26 October 2025 — Holy Words, Harmful Wounds: When Righteousness Misses the Heart
Notes
Transcript
Introduction: Real-Life Illustration
In 1994, a young girl named Jenny, age 8, was struck by a car while walking home from school in Tacoma, Washington. She survived, but with life-altering injuries—paralysis, multiple surgeries, and months in rehabilitation. The accident made local headlines, and the community rallied around her family with meals, cards, and prayers. But not everyone was so kind.
One well-meaning church member told her grieving parents, “Maybe God is trying to teach you something. If there’s unconfessed sin in your life, this might be His way of getting your attention.” Another added, “You must not have enough faith.”
Years later, Jenny, now a motivational speaker, reflected on that time. “Their words hurt more than my injuries,” she said. “What I needed was comfort, not a lecture. Someone to sit in the pain with me—not explain it away.”
This is the spirit of Zophar. He says what sounds spiritual—but strips it of love. And in doing so, he mirrors Satan more than the Savior.
Introduction
Zophar’s words are elegant. They echo the language of psalms and proverbs. They even sound like Paul and Jesus at times. Yet they are declared false by God in Job 42:7. This sermon explores why.
A Cruel Accusation (Job 11:1–6)
Zophar opens his speech not with sympathy but with scorn.
Then Zophar the Naamathite answered and said: “Should a multitude of words go unanswered, and a man full of talk be judged right?
His opening salvo is a fourfold assault—each phrase is calculated to shame Job into silence. Zophar believes that Job’s pain has made him arrogant and blasphemous. Rather than engaging Job’s lament with compassion, Zophar rebukes him as a windbag. The Hebrew phrase translated “a man full of talk” (אִישׁ שְׂפָתַיִם )ish sa-FA literally means “a man of lips”—a glib talker, one who overwhelms with words but lacks substance. In Zophar’s view, Job’s wordiness is not a symptom of grief, but evidence of guilt.
Zophar continues:
Should your babble silence men, and when you mock, shall no one shame you?
He’s offended not just by Job’s words but by the fact that Job dares to speak at all in the presence of his elders. The word “mock” (לָעַג) la-AG is often used of scorn directed toward the divine. To Zophar, Job’s accusations that God afflicts the innocent are not cries of confusion, but irreverent mockery. He casts Job as someone who, like a corrupt politician caught red-handed, insists on innocence with theatrical flair. This is not lament, says Zophar. It’s deception cloaked in piety.
Then Zophar misquotes Job:
For you say, ‘My doctrine is pure, and I am clean in God’s eyes.’
But Job never quite said that. In Job 10:7, Job pleads,
although you know that I am not guilty…
Job never claimed to be sinless. He claimed to be innocent of the kind of wickedness that would warrant the horrors he’s experiencing. Zophar takes Job’s cry of injustice and twists it into self-righteousness.
What follows is not just wrong—it’s dangerous. Zophar says,
But oh, that God would speak and open his lips to you, and that he would tell you the secrets of wisdom! For he is manifold in understanding. Know then that God exacts of you less than your guilt deserves.
This is where Zophar’s theology becomes a weapon. He wishes God would speak—not to clarify or comfort—but to condemn. He believes divine speech would only magnify Job’s guilt and prove him a fraud.
This moment is chilling. Zophar claims to speak on God’s behalf, invoking “the secrets of wisdom” (v. 6), as if he has access to divine mysteries. But he weaponizes that “wisdom” not to lift Job up but to tear him down. What he doesn’t realize is that he’s committing the very sin Satan accused Job of in chapter 1—believing that God can be reduced to a simple exchange of deeds and rewards. And like Satan, Zophar becomes an accuser in the courtroom of heaven.
But God does not answer Zophar’s prayer. Not yet. When God finally speaks in Job 38, it is not to vindicate Zophar’s accusations but to correct them. In Job 42:7, God says to Eliphaz (and by extension to Zophar),
…“My anger burns against you… for you have not spoken of me what is right…
That’s a terrifying judgment. Zophar’s error was not that he used theological language—it was that he used it without love, humility, or truth.
Here’s the danger: much of what Zophar says is technically accurate. God’s wisdom is vast and hidden. Human beings are limited in understanding. But truth, when used without compassion, becomes a weapon. And when that weapon is used on the vulnerable, it doesn’t bring healing—it brings harm. It is not enough to speak the truth. We must speak the truth in love. Zophar failed this test. He may have been doctrinally informed, but he was spiritually blind.
In the great controversy, Satan accuses, slanders, and distorts. Zophar, in aligning himself with accusation instead of intercession, echoes the wrong voice. As Peckham reminds us, “The cosmic conflict is not merely about power but about God’s character. It is a courtroom drama that must be won by demonstration, not coercion”. In this courtroom, Zophar forgets that it is not his role to pronounce guilt. It is God's role to judge, and ours to love.
So let’s be cautious, Church. Just because our words sound biblical doesn’t mean they’re right. The test is not theological vocabulary—it’s theological posture. Are we defending truth, or distorting it? Are we comforting the broken, or crushing them under orthodoxy?
Zophar’s words were elegant. His theology was structured. But his spirit was cruel. May we never wield truth in a way that silences the suffering. May we remember that in the cosmic conflict, our calling is not to speak for God unless we have first sat with the suffering.
The Inscrutable Majesty of God
(Job 11:7–12)
Zophar now shifts from accusation to awe. He unleashes a series of rhetorical questions meant not to explore, but to silence.
“Can you find out the deep things of God? Can you find out the limit of the Almighty? It is higher than heaven—what can you do? Deeper than Sheol—what can you know?
At first glance, these verses sound like the chorus of Psalm 139 or the doxology of Romans 11:33—
Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!…
But in Zophar’s mouth, these exalted words are laced with condescension. He does not marvel with Job. He lectures him. What Paul proclaims as praise, Zophar wields as put-down.
Zophar is right about one thing: the majesty of God is beyond human grasp. His wisdom stretches higher than the heavens and deeper than Sheol. This is not poetic exaggeration—it’s theological reality. Isaiah 55:9 reminds us:
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.
But here’s the tragedy: Zophar uses God’s majesty not to invite reverence but to shut down Job’s lament.
Its measure is longer than the earth and broader than the sea.
Zophar emphasizes God’s vastness not to comfort, but to condemn. He’s saying, “Who do you think you are, Job, to question God? You can't even measure His ways.” But while Zophar speaks of God's greatness, he misses God’s heart. The God who spans the heavens also hears the cries of the broken. He is transcendent (exists beyond and independent of his creation), yes—but also immanent (He is present and actively involved). He stretches from sea to sea, yet He stoops to bind the wounds of the suffering.
This tension lies at the heart of the cosmic conflict. The battle is not about power but about God’s character. It is “a dispute over God’s moral character and government... not won by the mere exercise of power but by an extended demonstration of character in a cosmic courtroom”. Zophar echoes Satan’s strategy—appealing to God’s supremacy while ignoring His goodness. He cloaks accusation in worship.
If he passes through and imprisons and summons the court, who can turn him back? For he knows worthless men; when he sees iniquity, will he not consider it?
Here Zophar pivots into legal language: court, imprisonment, judgment. He warns Job that God doesn't miss a thing. But this isn't the reverent awe of a worshiper—it's the weaponized rhetoric of a prosecutor. Zophar assumes Job is the guilty party. He imagines God roaming the earth like a cosmic inspector, ready to seize sinners without appeal. But this is a distortion. Job has already said in 10:3,
Does it seem good to you to oppress, to despise the work of your hands…
Zophar hears Job’s plea and sees only arrogance.
Yet Scripture offers another picture. Psalm 34:18 says,
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.
And Psalm 103:14 reminds us that
For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.
Zophar's theology has no room for that kind of compassion. He insists that God’s omniscience means Job must be wicked. But God's omniscience is not surveillance—it is intimacy. He sees us fully, not to destroy us, but to redeem us.
But a stupid man will get understanding when a wild donkey’s colt is born a man!
This is a proverb—but it stings like an insult. Zophar compares Job to a wild donkey’s colt—a symbol of stubborn ignorance in the ancient world. It’s Zophar’s way of saying: “You’ll understand God when donkeys give birth to humans. In other words—never.”
But this is where Zophar’s wisdom collapses. He claims no one can know God—yet speaks as though he himself does. He declares Job ignorant while claiming to possess the “secrets of wisdom” (v. 6). This is not humility—it’s hubris wrapped in religious garb.
And this is the danger, church. In the name of God, Zophar has misrepresented Him. He has used truth to mock, and mystery to dismiss. He has taken God’s vastness and turned it into a wall rather than a wonder. He has reduced divine wisdom to a tool of accusation.
In the great controversy, Satan slanders God’s character. Zophar, perhaps unknowingly, joins that chorus—not by outright blasphemy, but by presenting a caricature of God: powerful but pitiless, all-knowing but unkind. In doing so, he betrays the heart of God’s covenant love. I want you to get this I’m going to say it twice: God is love. If God does something that doesn’t seem loving for you, then you have either misunderstood love or misunderstood what he’s doing. So you need to keep studying and talking to God.
May we learn from Zophar’s mistake. The majesty of God is indeed unsearchable—but it is not unknowable. For the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and in Jesus we see the fullness of God’s character: truth wrapped in grace, majesty made merciful.
Let us not be content with quoting truth. Let us embody truth in love. Let us speak with the wisdom that James talks about.
But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere.
That is the wisdom that heals, not harms. That is the truth that comforts, not crushes. That is the God Job is searching for—and the God we are called to reflect.
A Conditional Hope and a Veiled Threat
Job 11:13–20
Zophar concludes his speech with what appears, on the surface, to be an invitation—a promise of restoration if Job repents. But beneath this polished veneer lies a dangerous distortion of God’s character and a chilling misrepresentation of hope. Zophar offers Job a transactional gospel:
“If you prepare your heart, you will stretch out your hands toward him. If iniquity is in your hand, put it far away, and let not injustice dwell in your tents.
then—and only then—God will restore you. The promises that follow are beautiful:
Surely then you will lift up your face without blemish; you will be secure and will not fear. You will forget your misery; you will remember it as waters that have passed away. And your life will be brighter than the noonday; its darkness will be like the morning. And you will feel secure, because there is hope; you will look around and take your rest in security. You will lie down, and none will make you afraid; many will court your favor.
These are the kinds of words we want to hear. But here’s the problem: they are predicated on a false accusation.
Zophar assumes guilt where there is none. His "if… then" theology turns the grace of God into a bargain. The Hebrew verb in verse 13, hakīn—“if you prepare”—implies deliberate action, as though Job’s suffering is simply the result of moral laziness. The cleansing of hands (v.14) echoes priestly imagery, suggesting Job is spiritually defiled. But Job has already cleansed his heart before God. Remember what God said about Job in chapter 1: He called him “a blameless and upright man” (Job 1:8 ESV). Zophar's conditional offer of hope is built on a premise God has already rejected.
This is where Zophar’s theology becomes not just wrong but dangerous. He wraps veiled threats in the language of peace.
But the eyes of the wicked will fail; all way of escape will be lost to them, and their hope is to breathe their last.”
Zophar presents two paths: one leads to restoration, the other to ruin. But he sees only two kinds of people in the world—the righteous who repent and the wicked who perish. He has no room in his theology for the innocent sufferer.
Peckham reminds us in Theodicy of Love that the great controversy is not about raw power, but about God’s character. “It is a dispute over God’s moral character and government,” he writes, “which cannot be won by the mere exercise of power but by an extended demonstration of character in a cosmic courtroom”. Zophar’s courtroom, however, has no space for testimony. He presumes verdicts and then demands repentance as the price of survival. He sees God not as a Shepherd who seeks the lost, but as a Judge who watches for failure.
This is the subtle cruelty of conditional comfort: it holds out healing with one hand while wielding accusation with the other. And in so doing, it turns hope into a threat. In verse 18, Zophar says,
And you will feel secure, because there is hope; you will look around and take your rest in security.
It sounds like Psalm 4:8—
In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.
But this rest, in Zophar’s version, is earned, not given. Security, for him, is not rooted in God’s steadfast love but in man’s moral performance.
Contrast that with what Scripture reveals about God’s heart. The Lord says in Isaiah 57:15,
…“I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit…
Zophar speaks of lifting up one’s face to God (Job 11:15), but he forgets that even the lowliest sinner can look up when grace comes down. Psalm 34:5 says,
Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.
That’s not a result of human achievement—it’s the gift of divine compassion.
And perhaps most chilling of all, Zophar’s final words leave no escape for those who do not meet his conditions.
…their hope is to breathe their last.”
The Hebrew is stark—nefesh NE-fesh—soul, life, breath. He’s saying: if you’re not right with God, your only hope is death. But Job’s hope—our hope—is not in our own righteousness, but in a Redeemer. As Job himself will later declare,
For I know that my Redeemer lives…
That is not conditional. That is covenantal.
Zophar’s vision of God is a god who blesses the obedient and annihilates the flawed. But the God of Job—the God of Scripture—is the One who “knows our frame” and “remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14). He is the God who enters into the dust with us, who pleads our cause even when our friends condemn us. In the great cosmic conflict, our Advocate is not Zophar. It is Jesus—the One who did not crush the bruised reed, who heard the groaning of the prisoner, and who speaks peace to the storm of human suffering. May we never trade that gospel for Zophar’s conditional comfort.
Lessons for the Church Today
Beware of Weaponized Theology: Beautiful words can become cruel tools if misapplied. Truth without love wounds. The church must not speak with certainty where God has remained silent. The more we are inferring, the less certain we should be.
God's Justice Is Bigger Than Our Systems: Zophar’s theology is neat: good people are blessed, bad people are punished. But Job’s story disrupts this system. The controversy is not about Job's goodness but about God’s character. Suffering is not always punishment. We must resist oversimplified theology.
Don’t Presume to Speak for God: Zophar thought he was defending God, but he misrepresented Him. God later says Zophar did not speak what is right (Job 42:7). When we speak in God’s name, we must do so with humility, not arrogance.
The Innocent Still Suffer: The heart of Job 11 is not just about theology—it's about the cruelty of using theology to dismiss a sufferer's pain. Job needed compassion, not correction. When we encounter suffering, our first call is to weep, not to fix.
Conclusion: When Righteousness is Misused
Zophar speaks as if he is the voice of God. But his version of righteousness leaves no room for mystery, for mercy, or for cosmic context. His speech is tidy, polished, and devastatingly wrong.
The gospel reminds us that truth came with grace.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
Jesus did not come merely to correct our errors but to carry our griefs.
Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.
In a world full of Zophars, may we speak with the voice of Christ: full of truth, yes—but also full of compassion.
Let us be a people who enter the pain of others not to explain it away, but to bear it with them.
Heartwarming Closing Story
In 2010, Chris Picco’s wife, Ashley, tragically died in her sleep, just weeks before their baby boy was due. Doctors managed to deliver baby Lennon by emergency C-section. He was born premature, only 24 weeks old. Chris, in the midst of unspeakable grief, brought his guitar to the NICU and sang to his son.
He played songs every day by Lennon’s bedside, believing that even if Lennon didn’t survive, he would know his father’s voice. One song went viral—Chris strumming softly as tears streamed down his face: “Blackbird singing in the dead of night…”
Lennon died four days later in his father’s arms.
But what moved the world wasn’t just the tragedy—it was the tenderness. A grieving father didn’t try to fix the pain. He just entered it. He didn’t offer explanations. He offered presence.
This is what Zophar missed. This is what the church must not miss. We don’t win hearts with airtight theology—we win them with sacrificial love. The kind that sits beside the broken. The kind that sings even through tears. The kind that reflects Jesus.
Appeal
Chris Picco didn’t try to explain his pain away. He didn’t tell baby Lennon why things had happened. He didn’t deliver a sermon. He sang. He held his son. He loved him until his very last breath. And in doing so, he gave the world a glimpse of what God does for us in suffering—not always explaining, but always embracing.
Zophar had all the right theological phrases, but he lacked the right heart. He gave answers when Job needed presence. He offered truth without tenderness. And we’ve seen how devastating that can be.
But what would happen if we were more like Christ—and less like Zophar?
What if we stopped trying to fix people’s pain with formulas, and instead stepped into it with compassion? What if our first response to grief was not correction, but connection? What if our words were not weapons, but healing ointment?
The world is full of wounded people—some in our churches, some in our homes. And like baby Lennon, they don’t need a lecture. They need someone to draw near. Someone who reflects the love of the Father who sings over us (Zephaniah 3:17), who binds up the brokenhearted (Psalm 147:3), who carries our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4).
So I want to pray for you.
If any of you want to say with me,
“Lord, make me more like You. Let my words heal and not harm. Use me to reflect Your heart to the suffering—full of grace, full of truth, full of love,”
then I will be praying for that transformation in your life and mine.
Because in the great controversy, we are not called to be prosecutors in the courtroom—we are called to be ambassadors of Christ, ministers of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18). And that begins not with lofty speeches, but with humble hearts.
Let’s be that voice. Let’s be that presence. Let’s be that love.
END
May the hand of the Lord be upon you, guiding you in all righteousness, sustaining you in all trials, and leading you in the path of everlasting life. Amen.
May the hand of the Lord be upon you, guiding you in all righteousness, sustaining you in all trials, and leading you in the path of everlasting life. Amen.
