"All things are wearisome, more than one can say, the eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun...I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind... for with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief." Ecclesiastes 1:8-9, 14,18
The Toil
"What has a man from all the toil and striving of heart with which he toils beneath the sun? For all his days are full of sorrow, and his work is a vexation. Even in the night his heart does not rest. This also is vanity." Ecclesiastes 2: 22-23
Chaos defines our culture when we push forward in toil, exerting ourselves to prove our worthiness in a world that engulfs us with misguided identities and displaced desires. Toil has become my escape as I fill my life with obligations--the grim determination to serve my family, care for a sick son, ease my husband's burdens, and chase our small business ambitions with tenacity. I spend my mornings writing it all down, journaling and studying--grinding through my Bible study with persistence as I strive to tackle all that I have planned in my day. My work has become a great burden that which the harder I pursue it; the more satisfaction eludes me. The more I fill up my routine with commitments and causes, the hollower my life becomes; and I am struck with the realization that all that once seemed to "work", is now "working" against me. Crammed with the emptiness of toil, I find myself wondering what all the striving is for? It feels like hevel, vapor, a "chasing after the wind."
"My soul, wait in silence for God only, for my hope is from him." Psalm 52:5-6
Out of purposeless toil, the discord of exertion dissolves to stillness and pandemonium mutes the spirit. Two years of reticence have been thrust upon my wearisome existence as I practice the art of silence. My lips ache from biting them to hush the words I am tempted to speak in the face of a culture of chaos, where opinions are the dividing factor, a disquieting façade of polarization. A culture in which friends become enemies and certainty fades like vapor as we are constantly exposed to distrust and suspicion. It is as though we have forgotten who the real enemy is.
I am seated at church surrounded by fellow worshipers in the chasm of quietude, the music seeps into the pores of my dry soul. I open my taunt lips to sing the words that barely escape. Silence barricades the flood lest the dams break--two years of silence and grief threaten to spill over like a noisy gong of emotion poured out for my undoing. So, I take small doses of praise, savoring the sweetness that subdues my bitter thoughts and skeptical dreams, and I steel myself to face the harshness of life head on with mute steadfast determination. The enemy taunts, and I hold firm, grasping for meaning when it all seems meaningless.
The truth is, I am tired, and I am angry--the words tired and angry seems subdued in comparison to the deep complex emotions I tenaciously stuff down my inner spirt to survive the turmoil that engulfs our society and clobbers the conscious with the empty promises and false perceptions. The lassitude that invades my spirit weighs like fetters, a wearisome affair "under the sun."
Inwardly, I am consumed by rage- disgust with what our world has become. I am incensed with those who walked away in their rash judgments. I am infuriated with pride, egotism, judgement, and polarization. I am antagonized with estrangement, inflation, war, and disregard for humanity. I am exacerbated with sickness and disease--especially that which has been thrust upon my sweet son. I am riled by the realization of just how little control I have over my own life. I am fatigued from pressing on, and I am disturbed by the daily reminders that it is all hevel--meaningless vapor, a breath. The hevel evades me, a "vanity of vanities", deafened by my weariness and silent rage, pierced by my grief. I perceive it all as hevel, and I feel a kinship with the Christ who wept with rage at the graveside of His dear friend, Lazarus (John 11:35). The "Resurrection and the Life" Himself knew fully the bitterness of humanity that would reject, mock, and torture Him. He recognized all the worldly pursuits and desires as hevel, and He wept. Christ must have felt exhausted as He witnessed to the misguided and spiritually blind on His way to the grave.
The Grave
"It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart." Ecclesiastes 7:2
I stand before my mother's grave, holding my grieving father's arm gently. I find myself wishing I had a bouquet of red roses to lay before her resting place. I mention how Mom's practical nature would have perceived such a frivolous gesture as unnecessary. We laugh wryly as Dad tells me that that she once told him fresh cut flowers were not for her, as she sought after more tangible gestures of love. The legacy of a witty woman who enjoyed people, loved books, and was never short of words. My mother poured her life into making others happy--a legacy now laid out before us at a small Kansas cemetery. A legacy achieved to my daughter who hovers nearby, ready to sing House of the Rising Sun for her grandma's memory. In those silent moments of reflection, I wonder what my mother would have thought about all the nonsense going on in our world today. She surely would have thought it all to be ridiculous vanity.
It was at a small Kansas cemetery, where a childhood playground beckoned youthful pleasures on dusky summer days and juvenile endeavors shielded our innocent hearts from the sting of death and the unforgiving reality of the grave. Our developing minds just couldn't fathom such cruelties as we would one day endure as adults in a world of chaos. The past two years have evoked devastating lessons in the ferocity of death and the sorrow of the tomb, as I have been forced to reconcile my own mortality and face the fact that we are all headed to our destiny. Each day draws nearer to the moment ordained for our final breath in which we must account for the futility of days gone by under the sun, and time is suddenly a precious commodity, a scarce treasure. Like sand through our fingers, it keeps marching on, and it all feels like hevel, a "chasing of the wind."
The Preacher
"I will deliver this people from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. Where, O death, are your plagues? Where, O grave, is your destruction?" Hosea 13:14
On a sultry July Sunday, our family took a three-hour drive towards a Wisconsin cabin to celebrate the Independence Day holiday. On the way, I listen to a live-stream sermon preached by our pastor on Hosea 11. He described Hosea's metaphor of God and his people as a relationship between a father and a child, illustrating the hardship of letting go and trusting God. Towards the end of the sermon, the preacher challenged us to delve into the paradigm that addresses how a God can be sovereign, righteous, and good in a world of evil and dreadful circumstances.
Last winter, our pastor addressed the book of Ecclesiastes and educated us on the Hebrew meaning of hevel-- "vanity, smoke, vapor, a chasing of the wind." For two years, he has seemed troubled by the conflict facing the church in our current culture, and several of his sermons encouraged us to look past our shallow differences to seek something of more depth by loving each other unconditionally. Just like the preacher in Ecclesiastes, our pastor recognized the folly of vain pursuits "under the sun" as he pointed us to the true substance of believing in the "Son."
Just hours after the preacher spoke on the metaphorical hardship of Hosea 11, we received the message that something was terribly wrong, and we linked together in prayer, bracing ourselves for the news that would shake us to the core. Through a senseless tragic accident, the preacher lost his ten-year-old son in a building collapse. There are no words to describe such a devastating loss or the impact it had on a family, the church, and a community.
A week later, mourners lined the streets to demonstrate love and offer condolences to the family. The pastor and his precious wife courageously stood at the end of the line, gathering hundreds of embraces and countless tears. They both wore red to honor the memory of their beloved son, and the preacher stood before us all to deliver his son's eulogy. As I observed the beautifully personable and dignified way the pastor and his family honored this young man, I couldn't help but think that they are the bravest people I know. The lyrics to the song "Goodness of God" played repeatedly in my mind as I grappled with how God can be good in such a tragedy. Though I could never fully comprehend the bereft this lovely family experiences, my spirit shared a piece of their grief, and I wondered if any of us would be OK again.
The Lamb
"Then I saw in the right hand of him who sat on the throne a scroll with writing on both sides and sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, 'Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll?' But no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth could open the scroll or even look inside it. I wept and wept because no one was found who was worthy to open the scroll or look inside. Then one of the elders said to me, 'Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals.'
Then I saw a Lamb looking as if he had been slain, standing at the center of the throne, encircled by the four living creatures and the elders. The Lamb had seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirts of God sent out into all the earth. He went and took the scroll from the right hand of him who sat on the throne. And when he had taken it, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb. Each one had a harp, and they were holding golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of God's people. And they sang a new song, saying:
'Worthy is the lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!"
Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea and all that is in them, saying:
"To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power forever and ever!" Revelation 5: 6-13
I never fully realized the significance of why John, the author of this passage, wept until I listened to a sermon on Revelation from a neighboring church. John resided in depraved culture of chaos, led by a governing body determined to exterminate the Christian church, and he witnessed the brutal martyrdom of his brother, James, and all of the other apostles of the time. It was a society in which serving false gods was required for acceptance and enterprise. Followers of Christ were destroyed by being publicly fed to the lions for entertainment. John recognized that the hopelessness of the times, and without hope, it was all hevel, vanity, a "chasing of the wind."
John once described Jesus as "the Word Who was with God and was God" (John 1:1). He understood all too well the power of "the Word." John knew that the words in that scroll carried the One Hope that would make all things right- to right the wrongs of the world and redeem all the despair and torture and death. No One was worthy except the Lamb Himself!
Every tear, pain, heartache, and struggle of this unforgiving world, and the sting of death stood on the balance of the words tucked away in those pages, and when the One Who is Worthy breaks the seal, everything changes! Divorce, despair, depravity, and death all delivered by the Lamb of God who was tortured and slain. I couldn't imagine the vast expanse of praise in Heaven or the deep terror on earth that must be experienced with the finality of opening that seventh seal. Jesus, the Worthy Lamb, has the power to make it all right and bring it to completion with the final words, "It is finished."
The Promise
"For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes." Revelation 7;17"
Several years ago, my friend and mentor, Joanne was fighting for her family. The conflict she was facing at that time weighed her down as she persistently prayed for a breakthrough. One night, she had a vision of a Shepherd holding a lamb bleating and anxiously squirming in His arms, unaware it was being held by the One Who could redeem, heal, and protect it. In that vision, the Lord spoke to my friend and said, "Joanne, you are that lamb."
How many times are we in that same position- contending with our circumstances? Laboring in vain, we are blind to the Shepherd who pursues us daily, gently holding us through fiery trials. God's gentle presence is eternally before us. "He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young" (Isaiah 40:11).
Prior to the time of Christ, the prophet, Elijah wept before a broom tree, grieved to the point of death over the depravity of his culture. Likewise, when we face harrowing circumstances, we are tempted to fall into overwhelming despair. Perhaps we expect a thunderclap or a fiery miracle to consume our foes and bring us to a place of redemption. God oftentimes intervenes in unassuming ways such as the gentleness of a whisper. If we can only learn to turn off the clamor of our culture and seek peace and refuge in the hushed voice that stills the soul and leads us to the right path (1 Kings 19).
Lately, I have found myself pondering over the power of the resurrection with hopeful anticipation as I cling to the promise that all who believe will rise again with transformed bodies. The shallow and empty hevel of our world will then be replaced by the "future weight of glory to come" (1 Corinthians 4:17). A preeminent plan was ordained by the gentle loving arms of a Shepherd, the bloody hands and feet of the Lamb, and the valiant roar of the Lion-- that which has been promised to heal and redeem. We simply need to turn to Jesus for the answers and pour out our anger, grief, and despair before Him because that is what He died for. The words behind the seven seals of that scroll hold the answers that will renew and right the wrongs of our world as we wait with expectation for His return.
"He who testifies to these things says, 'Surely I am coming soon.' Amen. Come, Lord Jesus! The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen." Revelation 22: 20-21
