3748 verses about Suffering

Why do you not pardon my disobedience, and take away my iniquity? For now shall I lie down in the dust. You will seek me diligently, but I shall not be.”

Then Bildad the Shuhite answered,

While it is yet in its greenness, not cut down, it withers before any other reed.

Then Job answered,

If he is pleased to contend with him, he can’t answer him one time in a thousand.

Behold, he snatches away. Who can hinder him? Who will ask him, ‘What are you doing?’

“God will not withdraw his anger. The helpers of Rahab stoop under him.

How much less shall I answer him, And choose my words to argue with him?

Though I were righteous, yet I wouldn’t answer him. I would make supplication to my judge.

If I had called, and he had answered me, yet I wouldn’t believe that he listened to my voice.

For he breaks me with a storm, and multiplies my wounds without cause.

He will not allow me to catch my breath, but fills me with bitterness.

I am blameless. I don’t respect myself. I despise my life.

“It is all the same. Therefore I say he destroys the blameless and the wicked.

If the scourge kills suddenly, he will mock at the trial of the innocent.

The earth is given into the hand of the wicked. He covers the faces of its judges. If not he, then who is it?

“Now my days are swifter than a runner. They flee away, they see no good.

If I say, ‘I will forget my complaint, I will put off my sad face, and cheer up;’

I am afraid of all my sorrows, I know that you will not hold me innocent.

I shall be condemned. Why then do I labor in vain?

yet you will plunge me in the ditch. My own clothes shall abhor me.

Let him take his rod away from me. Let his terror not make me afraid;

“My soul is weary of my life. I will give free course to my complaint. I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.

I will tell God, ‘Do not condemn me. Show me why you contend with me.

Is it good to you that you should oppress, that you should despise the work of your hands, and smile on the counsel of the wicked?

that you inquire after my iniquity, and search after my sin?

Although you know that I am not wicked, there is no one who can deliver out of your hand.

“‘Your hands have framed me and fashioned me altogether, yet you destroy me.

Yet you hid these things in your heart. I know that this is with you:

If I am wicked, woe to me. If I am righteous, I still shall not lift up my head, being filled with disgrace, and conscious of my affliction.

If my head is held high, you hunt me like a lion. Again you show yourself powerful to me.

You renew your witnesses against me, and increase your indignation on me. Changes and warfare are with me.

“‘Why, then, have you brought me out of the womb? I wish I had given up the spirit, and no eye had seen me.

I should have been as though I had not been. I should have been carried from the womb to the grave.

Aren’t my days few? Cease then. Leave me alone, that I may find a little comfort,

before I go where I shall not return from, to the land of darkness and of the shadow of death;

the land dark as midnight, of the shadow of death, without any order, where the light is as midnight.’”

Then Zophar, the Naamathite, answered,

for you shall forget your misery. You shall remember it like waters that have passed away.

But the eyes of the wicked shall fail. They shall have no way to flee. Their hope shall be the giving up of the spirit.”

I am like one who is a joke to his neighbor, I, who called on God, and he answered. The just, the blameless man is a joke.

In the thought of him who is at ease there is contempt for misfortune. It is ready for them whose foot slips.

Behold, he breaks down, and it can’t be built again. He imprisons a man, and there can be no release.

He takes away understanding from the chiefs of the people of the earth, and causes them to wander in a wilderness where there is no way.

They grope in the dark without light. He makes them stagger like a drunken man.

But you are forgers of lies. You are all physicians of no value.

Your memorable sayings are proverbs of ashes, Your defenses are defenses of clay.

“Be silent, leave me alone, that I may speak. Let come on me what will.

Why should I take my flesh in my teeth, and put my life in my hand?

Behold, he will kill me. I have no hope. Nevertheless, I will maintain my ways before him.

Who is he who will contend with me? For then would I hold my peace and give up the spirit.

“Only don’t do two things to me; then I will not hide myself from your face:

withdraw your hand far from me; and don’t let your terror make me afraid.

Why hide you your face, and hold me for your enemy?

Will you harass a driven leaf? Will you pursue the dry stubble?

For you write bitter things against me, and make me inherit the iniquities of my youth:

You also put my feet in the stocks, and mark all my paths. You set a bound to the soles of my feet,

though I am decaying like a rotten thing, like a garment that is moth-eaten.

“Man, who is born of a woman, is of few days, and full of trouble.

He grows up like a flower, and is cut down. He also flees like a shadow, and doesn’t continue.

Do you open your eyes on such a one, and bring me into judgment with you?

Seeing his days are determined, the number of his months is with you, and you have appointed his bounds that he can’t pass;

Look away from him, that he may rest, until he shall accomplish, as a hireling, his day.

As the waters fail from the sea, and the river wastes and dries up,

“Oh that you would hide me in Sheol, that you would keep me secret, until your wrath is past, that you would appoint me a set time, and remember me!

If a man dies, shall he live again? All the days of my warfare would I wait, until my release should come.

But now you count my steps. Don’t you watch over my sin?

“But the mountain falling comes to nothing. The rock is removed out of its place;

The waters wear the stones. The torrents of it wash away the dust of the earth. So you destroy the hope of man.

You forever prevail against him, and he departs. You change his face, and send him away.

His sons come to honor, and he doesn’t know it. They are brought low, but he doesn’t perceive it of them.

But his flesh on him has pain, and his soul within him mourns.”

Are the consolations of God too small for you, even the word that is gentle toward you?

the wicked man writhes in pain all his days, even the number of years that are laid up for the oppressor.

A sound of terrors is in his ears. In prosperity the destroyer shall come on him.

He doesn’t believe that he shall return out of darkness. He is waited for by the sword.

He wanders abroad for bread, saying, ‘Where is it?’ He knows that the day of darkness is ready at his hand.

Distress and anguish make him afraid. They prevail against him, as a king ready to the battle.

He shall shake off his unripe grape as the vine, and shall cast off his flower as the olive tree.

Then Job answered,

“I have heard many such things. You are all miserable comforters!

Shall vain words have an end? Or what provokes you that you answer?

I also could speak as you do. If your soul were in my soul’s place, I could join words together against you, and shake my head at you,

but I would strengthen you with my mouth. The solace of my lips would relieve you.

“Though I speak, my grief is not subsided. Though I forbear, what am I eased?

But now, God, you have surely worn me out. You have made desolate all my company.

You have shriveled me up. This is a witness against me. My leanness rises up against me. It testifies to my face.

He has torn me in his wrath, and persecuted me. He has gnashed on me with his teeth. My adversary sharpens his eyes on me.

They have gaped on me with their mouth. They have struck me on the cheek reproachfully. They gather themselves together against me.

God delivers me to the ungodly, and casts me into the hands of the wicked.

I was at ease, and he broke me apart. Yes, he has taken me by the neck, and dashed me to pieces. He has also set me up for his target.

His archers surround me. He splits my kidneys apart, and does not spare. He pours out my gall on the ground.

He breaks me with breach on breach. He runs on me like a giant.

I have sewed sackcloth on my skin, and have thrust my horn in the dust.

My face is red with weeping. Deep darkness is on my eyelids.

Although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure.

“Earth, don’t cover my blood. Let my cry have no place to rest.

My friends scoff at me. My eyes pour out tears to God,

For when a few years have come, I shall go the way of no return.

“My spirit is consumed. My days are extinct, And the grave is ready for me.