“So who am I, that I should try to answer God or even reason with him? Even if I were right, I would have no defense. I could only plead for mercy. And even if I summoned him and he responded, I’m not sure he would listen to me. For he attacks me with a storm and repeatedly wounds me without cause. He will not let me catch my breath, but fills me instead with bitter sorrows. If it’s a question of strength, he’s the strong one. If it’s a matter of justice, who dares to summon him to court? Though I am innocent, my own mouth would pronounce me guilty. Though I am blameless, it would prove me wicked. “I am innocent, but it makes no difference to me— I despise my life. Innocent or wicked, it is all the same to God. That’s why I say, ‘He destroys both the blameless and the wicked.’ When a plague sweeps through, he laughs at the death of the innocent. The whole earth is in the hands of the wicked, and God blinds the eyes of the judges. If he’s not the one who does it, who is? “My life passes more swiftly than a runner. It flees away without a glimpse of happiness. It disappears like a swift papyrus boat, like an eagle swooping down on its prey. If I decided to forget my complaints, to put away my sad face and be cheerful, I would still dread all the pain, for I know you will not find me innocent, O God. Whatever happens, I will be found guilty. So what’s the use of trying? Even if I were to wash myself with soap and clean my hands with lye, you would plunge me into a muddy ditch, and my own filthy clothing would hate me.
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