Lent 5
March 17, 2024
Rejoice, young man, while you are
young, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth. Follow the
inclination of your heart and the desire of your eyes, but know that for all
these things God will bring you into judgment. Banish anxiety from your
mind, and put away pain from your body; for youth and the dawn of life are
vanity.
Remember your creator in the days
of your youth, before the days of trouble come,
and the years draw near when you
will say, “I have no pleasure in them”;
before the sun and the light and
the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return with the rain;
in the day when the guards of the
house tremble,
and the strong men are bent, and
the women who grind cease working because they are few,
and those who look through the
windows see dimly;
when the doors on the street are
shut, and the sound of the grinding is low,
and one rises up at the sound of
a bird, and all the daughters of song are brought low;
when one is afraid of heights,
and terrors are in the road;
the almond tree blossoms, the
grasshopper drags itself along and desire fails;
because all must go to their
eternal home, and the mourners will go about the streets;
before the silver cord is
snapped, and the golden bowl is broken,
and the pitcher is broken at the
fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern,
and the dust returns to the earth
as it was, and the breath returns to God who gave it.
Vanity of vanities, says the
Teacher; all is vanity. [ Besides being wise, the Teacher also taught the
people knowledge, weighing and studying and arranging many proverbs. The
Teacher sought to find pleasing words, and he wrote words of truth
plainly. The sayings of the wise are like goads, and like nails firmly
fixed are the collected sayings that are given by one shepherd. Of
anything beyond these, my child, beware. Of making many books there is no end,
and much study is a weariness of the flesh.]
The end of the matter; all has
been heard. Fear God, and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of
everyone. For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every
secret thing, whether good or evil.
A
few days ago, Anne Lamott wrote a wonderful article for the Washington Post. She
is a charming writer, an insightful observer, and a witty Presbyterian. They
are a rare breed, those witty Presbyterians. Now on the verge of turning
seventy, Anne writes about taking a daily walk with her friend Shelley.
Well,
they intend to walk every day, she said. It’s really four days a week, maybe
five. She and Shelley have been doing this for years. At their age, they don’t
walk as fast as they used to. The first lap around, they catch up on gossip.
What’s going on? What movies have they seen? What are the kids doing?
Second
lap around, they talk less and look around a lot more. They listen to the creek,
listen to the drizzling rain. No need to say anything, she says. They “know
each other’s souls and shadows,” as well as each other’s major screw-ups, and
that provides comfort.
By
the third lap, Anne says,
My hip has begun coughing quietly to get
my attention. It would like to go home now. My vision is even more blurry
because of the drizzle and thin light, added to the dry eyes. This is part of
what it means for me to be alive still, the blinky vision. Paradoxically, I see
more. Now, instead of the sharp focus, there’s an appreciation of shifts in light
that reveal the mutability of the world. The light sometimes changes minute by
minute, and with it we perceive changes in the energy around us, above us,
inside us. It moves our attention outside our squinty, judgy, little selves.[1]
I
don’t now if you noticed, but Anne was giving us the last chapter of the book
of Ecclesiastes. “This is the end of the matter,” says the Preacher. We get old
if we are lucky. We wear down and wear out if we get old. And if we are wise,
we see things differently from when we were young.
Oh,
it was good to be young, wasn’t it? Full of laughter, full of joy. The heart
was cheerful. The mind was not worried. Our desires were clear, our
inclinations were pursued. The aches and pains were few. And then what
happened?
Anne
Lamott says she was talking to Shelley and trying to remember the word “coaster.”
All she could come up with was the phrase “coffee pad.” Shelley started laughing
hard when she said it, she had to cross her legs, and then almost lost her
balance. (op.cit.)
And
the Preacher says, “Remember your creator in the
days of your youth, before the days of trouble come.”
I’ve
lived most of my life around people who are older than myself. My teachers were
older than me. My parents were older than me. Most of their friends were older
than them. And I’m a Presbyterian pastor. No need to do the math. I could
retire on the Riviera if I had a quarter for every time somebody said to me,
“Don’t ever get old.” I appreciate the thought, but thanks, I prefer to grow
old. I am not ready for the alternative.
Even
so, Ecclesiastes reminds all of us that aging is not for weak of heart. The centerpiece
of our text today is a rich poem about the effects of aging. The philosopher
who composes the book takes an imaginative spin down the corridors of the Shady Acres.
·
“The sun and the
light and the moon and the stars are darkened.” In other words, the lights grow
dim.
·
“The guards of the
house tremble.” Those are the arms and legs.
·
“The strong man are
bent.” That’s the spine.
·
“The women who grind
cease working.” Those are your teeth.
·
“The doors on the
street are shut.” Want to guess? How do you spell constipation?
·
“One rises up at the
sound of a bird.” True enough, because who sleeps the whole night through?
·
“The almond tree
blossoms, the grasshopper drags itself along, desire fails.” What’s the poet
saying there? Let your imagination run wild.
Get the picture?
It’s the picture of, well, don’t call it “old age.” Call it the picture of extensive
experience. And it can happen at any time, not just at an advanced age. In any
accident, “the silver cord” can be snapped (that’s the spine). The “golden bowl”
might be broken (that’s our skull). To put it simply, life is fragile. We are
fragile. And trouble can come in any season. So, he says, “Remember your
creator before the times of trouble come.”
This,
in a nutshell, is why so many people skip over this book. They will remember
the Creator, perhaps faintly, but they prefer to avoid the times of trouble. In
fact, they hope that if they remember the Creator, it will keep them out of
times of trouble. Sadly, it doesn’t work that way.
They
want to jump from the wisecracking book of Proverbs to the sexy sirens of the
Song of Solomon. Yet should they jump, they could trip and fall. That’s what
happened to a woman we know. She caught her sweater on the knob of her dresser,
swirled and fell. The impact from the fall caused her heart to stop. She’s going
to be OK, but it will be a long recovery. And it could happen to any of us. It
happened to an NFL player last year; he took a hard hit and his heart stopped.
Life is short. Life is dangerous.
And if I might quote Anne Lamott, “The greatest gift that people can accept at any age is that we’re on borrowed time and they don’t want to squander it on stupid stuff.”
There are preachers who speak of joy and health and salvation, but the Preacher of Ecclesiastes is not one of them. At the end of his book, any possible effort to develop life under our own ability has been explored and dismissed. Any attempt to secure God’s favor or extend our longevity does not matter. Here’s a Preacher who is so truthful that it hurts. Maybe he’s just a little too honest.
While other biblical writers speak of sin, the preacher of Ecclesiastes points to the limits of human existence. God has planted a sense of eternity in our minds, he says, but we cannot move beyond our mortal limits (3:11). We are stuck with ourselves. Should we wish to escape, we pack ourselves in the suitcase whenever we go.
Dogs, cats, and turtles seem content to be themselves, but we humans are always looking for ways to be something more than what we are. We explore for excitement. We search for meaning. We shop for pleasure. But nothing ever quite advances our situation. Some people give up early. Others keep flailing away at it. But the whole enterprise of trying to improve ourselves is a form of vanity. It’s a bunch of smoke.
The Preacher reminds us that, no matter who we are, no matter how good we behave, no matter how correct we are in our opinions, no matter how hard we labor, we are limited by ourselves. We are stuck with ourselves. And if any joy dribbles down from above, well, we had better not miss it. Because that’s all that we might ever find. No amount of manufactured joyful noise will change that.
The southerner
Walker Percy graduated from medical school and practiced medicine for a while.
He worked as a pathologist in New York until he contracted tuberculosis. During
his recovery, he slowed down long enough to deal with his own soul. His father took
his own life. His mother died early. Percy began to realize that most people
don’t need another doctor; they need another kind of diagnosis. So, he became a
novelist. As he once noted, novelists are those who tell the truth even when they
are making up stories.
One of the things he noticed is how our culture keeps hawking success stories that do not work. Try as we might, diet plans, get rich schemes, flimsy business plans, and feel-good counselors. Percy said, “Whenever you have a hundred thousand psychotherapists talking about being life-affirming and a million books about life-enrichment, you can be pretty sure there is a lot of death around.”[2] Life can be so diminished in a land of plenty. Walker Percy, again: “There is something worse than being deprived of life; it is being deprived of life and not knowing it.”[3]
Ecclesiastes 12 pushes us to face the truth of our humanness. For the young person, it is a reminder of what is coming. For the old person it is an affirmation of how it is. The end of the matter is fearing God. Not in the sense of being afraid of God but trusting God. Honoring God, worshiping God, submitting to God. Easier said than done. When trouble hits, or aging slows us down, when the joints creak and the bones break, we would love to bargain for more time. As medical care advances, we find some help although it is limited. If possible, we would love to live forever, if forever doesn't include aching bones and mental confusion. Even this is vanity. A striving for the wind
Eugene Peterson says Ecclesiastes is not a meal; it’s a bath. In his words, “It is not nourishment; it is cleansing. We read Ecclesiastes to get scrubbed clean from illusion and sentiment, from ideas that are idolatrous and feelings that cloy. It is an expose and rejection of every arrogant and ignorant expectation that we can live our lives by ourselves on our own terms.”[4] Only when we get cleansed are we ready for God.
That is about all we can expect out of the book of Ecclesiastes. At the end of the book, the Preacher says about all we can do is fear God and remember that God is more important than we are. He tells us to honor God, who is beyond our capacity to comprehend or understand. That is the end of it all, says the Preacher. Life is not about gloom. Life is not about doom. Life is about accepting our limits, and worshiping a God who stands beyond them.
So, where do we stand at the end? What are we left with? Only God. A God whom Ecclesiastes describes as the originator, the hidden wisdom, the ultimate organizer, and the last word. Fear this God. Honor this God. Affirm that we are ultimately in God's mercy.
This is a prediction not only of our lives, but an exposition of the life of Jesus. Or more specifically the death of Jesus. For what does he say at the very end? Remember? “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” It is a quote from one of the old Psalms,[5] and ultimately an affirmation that when all is lost, we are still found. God knows us. God catches us. Honor and trust God alone.
Get all that right, and we will be
ready to face Holy Week.
[1] Anne Lamott, “Aging gives me gifts of softness and illumination,” https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2024/03/14/anne-lamott-aging-life-friends-vision/
[2]
Walker Percy, “Novel-Writing in an Apocalyptic Time,” in Signposts in a
Strange Land (New York: HarperCollins, 1991), 162.
[3]
Ibid, 163.
[4]
Eugene Peterson, in the author’s introduction to Ecclesiastes, The Message (
[5]
Psalm 31:5.
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