Job 9 in plain modern English. New Ground English Translation.
Then Job answered:
Yes — I know all of that is true. But how can a being ever be in the against God?
If a man wanted to to he could not answer one question in a thousand.
His mind runs deep, his strength is enormous — who ever hardened himself against him and
He moves mountains, and they never know it; he turns them over in his anger.
He shakes the earth loose from its place, and the underneath it shudder.
He tells the sun not to rise, and it doesn't. He a on the stars.
He stretched out the sky by himself, and he walks on the of the
He made the and the and the starry rooms of the south.
He does no can wonders past counting.
Look — he goes right past me and I never see him; he moves on and I never know he was there.
If he snatches something away, who can make him hand it back? Who is going to ask him, "What do you think you're doing?"
God does not call his anger back. Even the helpers of lie crushed under his feet.
So how could I answer him? How would I even choose my words against him?
Even if I were in the right, I could not answer — I could only the for
If I summoned him and he actually came, I still would not believe he was listening to me.
He is the one who crushes me in a storm and piles up my wounds for no at all.
He won't let me catch my breath — he fills me to the brim with bitterness.
If it comes down to strength — look at If it comes down to justice — who can a
Even if I were in the right, my own mouth would convict me. Even if I were it would twist me into something crooked.
I am blameless. I don't even care about myself anymore. I have had enough of my own life.
It makes no difference — that is why I say it: he wipes out the and the
When some disaster kills without warning, he laughs at the despair of people who did nothing wrong.
The earth is handed over to the guilty; he blindfolds the faces of its judges. If it isn't him, then who is it?
My days run faster than a — they are gone before they see anything good.
They slip past like of like an eagle dropping on its food.
If I tell myself, "I'll drop my complaint, I'll change my face and smile,"
I am still afraid of every ache I have, because I know will never treat me as innocent.
I am going to be found guilty anyway. So why wear myself out
If I scrubbed myself with snow and washed my hands with
you would drop me into a pit of filth until even my own clothes couldn't stand the sight of me.
He isn't a man like me, so that I could answer him, so that the two of us could walk into court together.
There is no to us, no who can lay a hand on us both.
Let him lift his stick off me, let his terror stop making me flinch —
then I would speak, and I would not be afraid of him. But that is not how things stand with me.