The Covenant of the Eyes
Introduction: The Courtroom of the Soul
We live in an age that has completely lost its nerve. Our culture speaks of integrity, but what it means is something squishy, something like "being true to yourself." But since the self is a chaotic and moving target, this kind of integrity is nothing more than a commitment to the mood of the moment. It is a solemn vow to be consistently inconsistent. And nowhere is this more apparent than in the realm of sexual ethics, where the only recognized sin is the sin of saying that sin exists.
Into this gelatinous mess of modern sentimentality, the book of Job throws a piece of granite. Job is not interested in being true to his feelings. He is interested in being true to his God. What we are reading in this chapter is not the self-righteous preening of a man who thinks he is perfect. To read it that way is to fundamentally misunderstand what is happening. This is a formal, legal appeal. Job, having been accused by his friends of secret sin, is now taking the witness stand in the courtroom of heaven. He is placing himself under a series of solemn, self-maledictory oaths. He is saying, "If I am guilty of these things, may the covenant curses of God fall upon my head in very specific and terrible ways."
This is high-stakes theology. This is not a man trying to justify himself by his works before God for his salvation. This is a man, confident in his covenant walk, defending his reputation against slander. And in doing so, he gives us a stunning portrait of what true, heart-level righteousness looks like. It is a righteousness that begins not with the hands, but with the eyes. It is an integrity that understands it is lived out before an omniscient God who sees every step and weighs every heart. Our generation wants to privatize sin, to keep it locked in the imagination where no one can see. Job teaches us that this is the one place God is always looking.
The Text
"I have cut a covenant with my eyes; How then could I gaze at a virgin? And what is the portion of God from above Or the inheritance of the Almighty from on high? Is it not disaster to the unjust And misfortune to those who work iniquity? Does He not see my ways And number all my steps? If I have walked with worthlessness, And my foot has hastened after deceit, Let Him weigh me with just scales, And let God know my integrity. If my step has turned from the way, Or my heart followed my eyes, Or if any spot has stuck to my hands, Let me sow and another eat, And let my crops be uprooted. If my heart has been enticed by a woman, Or I have lied in wait at my neighbor's doorway, May my wife grind for another, And let others kneel down over her. For that would be lewdness; Moreover, it would be an iniquity punishable by judges. For it would be fire that consumes to Abaddon, And would uproot all my produce."
(Job 31:1-12 LSB)
The Proactive War on Lust (v. 1-4)
Job begins his oath with the gateway to the soul: the eyes.
"I have cut a covenant with my eyes; How then could I gaze at a virgin?" (Job 31:1)
Notice the language. He did not "make a suggestion" to his eyes. He "cut a covenant." This is the language of blood and sacrifice, of solemn, binding oaths. This is a man who has taken his own spiritual life in hand and has established a fixed, unalterable policy for his senses. He is engaged in proactive, strategic warfare against sin. He is not waiting to be ambushed by temptation; he has already mined the approaches to his heart.
The verb is not "glance" but "gaze." This is not about an accidental, involuntary look. This is about a settled, deliberate, contemplative stare. This is the look that objectifies, that covets, that begins to possess in the imagination. Centuries before our Lord would say it in the Sermon on the Mount, Job understood that adultery and fornication do not begin in the bedroom; they begin with the eyes. He is living out the ethic of Matthew 5:28, that to look at a woman with lust is to commit adultery in the heart. This is the law of God written on the heart by the finger of God.
And why does he do this? He immediately provides his theological reasoning.
"And what is the portion of God from above... Is it not disaster to the unjust... Does He not see my ways And number all my steps?" (Job 31:2-4)
Job's personal piety is not grounded in self-improvement or a desire for a clean conscience. It is grounded in the character of God. He asks a rhetorical question: What is the ultimate outcome, the "portion," for those who live in rebellion? It is disaster. It is misfortune. This is not cosmic karma; it is the fixed, moral structure of the universe established by a holy God. To sin is to fight against reality, and reality always wins.
The foundation of it all is in verse 4. "Does He not see my ways?" Job lives his life coram Deo, before the face of God. He knows that God is not a distant, deistic landlord. He is an intimately involved sovereign who numbers every single step. There are no private sins. There are no secret thoughts. The darkness and the light are both alike to Him. This is the fear of the Lord, which is the beginning of wisdom, and it is the foundation of all true integrity. If you live as though God is blind, you will live like a fool.
The Oath of Public Integrity (v. 5-8)
From the internal battle of the eyes, Job moves outward to his public conduct, inviting divine judgment if he is a fraud.
"If I have walked with worthlessness, And my foot has hastened after deceit, Let Him weigh me with just scales, And let God know my integrity." (Job 31:5-6)
To walk with worthlessness is to live a life of vanity, of falsehood, of chasing after that which has no substance. Job is swearing that he has not been a man of deceit. And he is so confident in this that he makes a staggering request: "Let Him weigh me with just scales." He is asking to be placed on the scales of divine justice. He is not claiming sinless perfection. The word "integrity" here means wholeness, soundness, a fundamental orientation of the heart. Job is saying, "Lord, you know the direction my life is pointed. You know I am not a hypocrite. Put me to the test."
Then comes the self-imposed curse, the penalty clause of his oath.
"If my step has turned from the way, Or my heart followed my eyes, Or if any spot has stuck to my hands, Let me sow and another eat, And let my crops be uprooted." (Job 31:7-8)
Notice the progression. It begins with the heart following the eyes. The inner desire, the lustful gaze he mentioned in verse 1, leads to the step turning from the way, which results in a spot sticking to the hands, the stain of a tangible sin. Job understands that sin is a process that begins internally. And if he is guilty of this, he calls for a curse that would strike at the very heart of his livelihood. In an agrarian world, for your crops to be uprooted or eaten by another was total ruin. He is saying, "If I am a fake, may my entire life's work be for nothing." This is how seriously a righteous man takes the prospect of hypocrisy.
The Oath Against Adultery (v. 9-12)
Job now returns to sexual sin, but he moves from the lustful gaze to the consummated act of adultery, and the curses become even more severe.
"If my heart has been enticed by a woman, Or I have lied in wait at my neighbor's doorway, May my wife grind for another, And let others kneel down over her." (Job 31:9-10)
Again, the sin begins in the heart: "enticed." This leads to the premeditated action: "lied in wait." This is not a crime of passion, but of predatory intent. And the curse he invokes is a terrifying application of lex talionis, the principle of measure for measure. To "grind for another" was the task of the lowest female slave, and the phrase carries a clear sexual overtone. He is saying, "If I have taken another man's wife and treated her as an object for my pleasure, may my own wife be publicly humiliated and treated the same way." This is not a reflection of his desire for his wife, but a reflection of the horrific nature of the sin. He is invoking the most dreadful, shameful, and just punishment he can conceive to underscore his innocence.
He then explains why this sin is so heinous.
"For that would be lewdness; Moreover, it would be an iniquity punishable by judges. For it would be fire that consumes to Abaddon, And would uproot all my produce." (Job 31:11-12)
Adultery is not a private matter. It is not a lifestyle choice. First, it is a public crime, an "iniquity punishable by judges." It attacks the fundamental building block of society: the family. It destroys trust, unravels covenants, and destabilizes the entire community. It is a social poison.
But it is more than that. It is a spiritual fire. Job says it "consumes to Abaddon," to the place of destruction, to hell itself. This sin does not just ruin your reputation; it ruins your soul. It is a fire that, once kindled, burns down everything. It will "uproot all my produce," destroying every good and fruitful thing in a man's life. Job understood that sexual sin has cosmic, eternal weight. Our therapeutic culture wants to treat it like a misdemeanor. God's Word treats it like a consuming fire.
The Greater Job
As we read this, we must be careful. If our reaction is simply to grit our teeth and try harder to be like Job, we have missed the entire point of the Bible. Job's oath is breathtaking. His integrity was real. But the standard he describes is a standard that no fallen man can perfectly keep. Our hearts have been enticed. Our eyes have followed our hearts. Our steps have turned from the way.
If we were put on God's just scales, we would be found wanting. We deserve the curses that Job invoked upon himself. We deserve to have our life's work uprooted. We deserve the fire that consumes to Abaddon.
But this is where the gospel shines with blinding glory. There was another Man, a greater Job, who stood before His accusers. He was the only one who could truly say, "I have cut a covenant with my eyes." His heart was never enticed. His foot never hastened after deceit. He was weighed in the scales of God's justice on the cross and, though He was perfect, He was treated as though He were guilty of all our lusts, all our deceptions, all our adulteries.
The curse that Job invoked, Jesus absorbed. The fire that consumes to Abaddon fell upon Him. His produce was uprooted on that barren hill so that we, the guilty, could be planted in the garden of God's grace. He sowed in righteousness, and we eat the fruit of His salvation.
Therefore, we now fight sin from a completely different position than Job did. He was defending his righteousness. We stand secure in Christ's righteousness. We make a covenant with our eyes not in order to be saved, but because we have been saved. We fight lust not to earn God's favor, but because we are swimming in it. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, we can now pursue this radical, Job-like integrity out of sheer, unadulterated gratitude. Christ has already taken the curse, freeing us to walk in the blessing of obedience before the face of our Father.