a pointless sermon (Ecc. 1:1-11)

I can still remember when I stopped playing with Hot Wheels. No, it wasn’t last week. I had this entire fictional world set up. I had a garage, a race track, imaginary characters who were driving those cars, and they had whole life stories. Then I just stopped.

I had the same thing with my wrestling figures. I used to have extensive tournaments. We didn’t have a ton of money so I didn’t have the big sets. I did have a WWF ring, a few of the characters, and I’d do some cross-promotional work too…Michelangelo from the TMNT would wrestle the Iron Shiek, Sting from WCW would wrestle Skeletor from He-Man. But I had some great matches and great tournaments…even though their arms couldn’t bend, they couldn’t talk, they couldn’t do much of anything. Then I stopped.

I can still remember this time in my life, that day when I tried to play with them but the thought came across my mind...”this is dumb. Why am I doing this? These characters aren’t real. Who really cares who wins this little tournament, I’m going to go play basketball (and pretend like I’m Michael Jordan).”

I still had an imagination but it was now a different kind of imagination. Macho Man Randy Savage was suddenly just a piece of plastic. As soon as that question came upon my soul....what is the profit in this, what is the gain in this, my childhood play was over.

As we age, this question keeps dogging us, though. It no longer concerns itself with Macho Man or Hot Wheels. It now infiltrates our jobs, our marriages, our friendships, our parenting, our church, our waking up in the middle of the night, our shower thoughts, our drive to the movie theater....we don’t know when it’s going to break in on us but it will come...

What’s the point…?

What’s this all for…?

What do I profit from this…?

What’s this life for....?

Sometimes it comes upon us in moments of pleasure, or at the end of what might be described of the best day of our life....”Where did that come from? This was a great day…but an indescribable empty-ish feeling comes over us. Or maybe it’s a thought that comes upon us at the graveside.

But the question…unless you’re still just playing with Hot Wheels…has likely come upon you. That is what we have here in our text this morning.

It’s likely Solomon, who refers to himself as The Preacher, The Gatherer, The Quester, or The Philosopher....Qoheleth...

And he’s going to tell us what in all of his wisdom he has found about life. He is going to confront us with that plaguing question. Listen in...

Ecclesiastes 1:1–11 ESV

The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem. Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun? A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises, and the sun goes down, and hastens to the place where it rises. The wind blows to the south and goes around to the north; around and around goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns. All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; to the place where the streams flow, there they flow again. All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, “See, this is new”? It has been already in the ages before us. There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.

At first glance, that’s rather depressing, isn’t it? I like how one commentator summed it up:

This is what Qohelet is saying: At the end of the day, life is frustratingly absurd. The cycles of nature are screaming that message to you. You live. You exert a lot of energy, but nothing new happens. Just like the sun, wind, and rivers. Then you die. And one other thing: after you die, you will be quickly forgotten. (Peter Enns, Two Horizons, 31)

In 150 years you are going to die and very few people are going to remember you. The Philosopher wants us to think about this for a moment…he wants us to sit with this...

Do you know the name of your great great grandfather? What about his father? His mother? What was his favorite song? What were his concerns? What’d he look like? Did he have any scars? Had he broken any bones? What was the most painful thing that happened in his life?

You can even spiritualize this a bit. You know the person who led you to Christ? Who led them to Christ? What was the name of the person who led that person to Christ? Probably don’t know do you.

Again. You’re going to die in 150 years and few, if any, people are going to remember you or the things you’ve done.

And I know we’re good Christian folk and we’re pretty quickly going to go to the answer of life in Christ and eternity and such....but I’d really encourage you to not cut off Qoheleth that way. He doesn’t want you to do that....we are supposed to sit with this for a moment at least.

A key word here in this poem is the word translated as meaningless, or vanity. It’s had quite a few others recently:

Different words for hebel or 'vanity' in Ecclesiastes 1:2: Traditionally translated as 'vanity,' in recent decades an astonishing variety of translations of hebel have been proposed, such as 'meaningless,' 'useless' (GNB), 'absurd,' 'futility,' 'bubble,' 'trace,' 'transience,' and 'breath.'"

My favorite is “frustratingly absurd”. I think that’s really what—at least here—that word gets at. At the end of the day a search for meaning just leaves you saying…yeah, I don’t know. It’s all just frustratingly absurd. This life doesn’t really make any sense.

We try to have it make sense but if we really press it…it’s really just us playing Hot Wheels and distracting ourselves from the deeper questions. The Gatherer in his words here pokes holes in a few of our solutions.

And I suppose these might work for a season—much like I could play with HotWheels for a season…but then cold reality comes upon me and the emptiness of the thing is all I can see.

What I almost do at the sermon here is address how the Gatherer is poking holes in non-Christian solutions. But I think what that does is cause us to check out for a second or maybe think “boy, I sure hope so and so hears this...” but this word doesn’t do work in us. We pat ourselves on the back as if we’ve got the answer…and then we end up missing what it’s saying even to us as believers.

I don’t think the answer here is something like, “if you believe in God, if you believe all the right stuff, you’ll have some meaning in all the stuff you do.” Where I end up going might sound exactly like that…but if we forget that we’re broken people, living amidst broken people, on a broken planet…then we’re going to not see this thing for what it is.

What I’m attempting to say here is that what happened in Genesis 3 impacts us even still today. Humanity was created for rest, rule, and relationship. That means that you were created for a place, a people, and a purpose.

Just put down the HotWheels for a second and look into your soul at all the stuff you long for. You want rest—not just a Sunday afternoon nap—but shalom, peace, that all things are good and right and wonderful in the world. You want comfort. And you want this to be in the context of relationship---you might even be so jaded that you’d say, “Oh, I hate people…and yet there is something in you even in this that feels deep loneliness. We were created for relationship. Relationship with God and relationship with others. We cannot escape this. No matter how much we try.” And you want meaning. You want purpose. You want as Ecclesiastes says “gain by all the toil.”

At the end of the day you want something to show for this. You want to be able to look at the end of your life and it not just be dust in the wind. You want something of substance.

It’s why Creed asked, “What’s this life for...”

Or Kansas came to the sad conclusion that all we are is dust in the wind..

It’s why U2 cried out “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for...”

Or Queen could ask, “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”

And it’s why Pink Floyd could chillingly ask, “Is anybody out there?”

What the Gatherer does is he takes all of these longings and all of these things and basically says, “it’s all broken.”

Stand on the beach and watch a wave. It comes in, it breaks, it comes upon the shore, then it gets sucked back into the ocean, over and over and over again. It never accomplishes anything.

And you…oh, you put your foot on the shoreline…put your footprint there…it’s a nice stamp of your existence…and then the waves come and wash over it.

And what I think we have to see here is that this is true of all of humanity. Yes, even believers. You’re going to die. I’m going to die. And there is a really good chance that in 150 years when the waves wash over that footprint…it’ll be no more.

Life under the sun is filled with this brokenness. You don’t get rule—you’re going to be constantly striving. It’s going to be toil. It’s going to be a slog. Yes, you might see little seeds here and there…but as he says in verse 8, “all things are full of weariness.”

You don’t get relationship under the sun. Not in the way you think. I’m thinking here of that song from the Beatles… “In My Life...”

It’s a song about nostalgia. But it’s actually not quite what you might think.

There are places I’ll remember All my life, though some have changed Some forever, not for better Some have gone and some remain All these places have their moments With lovers and friends I still can recall Some are dead and some are living In my life, I’ve loved them all

That sounds great…I’ve loved all my experiences it’s great. But that second line cuts the legs out from underneath of it

But of all these friends and lovers There is no one compares with you And these memories lose their meaning When I think of love as something new Though I know I’ll never lose affection For people and things that went before I know I’ll often stop and think about them In my life, I love you more

He’s found a new love. And in this new love all those old memories lose their meaning. They are swallowed up by the new.

And that’s kind of how we live. Always searching for that new thing. Oh, this will do it…this will fill me up…this will give new shape even to all those memories… “It’s all about the climb…it’s the journey not the destination…I’m always learning…always being taught something…always growing...” And we keep chasing after the new.

And The Gatherer then says, “There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.”

Do you know what he’s saying? He’s saying that “In My Life” has a third stanza that cuts the legs out from under the second one. Nothing is new and as soon as you think it’s new and you’ve found it then thing becomes old and empty and is forgotten still. We don’t learn from history because it’s like history doesn’t even happen.

And you’re going to keep thinking you’ve found meaning and it’s going to sift through your hands. Rest is broken, relationships are broken, and rule is broken.

This is all frustratingly absurd. That’s what the Gatherer is saying to us. And you’ve got to sit with that for a minute. Believer and unbeliever alike. Put down the Hot Wheels and let that cold reality wash over us.

You’re not going to find meaning under the sun. Try as you might it isn’t going to happen. But what are you feeling now…? Sorrow? Acceptance…a resolve to fight this thing and say, no this isn’t true…I’m going to make something here…my life has done something…it will make an impact…i’ve got kids, and their kids, and i’ve had this thing that I impacted this person and that person and....

The lady doth protest too much. Why are you fighting so much? I’ll tell you why....because you and I weren’t made for brokenness.

You weren’t made for shattered rest. You weren’t made for fractured relationships.

You weren’t made for empty rule. You were made for a people, a place, and a purpose. C.S. Lewis is right,

If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.

But here is the rub and what the Gatherer wants us to see…what we must see...

“the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing...”

What he is doing here is bringing us to that place where we watch our footprints fade out, the ocean washing them away, all those things that we are concerned with, all the baggage we brought in here today, all the stuff making us worried and anxious, and all the stuff we’re holding onto....and he’s challenging us...

Even if you get it…if all your dreams comes true...it’s not going to be enough. That footprint is still going to fade…it’s all going to turn to dust...

You’re not going to find ultimate meaning in this thing. Ever. And so long as you try to…you’ll only see it as dust.

Maybe I can show you this in a different way. Let’s sit down beside the Gatherer for just a moment. He’s at Key West, Florida. Watching the water lap in and out at his feet. Around and around the wind goes. The streams are flowing into the ocean, it’s all coming into here and its just one big cycle.

And he looks at the sun going down and knows that it’s going to do the same thing in the morning. No matter how beautiful that sunrise and sunset are what Qohelth sees is monotony.

He can’t play with his HotWheels anymore. MachoMan is just a piece of plastic. The sunrise and the sunset, the massive ocean crashing in upon him, it’s all just testifying to the brokenness and the monotony.

And he’s not wrong. You’re not supposed to sit beside him and say, “bro, cheer up...” No, he’s not wrong in what he is saying. At all. He’s not speaking an untruth…but it’s not the whole story.

There is a better story that is laid over top of this one. G.K. Chesterton once spoke of monotony and God. He said this. Hear the better story:

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”

You know what this is telling me? God can joyfully play with Hot Wheels. You know why?

It’s not because he is delusional. It’s not because He is a child that doesn’t know about the painful realities. But it’s because He is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is because He is a fountain of joy. It’s because He knows a thing for what it is.

A Hot Wheel is a Hot Wheel. This is what C.S. spoke of when he said we “should attempt a total surrender to whatever atmosphere was offering itself at the moment...only a serious, yet gleeful, determination to rub one's nose in the very quiddity of each thing, to rejoice in its being (so magnificently) what it was.”

I am convinced, that being God, this is why we see Jesus as He is in the Gospels. He is able to sit on the shoreline and feel the waves touching His feet and rejoice in the quiddity of it. The Son of Man came eating and drinking…He was enjoying the thing for what it was.

He saw people for who they are. I’m convinced that He felt a hug like nobody else has ever felt a hug. His parables are filled with earthiness…I think it’s not just because He was a great storyteller but because He was great at living life.

You read the gospels and tell me if you don’t see someone fully alive. He’s not quickly offended. He seems to be never offended. He doesn’t have an anxious moment. He’s not hurried. He’s not pre-occupied. He’s never distracted.

I believe fully that why Christ was in agony in the Garden was because of the cup of God’s wrath He was about to drink. I believe fully that it was at this moment that He who knew no sin was being made sin. And I also believe that some of what is happening here was that life was beautiful to Jesus. He’s come to give us abundant life and He’s living an abundant life…picking grain, telling fun and engaging stories, healing sickness and throwing back darkness....is it possible He was doing this with a joyous disposition? Did he have a smile and a hug when Lazarus came out of that tomb?

When Jesus took our sin upon Himself He also took upon all of this brokenness and perhaps the futility and the emptiness and nothingness and all that is frustratingly absurd. And the taste of the thing is odious to One who had lived every moment with the joy of heaven. So maybe some of that agony in the Garden also had to do with how awful death is. And how awful the story of Ecclesiastes 1:1-11 is.

But there was no other way that the better story could be told if the Son of God didn’t taste our death and our futility and our meaninglessness and all that is frustratingly absurd, and all the things that don’t make sense, and will never make sense, and the footprints that wash up in the sand…and that damnable story that this dust is all there is....

And so Jesus dies on the Cross and shouts out “It is finished” and that means that for the first time in all of the history of mankind there is in fact something gained from all of this toil, all of this swallowing up of the emptiness which the Son of God takes upon Himself.

And when death and the grave doesn’t hold Him and He raises from the dead…He brings us into this Greater Story…where the emptiness and brokenness is overcome and rest, rule, and relationship are restored.

But if you’re living that other story. And you’re trying to find the ultimate in that thing…well…you’re still going to taste dirt. And swim in anxiety.

But if you’re living that Better story…well, you engage in stuff for what it is. You don’t have to take yourself so serious. It’s okay if that footprint is swallowed up by the ocean of death because you know it’s not the end of the story. You can even laugh a little as some dirt goes through your fingers…and you can mourn…and you can feel all the things as they ought to be felt. But in all of it…you know the thing for what it is.

Why would you not want to live this way?

a pointless sermon…maybe. If you’re trying to find the answer to fix life under the sun…well, this isn’t going to cut it.

But if maybe…just maybe it will draw our eyes to that better story. where we might sit on that ocean and hear not the cold reality of The Gatherer but the abounding joy of the Christ who rejoices in the beautiful monotony of one more sunset…well, maybe it will have a point.

United to Christ…this story becomes ours.