God's Severe Mercy Text: Job 33:19-22
Introduction: The Unvarnished Logic of the Sickbed
We come now to the speeches of Elihu, the young man who has been waiting impatiently on the sidelines while Job and his three friends have been going around in circles. Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar have been operating on a very tidy, but ultimately wooden, system of theology. They see Job's immense suffering, and they conclude, with the unbending logic of a spreadsheet, that there must be immense, hidden sin. They are not entirely wrong that sin leads to hard consequences, the Bible teaches that from one end to the other. But they are profoundly wrong in their application. They affirm the consequent, assuming that because sin leads to suffering, all suffering must therefore be the direct result of some particular sin. John 9 torpedoes that line of thinking.
Job, for his part, knows his own integrity. He knows he is not guilty of the kind of wickedness his friends are imputing to him. But in his agony, he has veered into his own error, justifying himself at God's expense. He has begun to sound as though God is the one on trial, as though the Almighty has some explaining to do. This is where Elihu comes in, and his wrath is kindled against both parties. He is angry with the friends because they had found no answer and yet had condemned Job, and he is angry with Job because he "justified himself rather than God" (Job 32:2-3).
Elihu's approach is different. He doesn't just talk about sin in the abstract. He introduces the idea of God's redemptive purpose in suffering. He argues that God uses affliction, not simply as a punishment for past sins, but as a severe mercy to prevent future, more catastrophic sins. God is not just a judge settling accounts; He is a loving Father who disciplines, a surgeon who cuts in order to heal. The passage before us is a graphic depiction of this divine work. It is an uncomfortable passage because it describes a pain that is deep, personal, and relentless. But it is a hopeful passage, because it shows us that even in the most agonizing trials, God is at work, speaking, warning, and wooing a man back from the brink of destruction.
The Text
"Man is also reproved with pain on his bed, And with unceasing contention in his bones, So that his life loathes bread, And his soul favorite food. His flesh wastes away from sight, And his bones which were not seen stick out. Then his soul draws near to the pit, And his life to those who bring death."
(Job 33:19-22 LSB)
The Chastening Bed (v. 19)
Elihu begins by describing one of God's primary classrooms, which is the sickbed.
"Man is also reproved with pain on his bed, And with unceasing contention in his bones." (Job 33:19)
Notice the word "reproved." This is not simply punitive. It is corrective. The Hebrew word carries the sense of a rebuke, an argument, a setting straight. God is not just hitting a man; He is arguing with him. The pain is a form of divine speech. When we are healthy and prosperous, it is very easy for us to ignore the gentle whispers of God in His Word or in our conscience. We are busy, we are distracted, we are self-sufficient. But when God lays a man flat on his back, He has his undivided attention. The bed, which should be a place of rest, becomes a place of "unceasing contention," a wrestling match in his very bones. The pain is not a dull, low-grade ache; it is a sharp, memorable, and constant argument. It is a debate he cannot walk away from.
This is what the author of Hebrews tells us. "For whom the Lord loves He chastens, and scourges every son whom He receives" (Heb. 12:6). We must have a theological category for sharp and memorable pain as an expression of God's love. Our therapeutic age wants a God who only offers gentle affirmations and tippy-tap corrections. But a father who loves his son will not spare the rod. And our heavenly Father, in His infinite wisdom, sometimes uses the rod of physical affliction. He is not being cruel; He is being kind. He is willing to cause us temporal pain in order to spare us eternal pain. The contention in the bones is designed to break the contention in the soul.
The Appetite for Death (v. 20-21)
The effect of this divine reproof is a complete unraveling of the man's physical life, starting with his most basic appetites.
"So that his life loathes bread, And his soul favorite food. His flesh wastes away from sight, And his bones which were not seen stick out." (Job 33:20-21 LSB)
This is a picture of utter misery. The things that once brought pleasure and sustenance are now repulsive. Bread, the staff of life, becomes loathsome. Favorite food, the particular joys of the palate, becomes disgusting. This is a sign that the affliction is doing its work. God is stripping away the lesser pleasures to get to the deeper issue. The man's delight in the created world is being systematically dismantled. Why? Because he has likely made an idol of it. He has found his ultimate satisfaction in food, in health, in physical comfort. God, in His mercy, is making those things bitter to him so that he might hunger for what is truly satisfying.
The external manifestation of this internal sickness is dramatic. "His flesh wastes away from sight." The man becomes a ghost of his former self. The structure of his body, the "bones which were not seen," now protrude. He is being deconstructed, taken down to the studs. This is a humbling process. The strong man is made weak. The handsome man is made gaunt. The self-reliant man is made utterly dependent. All the vanities of the flesh are being stripped away. This is a severe grace. God is teaching him, in the most visceral way possible, that man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.
The Brink of the Pit (v. 22)
This process of physical decay brings the man to the very edge of death. This is the crisis point.
"Then his soul draws near to the pit, And his life to those who bring death." (Job 33:22 LSB)
The "pit" here is Sheol, the grave, the realm of the dead. "Those who bring death" are the destroying angels, the agents of mortality. The man is at death's door. He can feel the cold draft. From a worldly perspective, this is the ultimate tragedy. But from the perspective of Elihu's argument, this is the moment of ultimate opportunity. It is precisely when a man is emptied of all his own strength, all his own righteousness, and all his hope in this life, that he is finally ready to listen.
This is the logic of the gospel. You must die to live. You must be brought to the end of yourself to find the beginning of God. God brings a man near to the pit in order to save him from the pit. He makes him taste death so that he might choose life. This entire agonizing process is designed to make him look up. As long as he has his health, his wealth, and his favorite foods, he is content to look around. But when all of that is gone, and the pit is yawning before him, he has nowhere else to look but up.
Elihu goes on to speak of a messenger, an interpreter, one among a thousand, who can show the man what is right (v. 23). This suffering is preparing the soil of the man's heart for the seed of this gracious word. The pain is the plow that breaks up the hard, fallow ground of pride. The nearness of death is the thing that makes the promise of a ransom, of redemption, the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.
Conclusion: God's Loving Severity
This is a hard passage, but it is not a hopeless one. It is a description of God's severe but loving surgery. We live in a world that believes all suffering is pointless. If there is no God, then our suffering is just bad luck, a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing. We have no complaint, because there is no one to complain to. But if God is sovereign, and if God is good, then our suffering cannot be pointless. It is filled with divine intention.
This does not mean we should be glib about pain. Elihu is not being glib. He is painting a stark, honest picture of agony. But he is placing that agony within a redemptive framework. God is not content to let us wander off a cliff. He will use the "unceasing contention" in our bones, the loathing of bread, the wasting of our flesh, and the terror of the pit itself to turn us around. He will wreck our bodies to save our souls.
This is what happened at the cross. The ultimate suffering was endured by the Lord Jesus. His body was broken, and His soul was made an offering for sin. He drew nearer to the pit than any man ever has, crying out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" And He did it for a purpose. He did it so that our suffering could be transformed from punishment into discipline. Because He entered the pit for us, the pit has lost its ultimate terror for us. Now, when God brings us to the brink, it is not to destroy us, but to discipline us as sons, to make us partakers of His holiness. He is teaching us to say, with Job, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." That is a lesson that is often learned only in the crucible of pain, on the bed of affliction, at the very edge of the grave. And it is a lesson worth any price.