Job 24: Times Are Not Hidden from the Almighty

“Since times are not hidden from the Almighty, why do those who know Him see not His days?” — Job 24:1

The Question of Delayed Justice

Job continues his argument from chapter 23, but now turns from his personal suffering to the broader injustice of the world: “Since times are not hidden from the Almighty, why do those who know Him see not His days?” (v. 1). Job is not questioning God’s omniscience. He affirms that God sees, but he wonders why God does not act. Why do those who love Him and long for His justice wait in vain to see His righteous intervention?

This is the question of every age: If God is just, why does He delay? Job lists the evidence: the wicked remove landmarks to steal land (v. 2), they oppress orphans and widows (vv. 3, 9), they use the poor for their own gain (vv. 10-12), and yet they prosper. The cries of the innocent rise, “yet God does not charge them with wrong” (v. 12). Job is not blind. He sees what we see: systems that favor the wicked, nations ruled by cruelty, the powerless used and discarded.

Job also catalogues the brutalities of the powerful. Thieves, adulterers, and murderers operate under the cover of darkness and walk in daylight without consequence: “The murderer rises with the light; he kills the poor and needy; and in the night he is like a thief” (v. 14). Job’s world is not unlike ours. Corruption thrives. The wicked seem to die in peace, surrounded by comfort, while the righteous waste away in silence.

What offends Job most is not simply the existence of evil—it’s the apparent inaction of Heaven. “But God draws the mighty away with His power; He rises up, but no man is sure of life. He gives them security, and they rely on it; yet His eyes are on their ways” (vv. 22-23). These verses reflect Job’s tortured theology: God is still sovereign, but His justice feels hidden, even complicit. He allows the wicked to feel secure, even as they oppress the weak.

If you’ve ever looked around and wondered why the wicked prosper—why abusers go unpunished, why corrupt systems endure, why the cries of the vulnerable seem to vanish into silence—then Job is your companion. He sees what you see and dares to say it. The world is not fair. The wicked do walk in sunlight. The innocent do suffer in shadows. And if you’ve carried the ache of this injustice in your chest, know that Scripture does not deny your vision—it gives it a voice.

Your grief over injustice is not cynicism; it is evidence of God’s image in you, a longing for the world to be as it should be. Job’s lament teaches you that you can both love God and still be heartbroken over the state of the world. You don’t have to pretend the wicked are always punished or the righteous always vindicated. You’re invited to weep, to question, and to long for justice that may not yet be visible, but is promised. In Christ, that promise is not just a future hope—it’s a guarantee sealed by nail-pierced hands.

A Theology that Endures Injustice

This chapter dismantles the neatness of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar’s theology of glory. Job is asking the question they’re too afraid to voice: Why doesn’t God do something? His friends say, “The wicked always fail.” But Job says, “Then why are they still standing in prosperity?” The prosperity gospel is a giant farce. But Job isn’t denying God will judge—he’s grieving that judgement delays. And in that grief, he refuses to lie about what he sees—a true theologian of the cross, calling a thing what it is.

Job does not try to resolve the problem of evil with a simplistic theodicy—he simply exposes it. This is not faithlessness but faith speaking honestly. Job believes God is just, but he refuses to pretend justice is already visible. This is the faith of the exile, the afflicted, and the abused—a cry that says, “I believe You are good, but what I see right now does not reflect it.” And that cry, far from being unholy or impious, is the cry of Christ Himself on the cross, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”

If you’ve ever been told, “Everything happens for a reason” while still reeling from grief, the Book of Job shows you that such theology—however well-meaning—can sometimes do more harm than good. Job does not try to explain away evil or sanitize suffering. Instead, he stares unflinchingly at injustice and still turns his face toward God. That is not weak faith—it is courageous faith. And if you’ve been clinging to God with trembling hands while injustice rages around you, you are not failing. You are walking the same path Job walked—a path where faith does not erase pain but outlasts it.

You don’t have to explain what you cannot understand. Job gives you permission to say, “I don’t know why God is allowing this, but I will not stop crying out to Him.” This is the posture of those who wait for the resurrection. It’s not a passive waiting but an active groaning, like creation itself (Romans 8:22). And in that groaning, you are not alone. Christ joins you there, the Innocent One who suffered unjustly, who trusted through His Father’s silence, and who now reigns to make sure no injustice lasts forever.

The Cry that Waits for the Day

Job ends this chapter without resolution. There is no “happy turn” or triumphant conclusion. He simply observes that the wicked are, and God seems to allow it. But in naming this, Job joins the ranks of the faithful who long for a justice they cannot yet see. He waits for a day that has not come. And in this, he foreshadows the Prophets, the psalmists, and finally Christ Himself, who bore the weight of a silent Heaven to bring justice for all oppressed by sin and evil.

For now, Job walks by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). His theology holds space for mystery, and his lament becomes a testimony—not because he understands God’s ways but because he keeps speaking to God even when those ways are hidden. In this, Job teaches us how to live with unanswered questions—not with despair but with a defiant hope that refuses to let go of the One who will one day make all things right.