Commentary - Job 14:7-12

Bird's-eye view

In this section of his lament, Job employs a powerful contrast between the natural world and the state of man. He is a keen observer, and what he sees fills him with a peculiar kind of despair. He looks at a tree stump, what appears to be a dead and useless thing, and sees in it a stubborn hope, a resilience that seems to be denied to mankind. This is a gospel truth written into the fabric of creation, what we might call a natural resurrection. A tree can be cut down to nothing, and yet, at the mere "scent of water," it can burst forth with new life. But when a man is cut down, he simply lies prostrate. The river that vanishes and the sea that evaporates are his analogies for human finality. Job's conclusion is stark: man lies down and does not rise. And yet, in the very expression of his hopelessness, he speaks a deeper truth than he knows when he says this state will last "until the heavens are no longer." He places a temporal limit on death's dominion, pointing unwittingly to the great resurrection at the end of all things. This is the cry of a man who feels the weight of the curse in his bones but cannot yet see the full shape of the promised redemption in Christ.

Outline

Commentary

Job 14:7

For there is hope for a tree, When it is cut down, that it will change back sprouting again, And its shoots will not cease.

Job begins with an observation from the world God made. He is not looking at a theological textbook; he is looking out his window, as it were. And what he sees is a stubborn refusal in creation to remain dead. The word here is hope. There is hope for a tree. Even when an axe has done its worst, and the tree is nothing more than a stump, an obstacle to trip over, the story is not necessarily over. God has embedded a kind of resurrection power in the very sap and fiber of a tree. It will "sprout again." The shoots, the new life, "will not cease." This is a picture of grace, a picture of a life force that comes from outside the stump. The stump does not decide to grow again; it responds to the conditions God provides. This is a common grace illustration of a saving grace reality. Life comes from the outside.

Job 14:8

Though its roots grow old in the ground And its stump dies in the dry soil,

Job doubles down on the apparent hopelessness of the tree's condition. This is not a healthy tree that has been merely pruned. Its roots are old, past their prime. Its stump "dies in the dry soil." By all external metrics, this thing is finished. The ground is hard, the wood is dead, the season for life seems to be long past. Job is painting a picture of utter finality to make his point. He wants us to see what he sees: a dead thing, by all accounts. This is important for his analogy, because this is how he views his own life, and how he views the state of any man in the grave. It is a state of decay and apparent irreversible loss.

Job 14:9

At the scent of water it will flourish And put forth sprigs like a plant.

Here is the miracle. What brings this dead stump back to life? Not a flood, not a torrent, not a team of gardeners. All it takes is the scent of water. This is magnificent poetry. The mere hint of life-giving water is enough to trigger a resurrection. The promise of rain is sufficient. And the result is not just a few pathetic leaves. It will "flourish." It will put forth new growth, tender and green, "like a plant," as though it were a sapling all over again. God's life-giving power, which we know is a picture of the Holy Spirit, does not just repair, it regenerates. It makes old things new. The entire story of redemption is written right here in the life cycle of a tree, for those with eyes to see it. Job sees it, and it makes his own condition all the more bitter.

Job 14:10

But man dies and lies prostrate. Man breathes his last, and where is he?

And here is the turn. The word "But" is the hinge on which this whole passage swings. All that hope, all that talk of flourishing and new life, does not apply to man. When a man dies, he "lies prostrate." He is laid low, defeated. There is no scent of water that can revive him. He breathes his last, a final, rattling exhalation, and then the ultimate question: "and where is he?" This is the cry of natural reason staring into the abyss. Without special revelation, this is the only logical question. He is gone. The personality, the love, the anger, the memories, all of it has vanished like a puff of smoke. This is the black velvet curtain of death, and Job is pressing his face right up against it.

Job 14:11

As water evaporates from the sea, And a river becomes parched and dried up,

Job now reverses his water imagery. Water was the source of the tree's resurrection, but for man, the story is one of vanishing water. He compares a man's life to water evaporating from the sea. Think about that. The sea is a symbol of permanence, of immensity. And yet the water can be drawn out of it, molecule by molecule, until it is gone. He compares man to a river that is not just low, but "parched and dried up." The riverbed is cracked earth and dust. The source of life is gone, and there is no evidence it was ever there. This is an image of absolute and total finality. There is no coming back from this.

Job 14:12

So man lies down and does not rise. Until the heavens are no longer, He will not awake nor be aroused out of his sleep.

This is Job's conclusion, drawn from the evidence before him. "So man lies down and does not rise." This is the verdict of the senses. But then, in his anguish, the Spirit of God causes him to say more than he knows. He sets a boundary for this sleep of death. How long will it last? "Until the heavens are no longer." Job thinks he is describing an eternity, a practical "never." But we who have the whole counsel of God know that the heavens will one day be no more. They will be rolled up like a scroll (Rev. 6:14) and God will create a new heavens and a new earth (Rev. 21:1). Job, in the depths of his despair, has just prophesied the resurrection of the dead at the end of the age. Death's power is not ultimate. It has an expiration date. Man will not awake from his sleep... until. And that "until" is the hook upon which the entire gospel hangs. Christ's resurrection is the guarantee that the heavens will one day pass away, and all who are in Him will be "aroused" out of their sleep.

Application

Job's honest lament reveals a foundational truth. Left to our own observations, death appears to be the undisputed victor. We see the hope of resurrection written in the creation around us, in every tree that buds after a long winter, but we do not see it in the graveyard. The graveyard seems to be a one way street.

This is why we need the gospel. The gospel is not a truth we could have reasoned our way to. It is a revealed truth. Job asks, "where is he?" and the angel at the empty tomb gives the answer: "He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said" (Matt. 28:6). The "scent of water" that Job saw revive a tree stump is a faint shadow of the living water, Jesus Christ himself, who brings ultimate resurrection.

Job's despairing "until the heavens are no longer" becomes the Christian's confident hope. We know the end of the story. Because Christ was raised from the dead, we know that there is a day coming when the trumpet will sound, the heavens will be shaken, and the dead will be raised. Job's question finds its ultimate answer not in a tree, but on a tree, where Christ died, and in an empty tomb, from which He rose. Our hope is not in the resilience of nature, but in the resurrection of the Son of God.