Why God Won’t Answer My Question: Job: The Wisdom of the Cross [Job 28]

{Pray}

JOB HAS SCREAMED OUT an urgent existential question: “Why?” (3:20, 23). This is not the question of the comfortable religious or philosophical dilettante [dil-i-tant], enjoying a stimulating debate. This is the agonized question of the sufferer who feels he or she desperately needs an answer. In chapter 28 we stand back from the pain and the debates to ask why God will not answer the question “Why?”

Job has asked the question “Why?” His friends have answered it with a simple answer: “because you are an impenitent sinner.” But Job knows this answer is not true. The debates have raged to and fro, with increasingly heated tones, but no satisfactory answer has been forthcoming. We have seen that Job 27 is Job’s final word to his friends. After chapter 28 he makes his wonderful final speech in his defense before God.... In between stands chapter 28.

Who is speaking in chapter 28? This is a very different chapter from all that has gone before and all that follows. It is a unique chapter in the book. It has no smooth literary connection with the immediate contexts before or after; it is not explicitly addressed to any of the participants; it contains no accusations, no complaints, and no responses to anything said previously.

And it has a reflective tone, which contrasts with the passionate arguments on either side. Here is a tranquil, contemplative pause for thought. If Job were read aloud, this chapter would be read in a quieter tone of voice. In a Greek tragedy it might be read by a chorus standing at the back of the stage.

For this reason most scholars assume that this chapter is an interlude inserted by the writer of the book. Others assume, since there is no explicit indication of a change of speaker, that this is the continuation of Job’s speech that began in chapter 27; certainly the connecting word ki, which begins verse 1, suggests a connection with the preceding chapter.

But it probably does not matter much. Either way it stands as an inspired prophetic poem that speaks to us with the authority of God. If it is the second part of Job’s speech that began in chapter 27, then the burden of it is to challenge the friends about the arrogance that thinks it can understand the wisdom of God. This makes perfect sense: Job the teacher (27:11, 12) is teaching them—and us—about God’s wisdom.

This profound and beautiful poem comes in three parts.

A Costly Search for a Valuable Object (vv. 1–11)

The poem begins, with no explanation, by inviting us to tour around and marvel at the wonders of human mining exploration. Two motifs interweave—on the one hand an object of great value, on the other a search of great difficulty and cost. “Think about the miner,” says our poet. “He has an immensely dangerous and difficult task. But it is worth it, for the objects of his search are of such wonderful value.”

As we read this passage, we note all sorts of ways in which this poem prompts us to make links with the drama of the book. [v.1]

Surely there is a mine for silver,

and a place for gold that they refine.

Iron is taken out of the earth,

and copper is smelted from the ore.

Man puts an end to darkness

and searches out to the farthest limit

the ore in gloom and deep darkness.

He opens shafts in a valley away from where anyone lives;

they [the miners] are forgotten by travelers;

they hang in the air, far away from mankind; they swing to and fro.

As for the earth, out of it comes bread,

but underneath it is turned up as by fire.

Its stones are the place of sapphires,

and it has dust of gold.

That path no bird of prey knows,

and the falcon’s eye has not seen it.

The proud beasts have not trodden it;

the lion has not passed over it.

Man puts his hand to the flinty rock

and overturns mountains by the roots.

He cuts out channels in the rocks,

and his eye sees every precious thing.

He dams up the streams so that they do not trickle,

and the thing that is hidden he brings out to light. (vv. 1–11)

“A mine” (v. 1a) is a deep mysterious “place.” Chapter 27 ended with two eerie references to “place”: “the east wind lifts” the wicked “out of his place” (27:21) and then mocks and “hisses at him from its place” (27:23). The place of the wicked and the place of the east wind are terrible places. But here is another place, a place under the ground, a place of loneliness and potential suffering.

We are immediately drawn in to a world with puzzles and hidden perplexities, things we cannot find and cannot understand, and yet that are of value and worth searching out. And yet these valuable things have been placed here, which suggests that maybe someone has deliberately placed these valuable things in such a way that they are hard to find.

And yet they are worth finding, which reminds us of Job’s longing, “Oh, that I knew where I might find” God (23:3). This search is dangerous, lonely, and difficult (28:4). These precious jewels are not easily found or extracted. So Job is not just suffering; he is searching desperately and in great loneliness to understand the answer to the question, “Why?”

Whereas agriculture is relatively easy (v. 5a), the search for this hidden treasure is hard and violent (vv. 5b, 9). This is no light matter, or a matter of casual interest. Here is a search that is characteristic of humankind alone (vv. 7, 8). Neither the falcon with his matchless eyesight nor the lion with his unparalleled strength is engaged in this particular costly search. So the poet has drawn us into a search for something of matchless value, a search only embarked upon by those prepared for pain and loneliness and therefore by those (that is, human beings) who truly appreciate the matchless value of the object of the search.

Why has he drawn us into this search and caused us to meditate upon its necessity and its cost? He answers that in verse 12: “But where shall wisdom be found?”

This poem celebrates the wonders of human technology, of what we sometimes call know-how; but the deeper question is not know-how but know-why. Here in this poem about mining we see a parallel between the natural domain and a greater and deeper search in the cosmic domain, the search for wisdom (which is synonymous with understanding). In the imagery of the Old Testament this wisdom means something like the Architecture of the Universe: “The LORD by wisdom founded the earth; by understanding he established the heavens” (Proverbs 3:19).

When God built the universe, he did so according to the blueprint called wisdom. Wisdom is the fundamental underlying order according to which the universe is constructed. This is deeper than just an order in its material composition (which is the subject of the study of the material sciences); this order extends also to the moral and spiritual dimensions of existence. It is metaphysical as well as physical.

For the idea that this world might just have order in its material aspect (the subject of the physical sciences) but not in its moral aspect would be unthinkable to the ancient (or modern) believer. Just as the physical scientist pursues the project of science in the belief that there is order to be discovered, so the believer lives on this earth in the conviction that it is not a chaotic universe but one built upon a fundamental underlying and majestic order by an amazing creator. It is this conviction that is being so sorely challenged in the life and experience of Job.

Sometimes we speak of the architecture of a piece of hardware or software. By this we mean the underlying structure, such that, if we understand it, we will grasp why it behaves and responds as it does. There are times when it feels to me as if my laptop has been demonized; what is happening to it seems to me utterly illogical and unintelligible! If only I can find somebody who really understands its architecture, how it works, then—and only then—can I hope to see it cured.

In a similar way the poet knows that if we can grasp the architecture or structure of the Universe, then we will know the answer to the question, “Why?” (cf. 3:20, 23). And we will know the answer not only for our personal pain but also for every person and event in history.

We might imagine that the book of Job is primarily about arguments, philosophies, and debates. It is not: it is about the search of a believing sufferer for wisdom, the longing to understand why this world is as it is. And implicit therefore in the start of this poem is the invitation to us as readers to be not just philosophers, thinkers, or debaters but honest seekers after wisdom.

So the poet moves to a meditation on the most deeply frustrating tension of Job’s existence. He simply must know the answer to the question, “Why?” and yet he absolutely cannot find this out.

The second part of this poem is in verses 12-22...

Wisdom Is Priceless and Unobtainable at the Same Time (vv. 12–22)

Two motifs interweave in verses 1–11. On the one hand, jewels are valuable (e.g., v. 10, “precious”); on the other hand, they are inaccessible. The poet now turns to “wisdom” or “understanding” (v. 12), which are synonymous, and develops these two themes of value and inaccessibility in parallel.

In verses 15–19 he majors on its matchless value. But he brackets this praise with two parallel laments of its inaccessibility (vv. 12–14, 20–22). Here is something that cannot be found (vv. 12–14) and yet simply must be found if life is to be worth living (vv. 15–19), and yet it really cannot be found (vv. 20–22). This is the sandwich structure of verses 12–22.

{{{ 12–14. Wisdom cannot be found.

15–19, Wisdom is so valuable that it simply must be found.

20–22, Wisdom cannot be found.}}}

[v.12] But where shall wisdom be found?

And where is the place of understanding?

Man does not know its worth,

and it is not found in the land of the living.

The deep says, “It is not in me,”

and the sea says, “It is not with me.”

It cannot be bought for gold,

and silver cannot be weighed as its price.

It cannot be valued in the gold of Ophir,

in precious onyx or sapphire.

Gold and glass cannot equal it,

nor can it be exchanged for jewels of fine gold.

No mention shall be made of coral or crystal;

the price of wisdom is above pearls.

The topaz of Ethiopia cannot equal it,

nor can it be valued in pure gold.

From where, then, does wisdom come?

And where is the place of understanding?

It is hidden from the eyes of all living

and concealed from the birds of the air.

Abaddon and Death say,

“We have heard a rumor of it with our ears.” (vv. 12–22)

The incomparable value of wisdom is spelled out with poetic vigor in verses 15–19. The poet wants us to be in no doubt of the priceless value of gaining a grasp of how this world fits together, how it works, what its foundational structure is (moral as well as material). And no one so longs to grasp what this order is as the suffering believer.

If any search is worth pursuing, surely this is it, for wisdom lies, as it were, at the root of the whole created order, underpinning it, set in place before the world was made (cf. Proverbs 8:22–31). If only Job, or any believer, can gain access to this understanding, then the question “Why?” will be answered. Job will know why all this has happened to him. At last he will not be suffering in the dark.

So in verses 15–19 the poet piles up images of the most precious things this world affords. Pile up all the gold and silver, he implies (v. 15), the very best gold (v. 16a), onyx and sapphire (v. 16b), wonderful jewels, coral, crystal, topaz (vv. 17–19)—collect together all the riches of the whole wide wonderful world—and still you will not have sufficient wealth to purchase wisdom or gain access to this understanding for which you yearn.

Here in the eloquent language of poetry motivation is piled upon motivation to pursue this search. And yet we know from verses 12–14 that this search is bound to fail. Wisdom “is not found in the land of the living” (v. 13), and even if we were to venture into “the deep,” the lowest part of the sea, the place where the entrances to the place of the dead were in the poetic cosmology, even there our inquiries would be met with blank looks (“It is not in me,” v. 14).

So in verses 20–22 the poet dumps us back on the ash-heap of frustration. He says, “Where does this search that seemed so passionately worth pursuing end?” It ends with lonely Job on his heap of rubbish screaming the question, “Why?” (3:20, 23). No living creature can find wisdom (28:21).

Even if we were to go to the guardians of the most desperate extremities of the cosmos, Abaddon (“the angel of the bottomless pit,” Revelation 9:11) and death (Job 28:22), even these terrible personified powers would have to shrug their shoulders and say, “Well, yes, if you press me, I think I did once hear a thirdhand rumor that somewhere wisdom exists. I had a second cousin who once worked for a man who seemed to think he had heard a conversation in a pub where someone was talking about it. But I have no idea where to find it.”

Since the start of humankind, men and women have wanted to find the source of wisdom, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, so that we might become like God (Genesis 2, 3), so that we might be able to build a tower that reaches up to the heavens (Genesis 11), so that the hidden things might be revealed to us (Deuteronomy 29:29). But we can’t.

What is the poet doing? He is giving us pause for thought. We have been caught up in an awesome and terrible human tension. Job longs to know why. Is he right to long to understand? Yes, he is, for to understand this would be to understand the radical structure of the universe, and no greater goal can be possible for the human mind. Yes, he is right to search. But is his search doomed to failure? Yes, it is. He must seek and yet he will never find wisdom.

If the poem ended at verse 22 it would indeed be a theatre of the absurd, a poem to breed despair and nurture the living death of nihilism. But it does not end in verse 22. And in verses 23–28 the poet offers us a paradoxical but profound resolution.

The Humbling Resolution (vv. 23–28)

With one voice the poet has sung the praises of wisdom and extolled the value of understanding. With a parallel voice he has lamented the utter inaccessibility of wisdom. He has asked, “But where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding?” (v. 12) and “From where … does wisdom come? And where is the place of understanding?” (v. 20).

In verses 23, 24 he almost answers himself, but not quite.

God understands the way to it,

and he knows its place.

For he looks to the ends of the earth

and sees everything under the heavens. (vv. 23, 24)

We are not told the location of wisdom, but our eyes are directed to the One who alone knows that “place” (28:12, 20, linking back to 28:1b), for God has set it in place, and therefore he alone understands the way.

In anticipation of the Lord’s speeches at the end of the book, the poet presses home his point by directing our wonder to one of the most uncontrollable and seemingly random facets of the created order—the weather (vv. 25, 26). We talk often in Missouri about our weather being very random! But there are further nuances of meaning here. “Wind,” “rain,” “thunder,” and “lightning” are not only elusive and intangible, they are also ambivalent, bringing destruction (as they did for Job in 1:19) but also sometimes bringing the blessing of rain to make the crops grow.

When he gave to the wind its weight

and apportioned the waters by measure,

when he made a decree for the rain

and a way for the lightning of the thunder,

then he saw it and declared it;

he established it, and searched it out. (vv. 25–27)

Even today with computers, satellites, and a myriad of weather sensors, we struggle to make sense of the world’s weather systems. Here is a wild, unpredictable, and uncontrollable random force on the margins of the ordered world; here, breaking in to our ordered lives day by day, is chaos and threat.

And yet God

• “gave to the wind its weight” (v. 25; telling it when to blow hard and when soft),

• “apportioned the waters by measure” (v. 25; telling the floodwaters and river waters and seas to go here but not there, to stop at this point, etc.; cf. 38:8–11),

• “made a decree for the rain” (v. 26; telling it when, where, and how much to fall), and

• “made … a way for the lightning of the thunder” (v. 26; controlling every rumble of thunder and each lightning bolt).

And, says our poet, when God ordered the weather systems of the cosmos, he also “saw … declared … established … searched … out” wisdom (v. 27). The imagery may be like a skilled jeweler seeing a jewel (he “saw”), examining it (to declare its worth), preparing it (establishing), and probing it for flaws (“searched … out”). Wisdom is the centerpiece of God’s crown jewels, utterly flawless and of infinite value. And God alone knows its place.

There the poem ends. Verse 28 is a prose postscript not sharing the meter of verses 1–27. And as the poem ends, our hopes may be raised, for surely if God knows the way to wisdom, maybe he will take us there and open our eyes so we too may grasp wisdom and find the answers to all our agonized questions.

Not so! We have listened to the voices of “the deep” and “the sea” (v. 14) and of “Abaddon and Death” (v. 22). Now let us listen to the voice of God. Verse 28 is the first time God has spoken in the book since the drama of Job 1, 2 and the first time in the whole book that he has spoken to human beings.

And he said to man,

“Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom,

and to turn away from evil is understanding.” (v. 28)

How we respond to this verse is a litmus test for our hearts. In a saying that is crucial to the whole book, God directs our attention away from our agonized questions and toward himself.

He does not take us by the hand and lead us to the answers; rather he beckons us to bow before the Lord himself, who knows the answers but chooses not to tell us.

Our eyes are directed away from the search for the architecture of the universe and toward the person of the Architect.

We ask, “Why doesn’t God answer my question?” To which he replies, “Turn your gaze and your inquiry away from the answer you want and toward the God you must seek.”

If you want to live in this world as a wise person, a man or woman of understanding, rather than a fool, do not seek wisdom for its own sake, for if you were to find it you would become a puffed-up know-it-all (cf. 1 Corinthians 8:1). So do not seek wisdom; seek the Lord.

This is deeply humbling. Neither the marvels of human technology nor the insights of human philosophy yield the ultimate goal, the theory of everything. And yet the truth of verse 28 is also profoundly reassuring. Right at the start we saw Job fearing God and turning away from evil (1:1). The heavenly courtroom knows that God approves of this (1:1, 8; 2:3).

But now Job himself, and every other human being, knows for sure that what Job was doing at the start is precisely what he ought to have been doing, and it is what he—and we—ought to continue to do. We should not expect to find wisdom (to know the answers to all our questions) but rather to bow in humble worship before the One who does and therefore to turn away from evil.

In verses 12, 20 in the original Hebrew “Wisdom” is written with the definite article (literally “The Wisdom”), whereas in verse 28 it lacks this (simply “wisdom”). So there does seem to be a distinction between the wisdom and understanding that are the subject of the poem (vv. 1–27) and the wisdom and understanding that are the calling of human beings in verse 28. i.e. To find the wisdom would be to grasp the hidden order at the heart of the universe, whereas to find understanding is to live by faith, not by sight, bowing before the Creator and looking to him alone.

What has this wonderful poem achieved? More than anything else it has made us stop and think. We must pause when we read this. Why this curious and seemingly irrelevant poem interrupting the passionate ebb and flow of debate?

Answer: we must ponder and consider again the biggest issues of the book. What are the really big questions? And where have we arrived in unraveling them? Not far!

Indeed Job 28 may be seen as implicit criticism of the sterile arguments of Job’s three friends, whose speeches have achieved so little. In this respect (and some others) Job 28 anticipates the speeches of God at the end of the book.

But why have we not made more progress? It is not only because Job’s friends are foolish. At a deeper level this poem teaches that although the questions Job asks are big and significant (wisdom is indeed of priceless value), the search for wisdom as an object in itself is doomed.

The seeking required of us is not ultimately the seeking for philosophical answers or even for practical wisdom; it is seeking after God himself. This is, we remember, one of the great marks we have noted of Job the believer. While he cannot make head or tail of his perplexities, in his heart and with his voice he longs passionately for God. And in so doing, in continuing to fear God and turn from evil, he is precisely on the right track.

Job 28:28 gives divine affirmation to Job (and to us) that we need no secret of the higher life, no mysterious spiritual law to raise us to a deeper level of spirituality or godliness, no answers achieved only by some spiritual elite. We are called, as was Job, to begin our lives of discipleship with the fear of God and repentance from evil and to continue our walk with God exactly the way we started it (cf. Colossians 2:6).

When the apostles were guided by the Holy Spirit to reflect on Jesus Christ, one of the Old Testament categories they found themselves drawn to was that of wisdom. In his blameless life, his undeserved death, and his vindication on the third day, Jesus Christ was and is the Wisdom of God, the Christ, “in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Colossians 2:2, 3). Jesus Christ himself was and is the wise man par excellence. He supremely, more even than Job, feared God and turned away from evil. And in his life and death and resurrection, the fundamental structure of the universe, wisdom, is revealed as in no other way. All the treasures of wisdom are to be found in him.