Commentary - Job 14:13-17

Bird's-eye view

In this passage, Job, in the vortex of his suffering, utters one of the most profound and hope-filled cries in the entire book. Though surrounded by the logic of death and decay which he has just described in the previous verses, a shaft of resurrection light breaks through the clouds of his despair. He is not simply wishing for an end to his pain, but is articulating a theology of death and vindication that is astonishingly robust. He longs for a temporary refuge in Sheol, the place of the dead, seeing it not as a final destination but as a waiting room until God's disciplinary anger has passed. This leads him to ask the ultimate question, "If a man dies, will he live again?" And remarkably, he answers his own question with a quiet confidence. He resolves to wait for his "change," a transformation that can only be the resurrection. The passage climaxes with a vision of a restored relationship with God, where God will call, Job will answer, and God will yearn for the creature He made. This is not the language of annihilation, but of anticipated reunion and ultimate justification, where his sins are not just forgotten, but formally sealed and covered, put away for good.

This section is crucial because it demonstrates that the hope of a bodily resurrection was not a late-breaking theological development in the New Testament. It was an ancient hope, a foundational part of the faith of the patriarchs. Job, stripped of everything, looks past the grave and sees not a void, but a vindicating God. His faith, though battered and tested, fastens onto the character of God as a Maker who loves what He has made and who will not ultimately abandon the work of His hands to the dust. This is the gospel in seed form, a trust in the Redeemer who will one day stand upon the earth.

Outline

Context In Job

Chapter 14 is the culmination of Job's response to his "friends," which began back in chapter 12. He has systematically dismantled their tidy, cause-and-effect prosperity theology. Now, he turns his attention to the universal condition of man under the curse. Man is born of woman, his days are few and full of trouble (14:1). He comes out like a flower and withers, he flees like a shadow (14:2). A tree has more hope, for if it is cut down, it can sprout again, but man lies down and does not rise (14:7-12). It is in this context, having painted the bleakest possible picture of human finality, that Job's faith does a remarkable thing. It does not deny the reality of death, but it looks straight through it to the other side. The verses that follow are not a contradiction of his lament, but rather the anchor that holds him steady within it. He has established the problem in the starkest terms, and now he articulates the only possible solution: a sovereign act of God beyond the grave.

Key Issues

Resurrection Practice

We live in a world that is allergic to the topic of death. We hide it away in hospitals and funeral homes, and we speak about it in hushed tones and with clumsy euphemisms. But the saints of old were made of sterner stuff. Job here stares death square in the face. He doesn't flinch. He is in agony, and he sees the grave as a potential relief. But it is far more than that. He sees it as a waypoint, not a terminus. His logic is shot through with gospel hope.

Every morning when you wake up, you are getting what we might call resurrection practice. You were dead to the world, and now you are alive again. A new day lies before you. God builds these little patterns into the fabric of creation to teach us the big patterns. The sun sets, and the sun rises. Winter comes, and spring follows. A seed is buried in the ground, and it brings forth life. Job is applying this created grammar to his own situation. He knows that the God who set these patterns in motion is a faithful God, and His faithfulness does not stop at the edge of the grave. Job is in the dead of his own spiritual winter, but he can smell spring on the wind.

Verse by Verse Commentary

13 “Oh that You would conceal me in Sheol, That You would hide me until Your anger returns to You, That You would set a limit for me and remember me!

Job's plea here is theologically precise. He asks to be concealed in Sheol. In the Old Testament, Sheol is simply the place of the dead, the grave. It is not the final Hell, the lake of fire. It is the common destination of all men, righteous and unrighteous, as they await the final judgment. Job sees it as a hiding place, a shelter. From what? From God's anger. Job correctly interprets his suffering as a manifestation of God's judicial wrath, but he also understands it as temporary. He asks God to hide him until this anger "returns to You," or passes by. This is the cry of a son who knows his father is angry, but trusts that the anger is for a season, not forever. He then asks God to set a "limit," an appointed time. This is a profound expression of faith in God's sovereignty. Job believes his suffering is not random or open-ended. He believes God is in meticulous control, and can set a date on the calendar for its conclusion. And finally, he asks God to "remember" him. This is not a fear of being forgotten, but a covenantal plea for God to act on his behalf at that appointed time.

14 If a man dies, will he live again? All the days of my labor I will wait Until my change comes.

Here is the million-dollar question. Having looked into the abyss, Job asks the question that lies at the heart of all human existence. And he does not leave it hanging in the air as a cry of despair. He answers it himself with a statement of resolute faith. "All the days of my labor I will wait." The word for labor here can also mean "hard service" or "warfare." Job sees his entire life, and particularly his suffering, as a tour of duty. And he is resolved to serve it out, to wait until his relief comes. And what is this relief? He calls it his "change." The word implies a renewal, a transformation. Given that he has just been talking about being hidden in the grave, this change can be nothing other than a resurrection from the dead. He is waiting for the day when his body, sown in corruption, will be raised in incorruption. This is the ancient hope of Israel, stated with breathtaking clarity. Job knew his Redeemer lived, and because He lived, Job knew that he would live also.

15 You will call, and I will answer You; You will long for the work of Your hands.

This verse is saturated with the warmth of a restored, personal relationship. The resurrection Job anticipates is not a cold, clinical event. It is a reunion. He pictures God calling to him, as a father calls for his son, and Job joyfully answering. There is no fear or hesitation in this imagined scene. It is a moment of pure vindication and fellowship. And the reason for this is profound: "You will long for the work of Your hands." Job's ultimate confidence is not in his own righteousness, which he knows is flawed, but in God's character as the Creator. God made him. God formed him. And a good artisan does not despise or discard his own handiwork. Job is appealing to God's creative pride, His covenantal faithfulness to what He has made. God has a "longing," a deep desire, for His people. This is not the language of a deistic watchmaker, but of the personal, loving God of the Bible. He will not abandon the project He began.

16-17 For now You number my steps, You do not keep watch over my sin. My transgression is sealed up in a bag, And You cover up my iniquity.

Job shifts his perspective from the future hope back to his present reality, but he sees it now through the lens of that hope. He says, "For now You number my steps," which in another context could sound like hostile surveillance. But here, it is followed by a statement of grace: "You do not keep watch over my sin." It seems a contradiction, but it is the paradox of the gospel. God is meticulously sovereign over every detail of Job's life, every step he takes in his suffering. Nothing is outside of God's notice. And yet, in His covenantal grace, He is not keeping a detailed record of Job's sins for the purpose of final condemnation. The next verse explains how this can be. Job's transgression is "sealed up in a bag." This is legal language. It is like gathering up all the evidence against a man, putting it in a bag, sealing it, and then putting it away forever. It is a declaration of amnesty, of justification. His iniquity is "covered up." This is the language of atonement. The sin is not ignored; it is dealt with, covered by a sacrifice. Job, in the depths of his misery, is articulating the doctrine of justification by faith. He believes that on the other side of the grave, when God calls to him, his sins will not be brought up. They will have been dealt with, sealed, and covered.

Application

The faith of Job is a severe rebuke to our modern, flimsy Christianity. We often think that a robust hope in the resurrection is a luxury for theologians, or something to trot out at funerals. For Job, it was his lifeline. It was the only thing that made sense of his catastrophic suffering. When everything else was stripped away, the bedrock of his faith was this: God is a sovereign Creator who will one day raise the dead and vindicate His people.

This passage calls us to examine the foundation of our own faith. Is our hope in our present circumstances, our health, our finances, our comfort? If so, we are building on sand, and a Job-like storm will demolish our house. Our hope must be located outside of ourselves and outside of this present age. It must be fixed on the empty tomb of Jesus Christ. He is the firstfruits of the resurrection. His "change" is the guarantee of our change. Because He was called forth from the grave, we can be confident that God will one day call to us, and we will answer.

And this hope has profound implications for how we view our sin. Because of Christ, our transgressions have been sealed up in a bag. When God looks at us, He does not see a rap sheet. He sees the righteousness of His Son. Our iniquity has been covered by the blood of the Lamb. Therefore, we can face suffering not as the random cruelty of a meaningless universe, nor as the vindictive punishment of a distant God, but as the temporary, loving discipline of a Father who has already dealt with our sin and is preparing us for an eternity of fellowship with Him. We can wait, as Job did, through our hard service, until our change comes.