Job Chapter 3
Showing all 26 verses for Job Chapter 3.
The People's Bible is written by people, for the people. Each verse below shows:
"After this opened Job his mouth, and cursed his day. "
"After this, Job finally spoke, and he cursed the day he was born."
Despair honestly spoken is not the same as faithlessness. You're allowed to wish things were different, to grieve loudly and completely, without that making you a failure or a bad person, bring your rawest feelings into the light rather than burying them.
"And Job spake, and said, "
"And Job said..."
Sometimes the deepest truths about our pain can only really be spoken in something like poetry, raw, non-linear, emotionally honest language rather than tidy explanations. Give yourself permission to express pain in whatever form actually captures it.
"Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived. "
"'Let the day I was born be erased, and the night that announced, a boy has been conceived.'"
Even the darkest thoughts, spoken honestly, don't disqualify you from being heard and loved. If you or someone you know has ever wished they'd never been born under the weight of suffering, that pain deserves compassion and real support, not shame or quick correction.
"Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it. "
"'Let that day be pure darkness. May God above pay it no attention; may no light shine on it.'"
This isn't Job rejecting God's existence or goodness in general, it's a specific, targeted cry against his own experience of life right now. There's room in an honest relationship with the divine, or with life itself, for this kind of raw protest without it meaning total rejection.
"Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; let a cloud dwell upon it; let the blackness of the day terrify it. "
"'Let darkness and deep gloom claim it as their own; let a cloud settle over it; let the blackness of that day terrify it.'"
I don't want you to feel you need to tone down your grief to make it acceptable. Real pain is often intense and repetitive precisely because words alone can't fully capture it, let yourself express the full weight of it rather than editing it down for other people's comfort.
"As for that night, let darkness seize upon it; let it not be joined unto the days of the year, let it not come into the number of the months. "
"'As for that night, let thick darkness seize it. Let it not be counted among the days of the year or included in any month.'"
Notice how deeply Job wants to un-happen his own suffering, and that this longing itself is not wrong to feel or say out loud. Naming a wish this extreme, in words rather than actions, can actually be part of processing it rather than being dangerous.
"Lo, let that night be solitary, let no joyful voice come therein. "
"'May that night be barren, without any sound of joy in it.'"
Even in the depths of this lament, Job's target is his suffering, not the goodness of life or joy in general, he's not condemning joy itself, only wishing his own path to pain had never opened. Hold that distinction for yourself too: hating your pain doesn't mean hating existence.
"Let them curse it that curse the day, who are ready to raise up their mourning. "
"'Let those who curse days curse that one, those who are skilled at rousing up Leviathan.'"
See how far Job reaches for imagery big enough to hold his pain, sometimes ordinary words simply aren't enough, and reaching for extreme or even mythic language to express suffering is a very human, honest response, not something to be embarrassed about.
"Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark; let it look for light, but have none; neither let it see the dawning of the day: "
"'Let its morning stars stay dark; let it hope for light and get none, and never see the first light of dawn.'"
In the deepest suffering, even hope can feel like something you don't have the strength to hold. If you're in that place, I don't ask you to fake optimism, just to let others hold hope for you for a while, until you can carry some of it again yourself.
"Because it shut not up the doors of my mother’s womb, nor hid sorrow from mine eyes. "
"'...because that night did not shut the doors of my mother's womb, or hide this suffering from my eyes.'"
Even when suffering makes you question everything, including whether life is worth it, that questioning itself deserves to be heard with compassion rather than alarm or dismissal. Reach out to people, not just to silence, when your thoughts go this dark.
"Why died I not from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly? "
"'Why didn't I die at birth? Why didn't I die the moment I came out of the womb?'"
Voicing 'why am I even here' in the middle of overwhelming pain is a recognised, ancient, human cry, not a modern failure or weakness. If you ever feel this way, please tell someone; you deserve support, not silence around it.
"Why did the knees me? or why the breasts that I should suck? "
💡 Highlighted words feature Jacobean 1611 tooltips to clarify shifted 17th-century English terms.
"'Why were there knees to receive me, or breasts for me to nurse at?'"
Even deep despair doesn't erase the real love that was present in your life, the knees that held you, the care that fed you, even when, in pain, it's hard to feel grateful for any of it right now. That love was still real, even if you can't feel its warmth today.
"For now should I have lain still and been quiet, I should have slept: then had I been at rest, "
"'Because by now I would be lying down in peace; I would be asleep and at rest.'"
Longing for rest, even imagining death as peaceful relief, isn't the same as wanting to end your life through harm, it's often simply exhaustion speaking. If exhaustion this deep is something you feel, please tell someone who can help carry the weight with you.
"With kings and counsellors of the earth, which built desolate places for themselves; "
"'...with kings and their advisors, who built grand structures that are now in ruins.'"
Status, power and achievement don't exempt anyone from mortality or hardship, everyone eventually shares the same fate. Let that truth free you from over-valuing status and instead focus on how you love and treat people while you're here.
"Or with princes that had gold, who filled their houses with silver: "
"'...or with princes who had gold, who filled their houses with silver.'"
Consider what you're actually building your life around. Riches can't buy exemption from suffering or death, so build your life on love, integrity and connection, things that matter regardless of what happens to your bank balance.
"Or as an hidden untimely birth I had not been; as infants which never saw light. "
"'Or why wasn't I like a hidden stillbirth, like an infant who never saw the light?'"
Hear how total Job's despair is here, and know that this kind of raw, unfiltered grief doesn't disqualify someone from being loved or heard. If someone you know ever speaks like this, don't flinch away from them, stay close, listen, and get them real support.
"There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary be at rest. "
"'There, in death, the wicked stop causing trouble, and the weary find rest.'"
Job's vision of relief here isn't about revenge or wanting the wicked punished, it's about wanting all struggle, all harm, everywhere, to simply stop. That's a longing for peace, not cruelty, and it's one I understand deeply.
"There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor. "
"'There the prisoners rest together; they no longer hear the voice of their oppressor shouting at them.'"
I care deeply about anyone under the weight of oppression or cruelty, and I want you to know that longing for relief from those who mistreat you is not wrong to feel. Even now, without waiting for death, seek out real freedom, real justice, and people who will stand with you against those who oppress.
"The small and great are there; and the servant is free from his master. "
"'The unimportant and the great are both there, and the slave is free from his master.'"
Remember this truth while you're alive: none of us are more valuable than another because of status, wealth or power. Treat everyone, regardless of their position, with the same dignity you'd want for yourself, since none of those distinctions last anyway.
"Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul; "
"'Why is life given to someone in misery, and existence to someone whose soul is bitter?'"
Asking hard, even angry questions of God or of life itself isn't forbidden, it's part of an honest relationship with your own pain. I'd rather hear your real question shouted at me than a fake peace you don't actually feel.
"Which long for death, but it cometh not; and dig for it more than for hid treasures; "
"'...people who long for death, but it doesn't come, who dig for it more eagerly than for buried treasure.'"
If you've ever felt a longing this intense to escape suffering, know that feeling is real and shouldn't be minimised or judged. Please don't carry that alone, dig instead for people who can help you find relief that doesn't require death.
"Which rejoice exceedingly, and are glad, when they can find the grave? "
"'...people who are overjoyed, thrilled, when they finally find the grave.'"
Suffering can distort even our sense of what's good news and what's bad news. If you know someone whose pain has reached this point, take it seriously and get them real help rather than dismissing it as dramatic.
"Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in? "
"'Why is life given to a man whose path is hidden, whom God has hedged in?'"
The very things meant to protect us can, in seasons of suffering, start to feel like walls closing in, and that shift in perception is real and worth naming honestly rather than pretending everything still feels safe. Say it out loud when protection starts to feel like a trap; that honesty is the beginning of healing.
"For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my roarings are poured out like the waters. "
"'My sighing comes even before my food does, and my groaning pours out like water.'"
Grief this physical and constant is real and valid, it's not weakness or failure to move on. Let your body grieve as it needs to; suppressing it doesn't make it disappear, it just goes underground.
"For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me. "
"'The very thing I dreaded has happened to me; what I feared has come upon me.'"
Having fears about losing what you love doesn't make your faith or your love any less real. Even the most faithful, good people carry real anxieties, what matters is how you keep loving and living even when those fears come true.
"I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet; yet trouble came. "
"'I had no peace, no quiet, no rest, yet still, trouble came.'"
Release the exhausting belief that if you just worry enough, plan enough, or do everything right, you can guarantee safety for yourself or the people you love. You can't, and that's not a failure on your part. Instead of white-knuckling control, I invite you to trust and to love as fully as you can regardless of outcomes you can't control.