—truth chiseled into creation itself. This is more than personal vindication; it is an appeal for the truth about God’s servant to be preserved for generations yet unborn. Like the psalmist who writes for “a people yet to be created” (Psalm 102:18), Job’s cry anticipates the final vindication of God’s people, whose names are recorded in the Lamb’s book of life—unchangeable, unassailable, and eternal.
The Climactic Confession of Faith
In one of Scripture’s most stunning declarations, Job bursts through the haze of pain with a cry that has echoed through centuries:
For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me!
Here is faith unshaken by the rubble of his life. Job sees beyond the ash heap to the final day when the great controversy will be settled, and God’s justice will shine without shadow. The term “Redeemer” is the go’el—the kinsman-redeemer who avenges wrongs, restores inheritance, and defends the helpless. Job claims this Redeemer not as a distant ideal but as a living certainty. In the cosmic courtroom, where Satan’s accusations fill the air, Job’s testimony stands as a prophetic preview of the day when
…Christ…will appear a second time…to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.
Stripped of all earthly defenders, Job rests in the One who will not fail, whose vindication of His people is as sure as His own victory over the grave.
A Solemn Warning to the Accusers
Job turns from proclaiming his Redeemer to addressing those who have sharpened their words against him:
If you say, ‘How we will pursue him!’ and, ‘The root of the matter is found in him,’ be afraid of the sword, for wrath brings the punishment of the sword, that you may know there is a judgment.”
His friends had treated him as the cause of his own ruin, assuming secret sin lay beneath his suffering. But Job reminds them that in the cosmic controversy, to misrepresent the innocent is to place oneself in opposition to God’s justice. The “sword” here is not merely human retribution but the divine judgment that defends truth and punishes falsehood. In the great courtroom of heaven, every careless word and every unfounded accusation is weighed (Matthew 12:36). Job’s warning echoes through time: to take God’s seat as judge is to invite the judgment seat upon ourselves. Like Paul’s reminder that
…we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ…
this is both a caution and a call—to humility, to truth, and to standing on God’s side in the battle between light and darkness.
Conclusion and Appeal
Conclusion and Appeal
Job 19 takes us from the depths of isolation to the heights of hope. Job’s circumstances do not change by the end of the chapter—he is still suffering, still misunderstood—but his vision shifts. He looks beyond the present courtroom of human opinion to the final courtroom where the living Redeemer will stand and vindicate him.
This is the hope we hold in the great controversy. Our Redeemer lives—not only in history, not only in Scripture, but now, making intercession in the heavenly sanctuary. He will stand upon the earth at the last day, and in our resurrected bodies we will see Him. Until that day, we live by faith, holding fast to the testimony that our Redeemer is alive and our case is secure in His hands.
Closing Story – Heartwarming and Hopeful
Closing Story – Heartwarming and Hopeful
In 1943, in the middle of World War II, Allied forces liberated a small village in France that had been under Nazi occupation. One of the soldiers, Sergeant Harold "Hal" Baumgarten, noticed an elderly woman clutching a tattered photo of her son, who had been taken prisoner years before. Every single day since his capture, she had set a place for him at the table, refusing to give up hope that he would return. The neighbors thought she was in denial, but she told them, “I know my son is alive. One day, I will see him again.”
That day came when the Allies freed her son from a POW camp. When he walked into the village, she dropped the plate she was holding and ran to him, tears streaming down her face. The reunion was exactly as she had pictured it all those years.
That is the kind of hope Job had—not a vague wish, but a confident expectation that one day his eyes would see his Redeemer. And it’s the hope you and I can have, no matter what we’ve lost along the way.
Appeal
Appeal
Friend, maybe you’ve felt like Job—cut off, misunderstood, or abandoned. Maybe your prayers seem to hit the ceiling. But today, Job’s testimony reminds us: our Redeemer lives. The Judge of all the earth is not against you; He is for you. One day, you will see Him face-to-face, and all the accusations, all the loneliness, all the losses will be reversed in His presence.
I want to pray for you. If any of you want to say with me, “Lord, even in my hardest season, I choose to trust my living Redeemer until the day I see You face-to-face,” then raise your hand as we pray.
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