We have followed the Preacher’s search for meaning through wisdom, knowledge, pleasure, accomplishment, work, and the passage of time; and consistently find that they are just not enough. Society is simply too unjust to explain.
“I saw under the sun that in the place of judgment, wickedness was there; and in the place of righteousness, iniquity was there.” (Ecclesiastes 3:16)
He sees corrupt courts (Ecclesiastes 3:16; 5:8), oppressive governments (4:1; 8:9), and religious life becoming hollow and corrupt (5:1–7). He sees wealth and power being used to exploit rather than protect the vulnerable (4:1; 5:8–13; 7:7; 8:9). (Sound familiar?)
It gets worse:
“So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but they had no comforter.” (Ecclesiastes 4:1)
He is deeply affected by the tears of the oppressed, and twice laments “they had no comforter.” The tragedy is not merely that injustice exists. It is that those who experience it are left to suffer alone.
Most of us know of people who suffered losses they did not deserve, caught in systems over which they have no control. We all know of situations in which wealth, influence, status, or simple luck determine outcomes more than merit or virtue. The Preacher is describing a recurring feature of human existence. He concludes, bleakly:
“Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive. Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 4:2–3)
In other words, for some people, it’s better never to have been born. He sounds almost nihilistic, but he’s just drawing conclusions from his observation. And the mere act of observing relentless suffering and injustice caused him to despair and doubt, in frustration and confusion. Why? Because he doesn’t understand it. That honesty is one reason the book continues to resonate with us today. We are saturated with information. We know more than any previous generation about war, famine, disease, injustice, corruption, and human suffering, yet every day brings new reports of violence, exploitation, and tragedy from every corner of the globe.
Yet the very fact that the Preacher and we ourselves are troubled by injustice reveals that, for some reason, we think that things ought to be otherwise. We compare what is with what we think should be. We think that justice exists, even if it seems to be nowhere to be found. The tears of the oppressed move us because we recognize that oppression violates something fundamental about the way human life ought to be lived.
What makes us think that justice exists? What moves us to compassion?
The Preacher’s lament and grief is evidence of a moral spirit, of a grace that exceeds wisdom. He knows injustice is wrong because God has graciously placed eternity in our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Our virtuous longing for justice is an expression of that grace. We ache for justice because we sense that justice belongs to the true order of things, even when we can’t see it. Which just makes the Preacher—and us—wonder all the more why we so often cannot see it, and ask “Where is God?”
These questions echo throughout Scripture. Job, the psalmist, and the prophets all ask it. Even Jesus, quoting Psalm 22 from the cross, gives voice to the anguish of apparent abandonment. “My God, My God! Why have you forsaken me?” But whereas Job received answers of a sort, with God thundering out of a whirlwind, neither Jesus nor the Preacher received any revelation, dramatic or otherwise, as far was we can tell.
So God is unpredictable when it comes to answering our questions. A recurring theme of Ecclesiastes is that life itself is unpredictable. To get by in an uncertain world, the Preacher advocates wisdom but admits that wisdom does not eliminate uncertainty, and virtue does not guarantee prosperity. Good intentions don’t ensure good outcomes. All of which is deeply frustrating. We want the universe to make sense. We want causes and their effects to align neatly. We want justice to be visible and automatic.
But the Preacher confronts a world in which justice often appears delayed, partial, or hidden; and so do we, despite the extraordinary advances in science, medicine, technology, education, and—especially today—intelligence. Evidently, intelligence is not enough.
Throughout history, many of the individuals who exercised great power were not lacking in intelligence. Some were brilliant administrators, strategists, financiers, politicians, or scholars. Their problem was not ignorance. Their problem was character.
Society is suffering not because no one knows how to govern. It is suffering because the application of knowledge and power is often unaccompanied by justice, compassion, humility, or restraint. Knowledge and wisdom are better than the alternative, says the Preacher, but we delude ourselves if we think that greater knowledge and power will be enough to solve the deepest human problems, such as injustice. The obstacles are not intellectual. We know why and how to be good. The obstacles are moral, and perhaps spiritual.
This realization helps explain why the problem of injustice is so persistent. The challenge is not simply designing better systems or acquiring more information. It is cultivating the moral character necessary to use power responsibly.
So far in the book, however, the Preacher has offered no solution except to live honestly with difficult questions and not rush toward easy answers. But then he turns unexpectedly toward one of the few sources of strength available in an imperfect world: companionship, friendship, and community.
If we can’t rely on governments, courts, employers, markets, or even social systems to provide security and meaning, where can we turn? The Preacher’s answer is: We can turn to one another. He writes:
“Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow… Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?… And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–12)
You may have heard these words intoned at weddings. They are not unreasonably interpreted as a celebration of marriage. But in Ecclesiastes they address something broader than romance and matrimony. They are about spiritual resilience. Life under the sun is difficult, and companionship is one of the greatest gifts available to human beings.
The examples the Preacher gives in that passage are strikingly practical. A person falls; another helps him up. A person grows cold; another provides warmth. One person is vulnerable; two can defend each other. These are ordinary experiences drawn from daily life, illustrating Ecclesiastes’ characteristic realism. The Preacher rarely speaks in idealistic terms about a perfect world. He describes how people survive in an imperfect one.
In many ways, this passage offers a subtle correction to some of the individualism that characterizes both ancient and modern cultures. We often imagine ourselves as self-sufficient. We admire independence. We celebrate the self-made individual. Yet the Preacher reminds us that human beings were not designed to flourish in isolation.
Despite being able to communicate instantly across continents, loneliness has become one of the defining experiences of contemporary life. People may be connected electronically while remaining isolated emotionally and spiritually. Communication is not companionship. We need relationships characterized by trust, mutual support, affection, and shared purpose. No amount of wealth or achievement or technology can fully compensate for their absence. This may help explain why some of life’s most meaningful experiences are relational rather than material. When people look back on their lives, they rarely treasure possessions as much as they treasure friendships, family relationships, acts of kindness, moments of shared joy, and the communities to which they belonged.
The Preacher is beginning to discover that while these attributes may not fully answer the deeper questions of the meaning of life, they do provide some modicum of meaning to life. Friendship won’t solve the problem of mortality. Community may not eliminate injustice. Love doesn’t answer every philosophical question. But friendship, community, and love make life more meaningful.
Perhaps the eternity in our hearts is what leads us to seek meaning through connection. We are relational creatures. Isolation feels unnatural. “It is not good that the man should be alone”, said God, long before the Fall. So to the Abrahamic faiths at least, community is not merely a remedy for brokenness; it is part of God’s original design.
When people are isolated, oppression flourishes. Tyranny thrives when individuals are divided and powerless. In communities of mutual concern and shared responsibility, compassion flourishes. The Preacher does not speak of theological redemption, but he recognizes that while human beings cannot solve all the mysteries of existence, they can help carry one another through them. Given all the uncertainties of life under the sun, that is no small thing.
Yet even companionship has its limits. It gives comfort and strength, but it cannot satisfy every longing. The Preacher turns to another object of human desire—wealth and success—and asks whether abundance can provide what companionship cannot. Earlier in the book he describes his own experiments with achievement, possessions, building projects, and prosperity. He had already observed that abundance did not satisfy the human heart, and in Chapter 5 he returns to the topic:
“He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase.” (Ecclesiastes 5:10)
We often assume that dissatisfaction results from having too little. If only we had just a bit more money, a bit more success, a bit more recognition, then contentment would surely follow. The problem, though, is not quantitative, says the Preacher. It isn’t the amount we possess—there is never enough (just observe our billionaires vying to be trillionaires). Every achievement creates the possibility of a larger achievement. Every success creates the desire for greater success. Every acquisition becomes the starting point for the next acquisition.
The real problem is in the nature of desire, which our economies depend heavily upon stimulating. Advertising never encourages contentment. Day in, day out, it says You deserve more! Entire industries exist to persuade us that fulfillment lies just beyond our present circumstances. The next purchase, the next promotion, the next investment, the next experience, or the next technological innovation promises to provide what is currently missing.
But we are remarkably adaptable. What was extraordinary yesterday is ordinary today. The iPhone that generated global excitement just a few years ago is just part of the background of life today. Satisfaction fades, and desire reasserts itself, prodded by ads. The Preacher understands this dynamic and sees that wealth can provide some comfort, convenience, and opportunities. He doesn’t deny its practical value. Poverty is not romanticized in Ecclesiastes. Material resources do matter. But what the book denies is that wealth has any bearing on ultimate meaning.
One reason is that possessions never fully belong to us. They remain vulnerable to circumstances beyond our control. Economic conditions change. Markets fluctuate. Illness intervenes. Accidents occur. Mortality eventually comes calling. The Preacher repeatedly returns to this unsettling fact. Whatever we accumulate, we cannot keep indefinitely. Wealth does not exempt us from mortality, nor does it necessarily bring peace of mind.
In fact, Ecclesiastes notes that abundance often generates new anxieties. The more we possess, the more we have to lose. Prosperity creates its own burdens. The property or business owner worries about losses, competitors, investments, inheritance, reputation, and countless other concerns. The pursuit of wealth for meaning can thus become self-defeating.
There is another dimension to the problem as well. Much of what drives human striving is not real necessity but status comparison. We measure ourselves against others. We compare achievements, social status, income, influence, education, possessions, and accomplishments. The result is often envy rather than contentment.
The Preacher observes:
“And I saw that all toil and all achievement spring from one person’s envy of another. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.” (Ecclesiastes 4:4)
This insight may be even more relevant today than it was in the ancient world. Modern communication allows us to compare ourselves continually with millions of other people. We see their achievements, their travels, their homes, their careers, and their carefully curated public images. Talk about vanity!
To me it is odd that the Preacher doesn’t develop the implications of the eternity he introduces. We possess desires that go beyond accumulation. We seek permanence in a world of change. We seek security in a world of uncertainty. We seek lasting fulfillment in things that are inherently temporary. But the eternity in our hearts prods us to seek meaning, at least as instantly as the television prods us to covet a bigger screen.
So the longing for meaning is not misguided; however, the path we take to find it may be. Wisdom alone cannot provide ultimate meaning. Pleasure cannot provide it. Achievement, wealth, and status cannot provide it.
The Preacher diagnoses this problem with extraordinary clarity, but he stops short of describing its final resolution. He observes the world with extraordinary honesty. He sees injustice, oppression, loneliness, and disappointment. He sees the endless pursuit of wealth and status, the certainty of death, and the limitations of human understanding. And unlike many religious teachers, he does not rush to explain these realities away. He does not insist that every tragedy serves an obvious purpose. He does not promise that virtue will always be rewarded or that suffering will always be understood.
There is wisdom in seeking clarity, in refusing to substitute comforting illusions for honest observation. Ecclesiastes is psychologically mature in accepting complexity, acknowledging ambiguity, and respecting experience. But is acceptance enough, or are we obliged to do something about it?
This question of acceptance vs. transformation appears in many of the world’s religious and philosophical traditions. Some emphasize acceptance. Buddhism, for example, teaches the importance of relinquishing attachment to things we cannot control. Stoicism encourages serenity in the face of circumstances beyond our influence. Daoism emphasizes living in harmony with the natural flow of reality rather than struggling against it.
Ecclesiastes often seems to side with this broader family of wisdom traditions. The Preacher reminds us of human limitations, of mysteries we cannot solve, events and outcomes we cannot prevent. Wisdom begins with accepting these limits. I think there is profound truth in that insight.
But Ecclesiastes does not have the last word on this. When we reach the Gospels, we encounter a somewhat different emphasis. Jesus too, of course, recognizes the realities of suffering and injustice. He heals the sick because sickness exists. He feeds the hungry because hunger exists. He comforts the grieving because grief exists. He confronts hypocrisy because corruption exists.
But at the heart of Jesus’ ministry is the proclamation of the Kingdom of God. Whatever else that phrase means, it points toward the possibility that things don’t have to be this way, that God’s will is not merely to be accepted; it is to be realized. “Thy will be done. On earth, as it is in heaven.”
The Preacher says there is…
“A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:8)
As a matter of fact, as a description of human experience, that observation is undeniably true. But Jesus demands action to nullify the fact:
“Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you, bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.” (Luke 6:27–28).
The Kingdom does not accept hatred; it seeks to overcome it. It does not merely observe injustice; it seeks justice. It does not merely note suffering; it offers healing.
This does not mean that Jesus rejects the wisdom of Ecclesiastes. On the contrary, many of the lessons of Ecclesiastes remain indispensable. Humility, realism, awareness of human limitations, and recognition of life’s uncertainties all remain essential.
The difference is that while the Preacher looks largely at life under the sun, Jesus invites us to see life in the light of the Kingdom. Ecclesiastes teaches us not to expect ultimate fulfillment from wealth, pleasure, power, achievement, or knowledge. Jesus agrees, but points toward a positive alternative: participation in God’s redemptive work in the world under the sun.
The Preacher sees the tears of the oppressed and mourns them. Jesus sees the tears of the oppressed and moves to dry them. The Preacher recognizes the failures of human institutions. Jesus creates a community that embodies a different way of living. The Preacher exposes the limitations of human striving for meaning in life. Jesus redirects that striving toward the Kingdom of God.
These are not contradictory visions. They are complementary stages in a larger conversation. Ecclesiastes teaches us to abandon our illusions. Jesus teaches us how to overcome them. Perhaps that is why Ecclesiastes occupies such an important place in Scripture. It performs a necessary task. It strips away our false certainties. It exposes our misplaced hopes. It reminds us that intelligence alone is not wisdom, that success is not meaning, and that possession is not fulfillment.
Only then are we prepared to hear the deeper invitation that follows. The Preacher teaches us how to face reality honestly. Jesus teaches us how to participate in its redemption.
Donald: The juxtaposition between the Preacher and Jesus seemed to be your central theme, and I found that very meaningful. A couple of observations.
First, the Preacher makes us aware of what is under the sun—S-U-N. Jesus is under the Son—S-O-N.
Second, the concept of companionship, friendship, and community really stood out to me. At the end of the day, those are the things that truly matter. It’s the people who gather around you, or gather together around someone else, or simply gather together. Life seems pretty empty if it is lived entirely alone, and I thought you expressed that very clearly.
I also think the word greed is important. You certainly described the idea, even if you didn’t use that specific word. Greed is going beyond what is necessary. As you said, it is never enough. Advertising continually suggests that we need more. It would never use the word greed, because that’s a negative word, but greed really is the problem. It’s always about taking one more step. We get this, then we want that. We get that, then we want something else. There is always one more thing. It’s always, “Only if…” So the challenge is learning contentment instead of greed.
I remember a phrase that James Dobson said probably forty years ago that has always stayed with me: The more you have, the more you have to work on. Everything becomes a maintenance project. You buy something in the store and it looks beautiful and shiny. Then you bring it home and you have to grease it, adjust it, repair it, maintain it. I think that’s an important insight.
One thing I would ask us to ponder, however, is this. People of wealth tend to get criticized all the time. I’m not sure whether that’s jealousy or whether we think we have a better perspective than they do, but I’m not sure that’s entirely fair. Wealth provides employment. Entrepreneurial activity creates opportunities. Without entrepreneurs, I’m not sure many of the industries that solve the kinds of problems you described would even exist. The same applies to charitable organizations. Most large charities survive because of endowments, and those endowments exist because someone accumulated wealth.
So wealth itself can be a good thing if it is shared—if people recognize that it is not simply for personal gain but for the good of the community.
Don: David made a case, I think, that Ecclesiastes has special meaning and offers a unique opportunity to understand ourselves in our present condition. This is a book that was written about three thousand years ago. I’m wondering what more specific attention ought to be drawn to Ecclesiastes in the world we live in today. How can it be applied to our present situation in a more compelling way than perhaps it has ever been before?
David: We seem to have developed a little ritual whereby you ask me exactly the question I’m planning to answer next week! Because the culmination of all this really does involve those very issues. How does all this apply to us today? And, more particularly, has anything changed in the background—the environment in which we live? Ecclesiastes describes a world characterized by mortality, want, scarcity of resources, and so on. We may now be approaching an environment in which mortality itself has been defeated—or at least postponed indefinitely—for the wealthy.
These are very deep questions, and they’re why they deserve an entire class of their own. That’s what we’ll be discussing next week. So I apologize to Dr. Weaver. I keep not answering his questions! I don’t mean to do that. They’re exactly the right questions. I hope that next week I’ll finally explain what I believe are the particularly meaningful lessons of Ecclesiastes for our own generation—lessons that I don’t think any previous generation has had to consider in quite the same way.
Somebody was wise enough to include Ecclesiastes in the biblical canon. You can almost imagine a committee sitting around deciding which books to include in the Bible. When they came to Ecclesiastes, someone could easily have said, “Well, this is all doom and gloom. It doesn’t seem to contain much of a spiritual message. Let’s leave this one out.” But they didn’t. They kept it in.
Carolyn: I’d love to know who Ecclesiastes actually is.
David: Generally, it is thought to be King Solomon.
Sharon: I think this is a powerful discussion, especially for those of us who live on the front lines of injustice. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t see intense injustice. This week there was a little six-year-old boy standing at our gate. He couldn’t speak any English. He simply held out his hand and then pointed toward his mouth, asking for any kind of food we could give him.
A couple of weeks ago I was at a wedding. The bride and groom looked beautiful. Then I looked over and saw a little girl wearing what was essentially a sack. She had a plastic bag wrapped around her for clothing, was barefoot, and had virtually nothing to wear.
The emotional toll of seeing things like that is enormous, because the needs are so much greater than anything we can possibly offer. Yes, relationally we can give. We can build community. But the physical needs that surround us are so overwhelming that it makes you wonder whether all we are doing is chasing after the wind. The fact is that children are dying of hunger here every day. What can I do in any meaningful way to make an impact when the needs are so absolutely horrendous?
So thank for bringing this out. It reminds us, first of all, that there is nothing new under the sun. Those intense needs have always existed. We’re not the first generation to confront them. It also reminds us that, in the end, it all comes down to living out the life of Jesus through grace, and that grace is so much greater than wisdom.
When we lack wisdom, we can rely on the grace of Jesus to take the little things we are able to do and somehow multiply them into something that has eternal meaning. He can transform our feeble efforts into something far greater than we ourselves could ever accomplish.
Alyssa: One of the practical lessons I take from this book is that I’ve had many of the same experiences and many of the same thoughts. When I first discovered Ecclesiastes, I felt a very strong connection with it because Solomon is in such profound despair that, at times, it’s almost comical. The entire book is one long lament over his observations about the world.
One reason the book remains so relevant is that you read something written three thousand years ago and realize that nothing has really changed. We’re recycling the same issues over and over again. Yes, in many ways the world is wealthier today, and many problems have been solved. But we’re still dealing with the same wars, genocides, crimes, and injustices.
What I noticed, though, is that several times throughout the book Solomon seems to pull himself back from despair. After catastrophizing and reflecting on all the unmet needs around him, he grounds himself again. In chapter 5, beginning in verse 18, he says:
“Behold that which I have seen: it is good and comely for one to eat and to drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labour that he taketh under the sun all the days of his life… Every man also to whom God hath given riches and wealth, and hath given him power to eat thereof… this is the gift of God.”
Then again, later in the book, he says:
“Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart… Let thy garments be always white… Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest…”
There’s this recurring theme of balance. Then, in chapter 7, when he talks about the limits of human wisdom, he says that he has seen righteous people die young and wicked people live long lives. Then he says:
“Be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise… Be not over much wicked…”
I think there is real merit in trying to make a meaningful impact and to live a fulfilling life. But if you focus constantly on everything you cannot do, it’s very easy to fall into despair. I experienced something like that myself. I was vegan for six years, to the point where I read every ingredient on every label. Even things like potato chips often contain milk products, so I went to great lengths to avoid them. Then one day my mom pointed out that I drank cashew milk instead of regular milk, but many cashews are harvested under unethical labor conditions.
You start realizing that almost everything you do has some ethical problem attached to it. If you focus on every little thing you’re doing wrong, it’s very easy to become overwhelmed and discouraged. You try so hard to do everything perfectly.
I think that’s where grace comes in. As Dr. Pittman was saying, we find grace in God. We live meaningful lives through the character and grace of Jesus, rather than through our own perfection. For me, that’s one of the most practical lessons Ecclesiastes teaches.
David: Beautifully said.
C-J: I recently went for a walk with a group of people ranging from their twenties into their fifties. I was listening to the younger ones talking, and there was this wonderful excitement of, “Look what I’ve discovered!”
Those of us who are older smile because we think, “What’s old is new again.” But it’s really important to see young people discovering these truths for themselves instead of simply dismissing them as “old school” or saying, “That was your generation.”
Alyssa, I appreciated your willingness to identify with what your mother was saying. There is truth there too. It’s about finding balance. You’ve chosen a lifestyle because you believe it honors your relationship with God and the people you fellowship with. As you mature, some of those things may change. That doesn’t mean you’ve backslidden. It may simply mean that your body tells you it needs something different in order to remain healthy. If one day you marry and have children, your nutritional needs may change again.
It was delightful to hear you express your thoughts so honestly and to hear you recognize the importance of balance. Kudos to you, and to the good teachers you’ve had along the way.
Reinhard: What I see is that the Preacher is talking about the human condition—from birth, through life, to our final destiny. In many ways the situation is much the same in Solomon’s time, in Jesus’ time, and today. Society has certainly changed. A few hundred years ago, even in this country, agriculture dominated life. Families worked the land simply to survive and keep food on the table.
Today, of course, there is enormous wealth. Some people may even become trillionaires. Yet, in other parts of the world, as Sharon mentioned, oppression still exists just as it did in Bible times. Justice is still a problem. Even in modern countries, many people continue to feel oppressed—economically, politically, or in other ways.
Jesus speaks in Matthew 6 about our daily needs, about having food to eat. But then He concludes by saying:
“Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”
As Christians, when we look at history from Bible times until today, we should ask what we can learn that helps us become better people and better children of God. Solomon is describing life from a purely human perspective, looking at what happens under the sun. Generations come and go, but the same realities continue. Eventually all of us face the end of our earthly lives. The difference is that, as Christians, we know that life does not end here.
David mentioned the eternity that God has placed in our hearts. That gives profound meaning to our understanding of eternity—not only peace during this life, but hope for the life to come. If we live according to Scripture and according to God’s commandments, then we have something far beyond what people were seeking in Solomon’s day.
Back then, people were simply looking for happiness and enough food for their families. Today we have technology, artificial intelligence, education, and longer life expectancy, all of which are good. But we still face death.
The Bible teaches us, as Jesus taught, to practice love. David spoke about relationships and community, and all these things belong together. We need good relationships with one another, and we need to love God.
We can be thankful that we know not only our present destiny but our eternal destiny as well. As long as we remain strong believers, keep our minds focused on Jesus, and allow the Holy Spirit to work in our hearts, we can face whatever circumstances come our way. In the end, we will be victorious. That, to me, is what life is really about.
Jerrell: The book of Ecclesiastes has largely been relegated, in my own experience, to something I heard other people talk about. But listening to someone like you makes it profound. I certainly want to follow Alyssa’s example and dig into it more deeply myself.
I wanted to share one thought that may be helpful. It comes from elementary science education, so don’t give up on me—I’m coming back to Ecclesiastes.
In science class we teach about eclipses, especially lunar eclipses. During your lifetime you may only see one or two total solar eclipses. If you study them very much, you discover that without eclipses we would know far less about our universe than we do today. They have allowed us to observe things we otherwise could never have seen.
Of course, today we have all kinds of sophisticated instruments, and we think we’re so clever because we can see all these things in space. But throughout history, eclipses themselves have been one of God’s gracious gifts, allowing us to observe realities that would otherwise remain hidden.
As I listened to this exposition of Ecclesiastes, that image came back to me. The value of an eclipse is that it makes something normally hidden visible. It allows us to see what usually lies in darkness. Ecclesiastes does something similar. Ecclesiastes, Job, parts of Genesis, and a few other books create that kind of eclipse. They allow us to see the darker side of human existence more clearly. There’s a great deal in Ecclesiastes that is dark.
Then my mind went to a passage that has meant a great deal to me this week, Nehemiah 8:10. We often quote just one sentence from that verse:
“The joy of the Lord is your strength.”
We make songs out of it. We encourage one another with it. We love repeating those words. But this week, while dealing with pain and suffering in our own family, thinking about little beggar boys at the gate and all the hardships people experience, I went back and read the entire passage.
The context is the children of Israel returning after the exile. Their sanctuary in Jerusalem no longer exists. In a sense, they’re asking, “What do we even do with our tithe when there’s no temple to bring it to?”
Verses 9 and 10 almost sound like Ecclesiastes. They tell the people to eat, drink, and rejoice—but not in the shallow sense of simply enjoying themselves. Rather, they are told to share with those who have nothing. Find someone who cannot celebrate because they have nothing, and share with them. Give to those in need. Rejoice together. I think that’s a beautiful message as we consider what our world needs today.
To return to my eclipse illustration, when the shadow is finally removed and we come to the Gospel of John, the brilliant light of Jesus Christ shines through. Then we see God’s solution. He promises that it won’t necessarily be quick. It won’t necessarily be easy. But it will be final, and it will be good, because it is built on love.
Donald: Those were thoughtful observations, very well expressed. As you were speaking, I found myself thinking about the first book of the Bible, Genesis. We picture Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden as living in this lush, abundant place—green everywhere, blue skies, flowers, everything we imagine a perfect garden to be. Then you think about the animals. We tend to imagine them as all being tame companions. What a joy it would be to walk among them and interact with them.
Now contrast that picture with the last book of the Bible, Revelation. There heaven is described as this magnificent, opulent place with streets of gold. The two pictures are quite different. Both portray abundance, but they present it in different ways. It’s almost like the advertising, if you will, of the human condition.
In Revelation we hear that we’ll receive a crown. We’ll have our own home. Everything will be provided. God has prepared all these things for each one of us.
So there is abundance in nature—that was humanity’s original environment. But heaven is described in a very different way.
David: I think that’s a fascinating observation. When you compare the streets of gold with the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve were, in a sense, almost like cave people. They didn’t have houses. They probably slept in a cave or under a huge pandanus leaf or something similar. There was no need for gold. Gold served no practical purpose in the Garden of Eden.
But to conclude today’s discussion: The Preacher leaves us in a curious position. He has dismantled many of our illusions, but he has not extinguished our hope. He has exposed the limitations of life under the sun, but he has also revealed hints of something that points beyond it.
Next week we will arrive at the final stage of his investigation. We will examine the themes that dominate the closing chapters of Ecclesiastes: wisdom and folly, chance and uncertainty, aging and mortality, and ultimately the question of what remains when every illusion has been stripped away.
The Preacher began by asking whether life is vanity. By the end of the book, he will offer his final answer. And perhaps, after following him through the entire journey, we will be better prepared to understand what he means.
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