Job 20: The Triumph of the Wicked is Brief

“Do you not know this of old, since man was placed on Earth, that the triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment?” — Job 20:4-5

Zophar’s Aversion for Job’s Resurrection Hope

Zophar wastes no time. As can be expected by now, he responds not with resentment instead of compassion. “Therefore, my anxious thoughts make me answer, because of the turmoil within me” (v. 2). He’s not provoked by Job’s suffering; he’s provoked by Job’s hope. Job has dared to say, “I know that my Redeemer lives,” and Zophar cannot stomach such boldness from someone so visibly afflicted.

He insists, “Do you not know this of old, since man was placed on Earth, that the triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment?” (vv. 4-5). Zophar proclaims what he considers timeless truth: evil is always punished. The wicked always fall. Their joy is fleeting. Their destruction is inevitable. To him, this is the foundation of God’s justice; and in speaking this, he believes he’s defending God.

But in reality, he’s profaning God’s name while attacking Job. Like Bildad before him, Zophar does not mention Job directly, but his entire speech is directed at him. The implication is clear. It’s filled with veiled barbs and carefully chosen imagery, each sentence designed to strip Job of credibility, dignity, and any remaining claim to righteousness.

Zophar’s turmoil reveals something deeper: he cannot bear a world where innocence and agony coexist. His anger is not born of love for the truth but of terror—fear that the suffering of the righteous might mean God’s justice is not as easily mapped as he’s believed. Rather than allowing Job’s faith to provoke self-examination, Zophar launches a rhetorical attack to preserve his theological framework that is clearly in shambles due to Job’s testimony.

This is the pattern of the theologian of glory: when faced with suffering that does not fit the mold, he tightens the mold rather than enlarging his understanding of God. Zophar’s words, spoken in anxiety and urgency, betray a heart more concerned with maintaining spiritual control than comforting the afflicted. And in doing so, he weaponizes theology to silence pain rather than help his brother bear it.

He fails to participate in the ministry of bearing, as Bonhoeffer describes: “[The Christian] must suffer and endure the brother. It is only when he is a burden that another person is really a brother and not merely an object to be manipulated. The burden of men was so heavy for God Himself that He had to endure the Cross… But He bore them as a mother carries her child, as a shepherd enfolds the lost lamb that has been found… In bearing with men God maintained fellowship with them. It is the law of Christ that was fulfilled in the Cross. And Christians must share in this law… what is more important, now that the law of Christ has been fulfilled, they can bear with their brethren.”[1]

Zophar’s Perfect World of Justice

Zophar paints a vivid picture of the wicked man’s end: “Though his haughtiness mounts up to the heavens, and his head reaches to the clouds, yet he will perish forever like his own refuse; those who have seen him will say, ‘Where is he?’” (vv. 6-7). These are not just poetic flourishes—they are poison-tipped arrows aimed at Job’s insistence on his integrity. Zophar is essentially saying: If you think you were once upright, you’re no different than the godless who boast before their inevitable fall.

He continues, “His children will seek the favor of the poor, and his hands will restore his wealth… He swallows down riches and vomits them up again; God casts them out of his belly” (vv. 10, 15). This theology is mechanical: the wicked may consume, but they will not keep. They may flourish, but only briefly. Zophar turns theological truth into a kind of karmic digestion—what you greedily ingest will be violently expelled. Again, he offers no grace or room for mercy and mystery.

In Zophar’s perfect world, the wicked are not only punished—they are humiliated, emptied, and erased. And although he speaks of “the wicked” in general terms, every detail corresponds to Job’s current condition: the loss of wealth (remember, he was very rich—Job 1:3), the community’s rejection, and physical decay. Zophar has built his sermon on Job’s corpse and now preaches over it with indignation. It’s a theology of glory, not of the cross. Zophar’s vision of God is more natural law than divine person—a moral force that reacts to evil like a stomach reacts to poison. There’s no Redeemer in this “gospel,” no Suffering Servant who bears sin, no Mediator who stands in the breach between God and man. It’s the “gospel” of a perfect system, not a Savior. And because of that, it cannot save.

Moreover, it cannot endure the weight of the cross. The man Zophar condemns sounds disturbingly like the Christ whom men despised—cut off from the land of the living, abandoned, disfigured, and judged. If we took Zophar’s words at face value, we would have to declare Jesus guilty as well. But this is the great failure of the theology of glory: it cannot distinguish between judgement and redemption, between divine wrath and divine love made manifest through suffering.

Justice Without a Savior

Zophar says much about justice but nothing about redemption. He speaks of a God who avenges but never of a God who forgives. He declares judgement but offers no possibility of restoration. “This is the portion from God for a wicked man, the heritage appointed to him by God” (v. 29). This is his final word: a theology of glory that preaches God’s retribution absent His mercy, sealed and settled.

There’s no invitation to repent, no path to be made whole, no suggestion that suffering might have a purpose beyond punishment. For Zophar, the only reason a man suffers like Job is because he deserves it. He cannot conceive of a suffering saint, let alone a crucified God.

This is the danger of every theology of glory: it closes Heaven with iron doors and locks them from the inside. It turns every hardship into proof of guilt and every affliction into a final sentence. It does not tremble before the mystery of God—it claims to comprehend it and harnesses God as a hammer. It forgets the patience of the Lord and mistakes His silence for condemnation.

In Zophar’s sealed system, he reveals his blindness to the mystery of divine mercy. His view of God is that of a cosmic enforcer, not a gracious Father. There’s no place in his theology for the One who is “just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus” (Romans 3:26). Without a Savior, Zophar must interpret all suffering as guilt and all pain as proof of condemnation. In this way, he not only fails Job—he fails the Gospel.

Such theology leaves no room for the pierced hands of Christ. It sees only the sword, never the Shepherd. It proclaims justice must prevail, but it cannot fathom God Himself would step beneath that sword in the place of the guilty. Zophar’s words are tragically confident, and in that certainty, he bars the door to grace. A God who only punishes is not the God who says, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28-29). That invitation requires a Savior, and Zophar has none.

The Problem with Perfect Timing

Zophar’s assertion that “the triumph of the wicked is short” contains a partial truth, but he applies it with destructive precision. Scripture does teach wickedness leads to ruin—the Psalms are filled with such declarations. But Scripture also teaches the wicked often seem to prosper in this life (again, see Psalm 73). Zophar refuses to acknowledge this tension. He’s not content to speak of ultimate justice—he insists it must be immediate. And in doing so, he falsely assumes the role of judge.

But God does not always repay in this life. The righteous may suffer, and the wicked may flourish, but that does not mean God is unjust. It means His justice is patient, i.e., longsuffering. And it means the cross—not karma—is the heart of divine action. Zophar doesn’t know this because his theology has no room for divine delay, let alone for a suffering Redeemer.

The Church must beware this kind of certainty. When we claim to understand exactly how and when God acts, we risk speaking falsely in His name, thus violating the 2^nd Commandment (“You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God”; see the Small Catechism explanation). It’s not our job to declare verdicts based on circumstances; it’s our calling to speak the promises of God—not as a hammer, but as comfort. Zophar gets the first part of judgement right, but he forgets the heart of God entirely.

The God Who Endures

Zophar’s speech ends with fire and brimstone, but no light. He’s spoken confidently, eloquently, and fatally. His words echo truths about God’s holiness, but they are void of His compassion. His theology punishes but cannot redeem. It crushes but cannot restore. It sees sin but not the Savior.

And Job, who has nothing left but faith, will not be moved. He has declared that his Redeemer lives. And although Zophar tries to bury that hope beneath piles of judgement, Job’s confession still stands; for the Redeemer is not shaped by our circumstances but revealed in them. Not proven by our prosperity but proclaimed from the ash heap.

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[1] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, trans. by John W. Doberstein (New York: HarperOne, 1954), 100-101.