In this video, I go over the top three books I recommend everyone read when starting the Bible!
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Do you want to deepen your walk with Jesus this new year? In this video, I am sharing seven influential book recommendations that have become instrumental in my spiritual journey. These Christian book recommendations aim […]
Do you want to deepen your walk with Jesus this new year? In this video, I am sharing seven influential book recommendations that have become instrumental in my spiritual journey. These Christian book recommendations aim […]
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I started in proverbs
Reading the KJV Bible from start to finish i’m trying to get an hour in every day
Read Matthew 1 first and find out who the 4 women mentioned in the genealogy. You can find out about them by either references, or ” Google” them. That will start showing you the heart of God.
This is followed by the birth of Jesus.
One after that will any reference in the Old Testament will make sense.
I would recommend reading or listening to psalms before bed
The question of when Job lived matters more than most readers realize. The internal evidence points consistently to a setting long before the Exodus, in the era of the patriarchs, likely contemporary with Abraham or Jacob. Job functions as the priest of his own household, offering burnt sacrifices on behalf of his children, a practice characteristic of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Melchizedek, and one that would have been impossible after Sinai when sacrificial worship was confined to the Levitical priesthood. There is no reference to the Exodus, the Law, the Tabernacle, the nation of Israel, Jerusalem, or the covenant at Sinai; none of the theological landmarks that dominate post-Mosaic Scripture appear anywhere in the text. Job’s wealth is measured in livestock and servants, matching the patriarchal economic pattern exactly. The currency mentioned at his restoration, the qesitah, is archaic, appearing elsewhere only in Genesis 33:19 and Joshua 24:32. His lifespan stretches well beyond two hundred years, consistent with the patriarchal era when human longevity was still descending from its post-Flood heights, and inconsistent with the limits established by Moses’s day. The divine names used throughout the dialogues are predominantly El, Eloah, and El Shaddai, the names by which God revealed Himself to the patriarchs, with the covenant name YHWH reserved largely for the prose framework. Eliphaz is identified as a Temanite, a descendant of Esau’s line in Edom, placing the friends geographically and ethnically in the patriarchal world. The Chaldeans appear as nomadic raiders rather than as the imperial Babylonian power they would later become. Every line of evidence converges on the same conclusion: the events of Job belong to the patriarchal age, and the book itself stands as the oldest narrative in Scripture, possibly written by Moses during his years in Midian, possibly composed earlier still.
The book of Job is not fundamentally about why a righteous man suffers. It is about whether God’s governance of the universe is just, trustworthy, and grounded in love rather than transaction. From its opening scene, the question is not Job’s character but God’s moral order. The accuser’s charge is sweeping and theological: that no one loves God freely, that righteousness is merely payment for protection, and that God’s rule collapses the moment blessing is withdrawn. Job becomes the test case not because he is expendable, but because he already stands as living evidence against that accusation.
This is why God’s silence dominates the book. God is not absent; He is restrained. To intervene mid-trial, to explain Himself while the accusation is still being argued, would validate the very claim being made against Him. A judge who interrupts proceedings to defend himself concedes the weakness of his own justice. God allows the charge to unfold fully, not to torment Job, but to expose the lie at the heart of the accuser’s worldview: that love and loyalty only exist when incentivized.
Job’s friends represent the human impulse to rescue God by sacrificing truth. In Job 4 and throughout their speeches, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar insist that suffering must be directly caused by God as punishment, that pain is proof of guilt, and that divine justice must always be immediately legible. Elihu, the late-arriving voice in Job 32, refines the error without escaping it; he abandons the charge of hidden guilt but still presents suffering as divine pedagogy, a tool God wields to instruct the sufferer. Both positions share a buried premise: that God is the active source of human pain. In doing so, they unwittingly repeat the accuser’s logic, making God the author of arbitrary affliction and reducing righteousness to a mechanical system of reward, penalty, or correction. The book quietly insists on the opposite. Suffering originates in rebellion; in the accuser’s malice, in humanity’s fall, in personal sin and a broken world. God does not manufacture the lemons; He draws redemption out of what sin has already poisoned. Their theology sounds pious, but God later confronts it directly because it misrepresents Him, and Elihu’s elaborate speech is met with the same divine silence.
Job, by contrast, refuses both easy blame and easy explanations. He does not curse God, but he also refuses to lie about reality. His protest is not rebellion; it is relational fidelity under extreme pressure. This is why Job’s most profound insight is his cry for a mediator, someone who can stand between God and humanity without collapsing justice or silencing suffering. Job senses that the problem is not simply pain, but distance: the absence of an advocate who can bridge heaven and earth without distortion.
That cry finds its answer in Christ. Where Job longed for a daysman who could lay a hand on both God and man, Christ fulfills that role as advocate, mediator, and witness. The pattern that began in Job reaches its climax at Calvary: the accuser is again permitted his hour, and the Son of God is handed over to that freedom, becoming Himself the supreme test case. Christ does not merely answer Job’s cry from a distance; He steps into Job’s place, enduring trial, abandonment, and apparent silence in order to become the mediator Job sought. He does not explain suffering away; He enters it. He does not short-circuit justice; He satisfies it. He does not silence accusation by force; He defeats it by truth and self-giving love. What Job experiences without explanation, Christ reveals through incarnation.
Revelation completes the picture Job never saw. It names the accuser explicitly and announces the outcome of his long campaign: “Now salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of His Christ have come, for the accuser of our brethren, who accused them before our God day and night, has been cast down” (Revelation 12:10). His defeat does not come through superior force or sudden decree; it comes through faithful testimony. “And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death” (Revelation 12:11). The heavenly courtroom that opens Job also closes in Revelation, where the redeemed declare, “Great and marvelous are Your works, Lord God Almighty! Just and true are Your ways, O King of the saints!” (Revelation 15:3). The charge that God is unloving, unjust, or manipulative finally collapses under the weight of sacrificial love, vindicated by the witness of those who trusted Him even when answers were withheld.
God’s final speech in Job does not justify suffering case by case because the book is not about justification in that sense. Instead, God reorients reality. He shows that wisdom, care, and moral order extend far beyond human calculation, and that trust in God’s character must precede understanding of His ways. Job is vindicated not because he never questioned, but because he never abandoned the relationship even when answers were withheld.
In the end, Job teaches that suffering does not disprove God’s love, silence does not equal absence, and unanswered pain does not negate justice. The book exists to defend the integrity of God’s rule against the deepest accusation imaginable, and it does so by pointing forward to the only true resolution: a mediator who reveals that God’s love is not transactional, not coercive, and not fragile, but costly, faithful, and victorious.
And this is why Job stands first. Before the Law was given, before Israel was a nation, before the Tabernacle was built or a prophet anointed or a king crowned, the deepest question in the universe had already been raised and answered. The accuser’s charge had already been exposed; God’s character had already been vindicated; the cry for a mediator had already been recorded in Scripture. Every book that follows builds on a foundation Job has already laid. The Law arrives as the gracious instruction of a God whose justice is no longer in question. The Psalms can lament without losing faith because Job has already shown that lament and trust are not enemies. The prophets can confront Israel’s sin without entertaining the suspicion that God Himself is unjust. The Gospels can present a suffering Messiah without that suffering canceling His divinity, because Job has already established that righteousness and affliction can occupy the same life. Revelation can close the heavenly courtroom because Job has already opened it. The entire canon proceeds as if the verdict has been rendered, because in Job it has. The oldest book of the Bible is the foundation of all the rest, and it was given first because nothing else in Scripture makes its full sense until the question Job answers has been settled.