Job 24 — When Justice Misses Its Appointment
Yesterday we heard Job’s vow to find God in the dark (ch. 23). Today he steps out of the courtroom into the street. He asks a question that wounds history: “Why does the Almighty not set times for judgment? Why must those who know him look in vain for such days?” (New International Version, Job 24:1). The Hebrew hints that these “times” are supposed to be “stored up” (tzafan)—kept like treasure. Job’s ache is not only that evil happens, but that God’s calendar seems locked.
Then Job walks us through the evidence. Boundary stones are shifted—an ancient crime we now know from Mesopotamian kudurru-steles that carried curses for moving them; Torah agrees (Deuteronomy 19:14; 27:17). The donkey of the fatherless is seized; the widow’s ox taken as collateral—blows that in a clan-land economy meant starvation (cf. Deuteronomy 24:6, 10–13). The poor glean on mountain-scraps, “like wild donkeys” foraging (Job 24:5): not noble freedom, but forced ferality. And the most haunting image: they press oil “between the walls” and tread the winepress, yet thirst (Job 24:10–11). Archaeology has uncovered such presses—beam and screw between heavy stone walls at sites like Ekron—industrial beauty masking the misery of day laborers who make luxury they do not taste.
Then comes Job’s hardest sentence: the dying groan in the city, “yet God charges no one with wrongdoing” (New International Version, Job 24:12). The phrase “charges” renders yasim tiflah—literally, “he does not set the wrong.” Job dares to say it feels unreckoned. Astonishingly, Paul will take that scandal and show its place in the gospel: God “left the sins committed beforehand unpunished” to demonstrate his justice “at the present time” in Christ (Romans 3:25–26). Job names the wound of divine patience; the cross is where God bears that wound himself.
Job names the perpetrators “rebels against the light” (New International Version, Job 24:13). This is not merely nocturnal crime; it is creation reversed. Light in Genesis is God’s first gift of ordered goodness; to rebel against it is to attempt un-creation. John will say, “Light has come… but people loved darkness” (John 3:19). Note the irony: murderers rise at dawn—the hour when ancient courts sat at the city gate—turning justice’s hour into prey-time. The adulterer says, “No eye will see me,” and covers his face; Gregory the Great warned that religion itself can become a mask for night-deeds. Ephesians 5 tells the church not only to avoid such works but to expose them—bring them into the light where Christ shines.
Verses 18–24 are famously knotted. Some hear Job quoting his friends’ tidy doctrine of swift retribution only to reject it with his closing challenge (24:25). Either way, Job refuses the comforting lie that judgment is predictable on our clocks. The wicked do flourish “for a little,” then fall—but not on a schedule we control.
Practice for the church: - Become guardians of “boundary stones”—in property, wages, and policy. James 5:4 says withheld pay cries to the Lord; learn to hear those cries. - Keep “times” of justice even when God’s time feels delayed: set rhythms of mercy, advocacy, and shared table. At the Supper we proclaim his death “until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26). Let those who crush the grapes drink the wine with us. Remember the Crucified who said, “I thirst.”
Suggested cross-references: Psalm 73; Ecclesiastes 8:11; Habakkuk 1:2–4; Luke 18:1–8; John 3:19–21; Ephesians 5:8–14; Romans 3:21–26; James 5:1–6.
Word/phrase note: “Stored-up times” (tzafun, Job 24:1) evokes treasure kept in a chest; Job longs for a posted court date. “Rebels against the light” (mar’dei-or) is a rare moral metaphor: sin as resistance to creation’s first gift.
Hymn suggestion: “Let Justice Flow Like Streams” (Ruth Duck).
Prayer Patient and holy God, your light exposes and heals. We confess our complicity in moved boundaries and thirsty labor. Teach us to keep your times by doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly. Hear the groans of the city, and hasten the day when righteousness and peace kiss. Until then, seat us at your table with the poor, and make our lives a lamp. Through Jesus, Light of the world. Amen.