Job’s Reply to Zophar: A Longing for Resurrection: Job: The Wisdom of the Cross [Job 12-14]

[pray]

Last time, we heard from Zophar for the first time. While Zophar’s speech was relatively short and poignant, Job’s reply is by far the longest of Job’s speeches to his comforters.

It brings to a close the first cycle of speeches. In it we shall see Job make significant progress. He speaks first to his friends (12:1–13:19) and then to God (13:20 onward).

To his friends he clarifies in his own mind that “The System” of thought that he and they have shared in the past does not work. It is cruel (12:1–6), shallow (12:7–12), tame (12:13–25), and deceitful (13:1–12). As a result, Job resolves that he must take his case to God himself (13:13–19).

And so he does. He expresses his deep longing to deal with God (13:20–22) but recognizes that the problem of sin (13:23–27), with consequent mortality (13:28–14:6) and death (14:7–12), must be overcome by resurrection (14:13–17) if his search is not to end in despair (14:18–22).

Job Rebukes His Friends (12:1–13:19)

Although formally Job is replying to Zophar (who spoke in chapter 11), practically he is replying to his friends with his reflections on what all three of them have said thus far. What he says here is a wide-ranging and comprehensive exposé of the bankruptcy of The System. It was a system that Job himself had shared, along with religious and morally-serious people of all ages. But it is a system he now sees to be a failure.

The System Is Cruel (12:1–6)

The first feature of The System that Job identifies is its cruelty.

Then Job answered and said:

“No doubt you are the people,

and wisdom will die with you.

But I have understanding as well as you;

I am not inferior to you.

Who does not know such things as these?

I am a laughingstock to my friends;

I, who called to God and he answered me,

a just and blameless man, am a laughingstock.

In the thought of one who is at ease there is contempt for misfortune;

it is ready for those whose feet slip.

The tents of robbers are at peace,

and those who provoke God are secure,

who bring their god in their hand.” (vv. 1–6)

There is heavy and bitter irony in verse 2. The word used for “the people” denoted the upper class, the kind of people who really matter in the world’s eyes. “Oh,” says Job, “I have not the slightest doubt that you are the only really significant people in the world, and I’m really worried that when you die, there will be no wisdom left in the world because you are the only really wise people (or so you seem to think)!”

Zophar has implied that Job must be a fool (11:12), but (12:3) Job insists that he is just as well qualified in wisdom and “understanding” as they are. He is not in the least “inferior.” He knows The System as well as they do. “Who does not know such things as these? You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. But here’s the problem [v. 4]: I ‘called to God and he answered me’—I was in right relation with him, so he heard my prayers. I am a just and blameless man [like Noah in Genesis 6:9]. But I have become ‘a laughingstock,’ the object of mockery.”

Why? Verse 5 answers this. Those who are “at ease” (everything is going well for them) despise those who are suffering misfortune because, according to The System, misfortune “is ready for those whose feet slip,” that is, for sinners. Misfortune is evidence of unforgiven sin. So when others suffer misfortune, we despise them; their misfortune exposes their sin. The NIV makes this connection explicit: ‘Those who are at ease have contempt for misfortune as the fate of those whose feet are slipping.”

“But,” says Job essentially in verse 6, “the reality is that while I, a just and blameless man, am despised by those who follow The System, all the while robbers and ungodly people ‘are at peace’ and ‘secure’ ” (v. 6). Something doesn’t fit.

So The System cruelly mocks and despises those who suffer misfortune, for according to The System this misfortune necessarily proves the despicable character of the sufferers.

The System Is Shallow (12:7–12)

It would seem that in verses 7–12 Job is quoting or parodying what his friends had said, or would have said, to him. The pronouns “you” in verses 7, 8 are singular, suggesting that these words were addressed to Job rather than to his three friends. If this is correct, then Job’s parody shows up the shallowness of The System.

But ask the beasts, and they will teach you;

the birds of the heavens, and they will tell you;

or the bushes of the earth, and they will teach you;

and the fish of the sea will declare to you.

Who among all these does not know

that the hand of the LORD has done this?

In his hand is the life of every living thing

and the breath of all mankind.

Does not the ear test words

as the palate tastes food?

Wisdom is with the aged,

and understanding in length of days. (vv. 7–12)

“You say to me,” says Job, “that even subrational creatures like wild beasts, birds, and fish know that what has happened to me is God’s doing [vv. 7–9]. Just pay attention to them, you say again and again, ‘and they will teach you’ [notice the repetition of this clause]. We know this because he holds all living creatures in his hand [v. 10]. We have the wise discernment to ‘test words,’ just as a good tongue can taste food [v. 11]; we know when words are right and when they are wrong. After all, we are senior people (‘the aged’ having ‘length of days’ [v. 12]); we have been around for a long time, and what we say is in line with the traditions of the elders. It’s obvious we are right.”

In putting it so trivially Job exposes the shallowness of The System and its complete inadequacy in the face of the realities of what has happened to Job.

So The System is cruel and shallow. Even worse, it is tame.

The System Is Tame (12:13–25)

The theme of verses 13–25 is God’s wild sovereignty. As Job understands it, “the God he has encountered is no placid governor of a universe of order” but is “inapprehensible and untameable.” In fact, he is positively dangerous. “From what I have seen of God’s activity,” says Job, “there can be no tame, systematic (as in your system) assurance that moral order will be upheld. Far from it.”

Job paints a vivid picture of this scary God by reference first to natural disasters (vv. 13–15), then to leaders (vv. 16–21), and finally to nations (vv. 22–25).

With God are wisdom and might;

he has counsel and understanding.

If he tears down, none can rebuild;

if he shuts a man in, none can open.

If he withholds the waters, they dry up;

if he sends them out, they overwhelm the land. (vv. 13–15)

The combination of “wisdom and might” (v. 13) includes both knowing what to do and having the power to do it. Both of these lie “with God” and not at all with human beings. But what does God do? Often, says Job, he “tears down” and “shuts a man in” (v. 14)—in a prison, as he has with Job in his grief. He is a destructive god, the god of “nature red in tooth and claw,” as Tennyson put it, the god of the tsunami. Think about water, says Job. Sometimes he gives too little, and there is drought (v. 15a); at other times there is too much, and we have floods (v. 15b). Far from being the God of a reliable natural order, he is the god of natural disasters. Job’s friends’ system could not account for that.

And then what about the fate of great human leaders?

With him are strength and sound wisdom;

the deceived and the deceiver are his.

He leads counselors away stripped,

and judges he makes fools.

He looses the bonds of kings

and binds a waistcloth on their hips.

He leads priests away stripped

and overthrows the mighty.

He deprives of speech those who are trusted

and takes away the discernment of the elders.

He pours contempt on princes

and loosens the belt of the strong. (vv. 16–21)

Verse 16 begins similarly to verse 13: “With God are wisdom and might … With him are strength and sound wisdom.” What follows is a catalog of the undoing of human power and wisdom. In verse 17 the “counselors” or “judges” are wise ministers of state. They are “stripped” naked of their mental powers and are made into fools. This is the fate of human traditional wisdom like that of Job’s “comforters.”

In verse 18 kings may have put “bonds” on people, but God undoes the power of the kings, releases their prisoners, and “binds a waistcloth [or possibly a captive’s belt] on their hips.” He undoes the order of human power. It is the same with religious leaders (v. 19a, “priests”) and with all human power (v. 19b). But it is especially true of human attempts at wisdom (v. 20): trusted counselors, senior wise leaders, are rendered speechless by the sheer impulse of what this dangerous god does.

And what he does with leaders, he does with peoples:

He uncovers the deeps out of darkness

and brings deep darkness to light.

He makes nations great, and he destroys them;

he enlarges nations, and leads them away.

He takes away understanding from the chiefs of the people of the earth

and makes them wander in a trackless waste.

They grope in the dark without light,

and he makes them stagger like a drunken man. (vv. 22–25)

To “uncover the deeps out of darkness” (v. 22) is to bring evil and chaos into an ordered world. God does this with nations (v. 23); he plays with them, raising them up and casting them down. He “enlarges” their borders in great empires, and then he “leads them away” (v. 23) into exile (as happened later with Israel under David and Solomon and then to exiles in Assyria and Babylon).

And in verses 24, 25 we again see this emphasis on God’s blinding human wisdom. He “takes away understanding”; he makes people “wander in a trackless waste” (the word “trackless” indicates that they have no clue where they are or where they are going). They “grope in the dark without light” and “stagger” as if they were drunk. This god is wild and dangerous. He is dangerous in nature, dangerous with leaders, dangerous with nations, and especially dangerous to all human beings who think—as Job’s friends did with their system—that they have the universe sorted out and have attained wisdom. “In short,” says Job, “your system is tame and cannot cope with the real God who is dangerous.”

Not only is The System cruel, shallow, and tame—it is also deceitful. It misrepresents God.

The System Is Deceitful (13:1–12)

Behold, my eye has seen all this,

my ear has heard and understood it.

What you know, I also know;

I am not inferior to you.

But I would speak to the Almighty,

and I desire to argue my case with God.

As for you, you whitewash with lies;

worthless physicians are you all.

Oh that you would keep silent,

and it would be your wisdom!

Hear now my argument

and listen to the pleadings of my lips.

Will you speak falsely for God

and speak deceitfully for him?

Will you show partiality toward him?

Will you plead the case for God?

Will it be well with you when he searches you out?

Or can you deceive him, as one deceives a man?

He will surely rebuke you

if in secret you show partiality.

Will not his majesty terrify you,

and the dread of him fall upon you?

Your maxims are proverbs of ashes;

your defenses are defenses of clay. (vv. 1–12)

Job essentially says in verses 1, 2, “What I am talking about (the wildness of God) is from eyewitness evidence. I have ‘seen all this,’ and not only in my own life. Furthermore, I know The System [v. 2] as well as you do. And I know The System doesn’t work. Which is why ‘I would speak to the Almighty, and I desire to argue my case with God’ [v. 3].” This is a very important decision by Job, one he comes back to in verses 13–19.

But before he does, he has one last thing to say about The System: it is not true. “ ‘You ‘whitewash with lies’ [v. 4a], painting over the messy reality of the world with a shallow coat of systematic white paint to make it look tidy. You are ‘worthless physicians’ [v. 4]; your medicine for my condition is at best a placebo and at worst something that makes my condition harsher. It is certainly not the gospel medicine I need.

So I wish you would just shut up; that is the nearest you will get to wisdom [v. 5]!” This reminds us of the fool who is counted as wise if he remains silent (Proverbs 17:28). “I wish you would shut up and really listen to me [v. 6]. But instead you ‘speak falsely for God and speak deceitfully for him’ [v. 7]. You claim to be standing up for God, but you do so without truth. Indeed you show favoritism [‘partiality’] toward God [v. 8], doing your best to paint him in a good [read systematic or tidy] light.

“But ironically God himself doesn’t want you to do that. When God finds you have been using untruth to make him look good, he will be angry with you [vv. 9–11]. It’s not me who’s in danger from God, it is you! When you are confronted by the real ‘majesty’ of this untamable God, you will be terrified [v. 11], and your system will be no defense at all. In summary all your supposedly wise ‘maxims’ and ‘defenses’ (that is, defenses of God) are utterly worthless, like burnt-out ashes or useless clay [v. 12].”

In response to a system that is cruel, shallow, tame, and deceitful, Job reaches his conclusion: “I must take my case to God.”

I Must Take My Case to God (13:13–19)

Let me have silence, and I will speak,

and let come on me what may.

Why should I take my flesh in my teeth

and put my life in my hand?

Though he slay me, I will hope in him;

yet I will argue my ways to his face.

This will be my salvation,

that the godless shall not come before him.

Keep listening to my words,

and let my declaration be in your ears.

Behold, I have prepared my case;

I know that I shall be in the right.

Who is there who will contend with me?

For then I would be silent and die. (vv. 13–19)

Job knows that what he is about to do is deeply dangerous (v. 13): “Let me have silence”—that is, silence from the three friends—“and I will speak” to God himself (cf. v. 3: “But I would speak to the Almighty …”), “and let come on me what may” (v. 13). “I am going to take the risk of addressing this dangerous God. In doing so ‘I take my flesh in my teeth [which may mean something like “I bite my tongue” to brace myself for danger] and put my life in my hand’ [v. 14].” In our contemporary idiom, this means “I take my life in my hands.”

Job goes on in essence, “God may kill me, but even if he does, I must put my hope in him [v. 15a]. I know that godless people cannot stand in his presence and live [v. 16b, “shall not come before him”], and I know in my heart that I am not godless; so I believe that this dangerous gamble (as it must seem to others) will pay off and ‘be my salvation’ [v. 16a].” The expression “this will be my salvation” (v. 16) may lie behind Paul’s saying, “this will turn out for my deliverance” in Philippians 1:19 (this phrase in verse 16 in the Greek of the Septuagint is identical to the text in Philippians 1:19).

In verses 17–19 Job prepares to make a public appeal to the Almighty. But he wants his friends to continue to listen (v. 17). He has thought hard about this (v. 18a) and is confident that he will be vindicated as a true believer (v. 18b). If not, then he would shut up and abandon all hope (v. 19).

Job is about to do something hugely significant. It is worth pausing to ask why. After all, he knows it is dangerous. The System of his friends tells him he must be a secret sinner because he is suffering. He knows this is not true. The evidence of his eyes tells him that God is dangerous, random, and unpredictable. The faith in his heart tells him that God is righteous and that he, Job, is a believer who is in the right before God. Knowing The System is not true, and despite the evidence of randomness and danger, Job’s decision goes with Job’s faith. This is why he appeals to God.

Job Pleads with God (13:20–14:17)

Job’s comforters are (momentarily) silenced and listen as Job takes his life in his hands and speaks to God.

Job Longs to Deal with God Himself (13:20–22)

Only grant me two things,

then I will not hide myself from your face:

withdraw your hand far from me,

and let not dread of you terrify me.

Then call, and I will answer;

or let me speak, and you reply to me. (vv. 20–22)

He pleads two closely related requests. First, he asks the dangerous Almighty to “withdraw your hand far from me, and let not dread of you terrify me” (v. 21). Job pleads for a brief pause in his misery. His grief and pain is so deep that he is paralyzed and weakened by it. If only God will take away his hand of judgment for a moment, then Job could speak.

And then, second, “call, and I will answer; or let me speak, and you reply to me” (v. 22). Like Esther with the Persian king, Job longs for the golden scepter of God’s grace to be extended to him. Job longs to enter the dwelling place of God and speak face-to-face. This longing to speak with the God who is responsible for all Job’s loss and misery (of this Job has no doubt) is very remarkable. It is a sign of faith that Job in his heart of hearts so loves this God that he must speak with him.

And yet the moment Job says this, he is deeply aware of the problem, which he expounds in sequence.

Job Recognizes That Sin Is the Root Problem (13:23–27)

How many are my iniquities and my sins?

Make me know my transgression and my sin.

Why do you hide your face

and count me as your enemy?

Will you frighten a driven leaf

and pursue dry chaff?

For you write bitter things against me

and make me inherit the iniquities of my youth.

You put my feet in the stocks

and watch all my paths;

you set a limit for the soles of my feet. (vv. 23–27)

Job knows that at the root of his pain lies not mortality but sin. He piles up the words—“iniquities … sins … transgression … sin” (v. 23). Sin in all its variety and depravity is the heart of Job’s problem, as it is the heart of all human problems. God is treating Job as an unforgiven sinner, and Job wants to know in detail and in all its enormity what exactly the problem is: “How many … Make me know …” God is hiding his face of favor from Job and is treating Job as a sinner under wrath, as his “enemy” (v. 24).

Job is like a dry “leaf” blowing around in an autumn gale or a piece of “dry chaff” tossed to and fro in the wind (v. 25), because God is writing down in his book of judgment “bitter things against [him]” (v. 26a). Indeed, these bitter things include “the iniquities of my youth” (v. 26b). Job feels he is being treated as a sinner whose guilt has been piling up ever since childhood; now he is entering into the terrible inheritance of sin. God has put his feet in the stocks (v. 27a, exposing him to public disgrace), watching his paths (like a prisoner doing forced labor), and imprisoning him (v. 27c), so that his feet cannot walk free. All this is because of his sins.

And yet Job thought those sins had been covered by sacrifice (1:4, 5). He thought he was in the right with God, a blameless believer. He cannot now understand what is going on.

What is more, sin leads to mortality.

Job Feels Deeply the Misery of Mortality, the Result of Sin (13:28–14:6)

Man wastes away like a rotten thing,

like a garment that is moth-eaten.

Man who is born of a woman

is few of days and full of trouble.

He comes out like a flower and withers;

he flees like a shadow and continues not.

And do you open your eyes on such a one

and bring me into judgment with you?

Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean?

There is not one.

Since his days are determined,

and the number of his months is with you,

and you have appointed his limits that he cannot pass,

look away from him and leave him alone,

that he may enjoy, like a hired hand, his day. (13:28–14:6)

These verses pile up vivid images of the misery and transience of mortality. “Man who is born of woman” (14:1) mortal man, man who inherits the original sin of Adam, conceived in sin (Psalm 51:5), is like (1) some organic material going rotten (13:28a), (2) a moth-eaten piece of clothing (13:28b), (3) a short-lived flower (14:2a), and (4) a fleeting shadow (14:2b). A piece of fresh fruit, a new piece of clothing, a fresh flower, and a sharp shadow all seem so definite; but in a moment they are gone. Perhaps there is a progression from things that last slightly longer to things that last almost no time at all (the shadow is most fleeting of all). Ironically man is “few of days and full of trouble,” with a terrible concentration of troubles squeezed into the short years of his life on earth (v. 1).

Writing toward the end of World War II, the German Lutheran pastor Helmut Thielicke wrote:

Goethe … once said in his old age that he could hardly think that he had been really happy for more than a month in his whole life. And I believe that proportion would hold true in history as a whole: the happy times are like tiny islands in an ocean of blood and tears. The history of the world, taken as a whole, is a story of war, deeply marked with the hoofprints of the apocalyptic horseman. It is the story of humanity without a Father—so it seems.

Job would have agreed.

What hope is there, asks Job, for such a rotting creature to stand clean before God (vv. 3, 4)? He is so transient (v. 5), with his lifespan so tightly defined according to God’s decision, that the best he can hope for is some brief respite from pain (v. 6), like a tea break for “a hired hand” (v. 15). Unless sin is dealt with, human beings can hope for no better than this. Here is a healthy realism about the human problem and the human predicament.

But worse is to come: mortality leads to death.

Job Feels Despair in the Face of Death, the Entailment of Sin (14:7–12)

For there is hope for a tree,

if it be cut down, that it will sprout again,

and that its shoots will not cease.

Though its root grow old in the earth,

and its stump die in the soil,

yet at the scent of water it will bud

and put out branches like a young plant.

But a man dies and is laid low;

man breathes his last, and where is he?

As waters fail from a lake

and a river wastes away and dries up,

so a man lies down and rises not again;

till the heavens are no more he will not awake

or be roused out of his sleep. (vv. 7–12)

The theme of this section is the finality of death, which is the end of mortality and the entailment of sin. In vivid imagery Job speaks of a tree (vv. 7–9) when it is cut down. Think of a beautiful tall tree, perhaps a Californian redwood. Then see, in your mind’s eye, lumberjacks cutting it down. Down it falls, and that’s the end of it. Except that it isn’t. Even after a long time, if the conditions are right, “it will bud and put out branches like a young plant” (v. 9). As long as its roots are intact, there is hope for it. But for man there is no such hope (v. 10). When a man is cut down, he is destroyed root and branch (in our idiom). He “breathes his last,” and there is no more hope for him (v. 10). Like a lake or riverbed going permanently dry (v. 11), there is no hope for him—ever (v. 12): “so a man lies down and rises not again; till the heavens are no more he will not awake or be roused out of his sleep.”

If sin is not dealt with, mortality leads to death; and death really is the end of life (and hope and light) on earth. Job is utterly realistic about this. Which is why he hopes against hope for a resurrection that will prove that sin is dealt with and forgiven.

Job Longs for Resurrection to Prove That Sin Is Dealt with (14:13–17)

Job now contradicts what he has just said. He has just contrasted a dead human being with a cut-down tree. Now he ventures to hope that a dead human being may in fact have a hope for the future. Deep down he knows that only resurrection can be the answer to the human condition.

Oh that you would hide me in Sheol,

that you would conceal me until your wrath be past,

that you would appoint me a set time, and remember me!

If a man dies, shall he live again?

All the days of my service I would wait,

till my renewal should come.

You would call, and I would answer you;

you would long for the work of your hands.

For then you would number my steps;

you would not keep watch over my sin;

my transgression would be sealed up in a bag,

and you would cover over my iniquity. (vv. 13–17)

This is a wonderful passage. It is very personal. This is one on one, the believer speaking to the God he loves. “I know I am heading for Sheol, the place of the dead,” says Job. “And we all know that Sheol is the place of no return [7:9]. But what I wish is that you would ‘hide me’ there, ‘conceal me until your wrath be past’ [v. 13], and that the day would come, your ‘set time,’ when you would ‘remember me’ and summon me back into life [v. 13]. This would be completely against what we know to be the case: ‘If a man dies, shall he live again?’ [v. 14a]. Not in the normal run of affairs, he won’t. But I would be willing to ‘wait, till my renewal should come’ [v. 14b].” Renewal is a lovely word for resurrection, a word that combines newness (renewal) with continuity (renewal).

The most wonderful thing about this “renewal” (v. 14) is the personal relationship: “You would call, and I would answer you” (v. 15a). And the one who calls Job back from the dead would be the one who “would long for the work of your hands” (v. 15b). There is an anticipation here of the love of the resurrecting God. Furthermore, this God would now watch over Job for good rather than keeping watch over his sin (v. 16), for his sin would be dealt with once and for all: “my transgression would be sealed up in a bag, and you would cover over my iniquity” (v. 17). These are beautiful and final pictures. All Job’s transgressions are finally tied up in a garbage bag and thrown away, never to be reopened. Although Job would not have known about this, the idea of iniquity being “covered over” (v. 17b) reminds us of the propitiation foreshadowed for Israel in the mercy seat over the Ark of the Covenant.

Job knows that if his sin is dealt with, then—and only then—can he hope to come back from Sheol into relationship with the God he loves. It is a wonderful glimpse of the gospel. But it is very quickly replaced by misery at the end of his speech.

If There Is No Resurrection, There Is No Hope (14:18–22)

But the mountain falls and crumbles away,

and the rock is removed from its place;

the waters wear away the stones;

the torrents wash away the soil of the earth;

so you destroy the hope of man.

You prevail forever against him, and he passes;

you change his countenance, and send him away.

His sons come to honor, and he does not know it;

they are brought low, and he perceives it not.

He feels only the pain of his own body,

and he mourns only for himself. (vv. 18–22)

It is characteristic of Job’s speeches that honest misery and lament is interrupted from time to time with glimpses of hope and gospel, just as a day in April can have mostly rain but also occasional glimpses of the sun. At the end of this speech Job goes back to lamentation as he faces up to the misery of the judgment of God. Verses 18, 19a use the imagery of irreversible erosion to help us feel the hopelessness of life under sin and judgment. The winds, the rain, and the floodwaters wear away even rocks and mountains; they cause landslides. And they are irreversible. No process known to man can put erosion into reverse.

So it is with God’s judgment; it destroys “the hope of man” (v. 19b). Just as the hardest granite on earth cannot resist the waters of erosion, so the proudest man on earth cannot prevail against the judgment of God: “You prevail forever against him, and he passes” away (v. 20a); his face is changed and becomes lined with age and is finally frozen in death. God sends him away from his presence into Sheol (v. 20b). And when that happens he becomes isolated from his nearest and dearest (v. 21); his sons may meet with honor and success, or they may meet with humiliation, but in neither case will he be aware of it. He is all alone under the judgment of God (v. 22), feeling his own pain and grieving for himself.

Conclusion

Such is the misery of life on earth if sin is not dealt with. Job knows and faces this truth head-on. He shows here two marks of the believer. The first is a resolute realism about sin. There is no pretending, no denial, no minimizing of the seriousness of sin. Job knows that sin is the reason for our fragile mortality, and sin is the cause of death (Romans 5:12–21). And yet—and this is the second mark—he cannot keep himself from holding on to the hope of resurrection, the hope that one day sin will be so decisively dealt with that even death will not be final, that even though he dies, yet he will live and see his Maker.

In his suffering Job foreshadows the Lord Jesus Christ who will enter fully into the misery of being identified with sinners in life and death, who will feel in his own body the fragility of mortality, who will experience in all its horrors the final penalty for sins, and who will taste death on behalf of sinners, but not because he himself is a sinner. Job foreshadows the one who will be raised from the dead to prove that in his death he has decisively paid the penalty for sins, so that the sins of all who trust in him will be “sealed up in a bag” (v. 17) and covered over by his blood.

What is more, Job foreshadows all men and women in Christ, who experience in their own bodies something of the misery of living in a world under judgment, who will know what it is in life to be surrounded by death, and who, because they are in Christ, will suffer not because they are sinners (though they are) but because they are blameless and because in some way their sufferings are a sharing in the sufferings of Christ.

They too will discover the utter bankruptcy of The System of religion, its cruelty to sufferers, its shallowness in the face of the realities of life, its pathetic tameness in the presence of a sovereign and dangerous God, and above all its false witness about God, its deceptiveness. They too will know what it is to pin all their hopes not on any system of religion but on the God they love and long to meet. They will experience mortality in all its transience and misery, death as their last enemy, and finally resurrection to eternal life.