Life Under the Son

What if this is as good as it gets? That's the question that Melvin Udall asks in the movie As Good As It Gets. Melvin is a successful author whose life is marked by crippling OCD and deep loneliness. In that same scene, after being forced out of his therapist's office, he slams the door, looks around the waiting room full of hurting people, and he blurts out, "What if this is as good as it gets?" The room falls silent because everyone realizes they've been wondering the same thing.

Maybe you've never asked that exact same question, but I imagine that at some point in time you've asked a version of it. I know I have. When life is especially difficult, it's easy to wonder, "Is this really all there is?" That question would fit pretty squarely into what the Teacher has been thinking about as he speaks in our text today. In fact, as dark as Ecclesiastes has been up to this point, this may be the darkest chapter in the whole book.

As we've seen, and we will see, the Teacher has been looking at all sorts of ways of living life. He puts it this way: all the things that happen "under the sun," or day-to-day life. What he's going to do in our chapter today is tie up a lot of his reflections with a scalpel-like precision about the struggles of life. The Teacher is often a brutally honest observer. He tells you exactly what he sees, and he looks at life in ways that we often experience it. He sees death, injustice, chance, and disappointment. And then he asks, "What are we going to do with all of this?"

Yet the framing of Ecclesiastes helps us understand that the relentlessly bleak reflections of the Teacher aren't the final voice. The book of Ecclesiastes points us beyond the despair to a proper fear of God, and the rest of Scripture reveals the hope that we have for all the struggles in life under Christ. My goal for us today is to see that because life under the sun, as the Teacher puts it, is full of chance and difficulty, our hope must rest under the Son instead.

Because life under the sun is full of chance and difficulty, our hope must rest under the Son instead.

1. Under the Sun, Enjoy the Little Things, Because Death Is Coming for Us All

In our passage today, the Teacher is going to offer a couple of places for us to rest our hope under the sun of this earth, and he begins his reflections in verse 1. He says, having reflected on all of this. Now, I take him to mean here that he has made countless observations about life under the sun throughout the previous eight chapters. And now he is about to bring those thoughts together as we near the end of the book. Having reflected on all this, he's concluded that the righteous and the wise and what they do are in God's hands. That's the Teacher's way of saying that how the righteous and the wise live is before the Lord.

But then he closes that thought by saying that no one knows if love or hate—and in this case, that means really good or evil—awaits them. He reiterates this in verse 2. He says that we all share a common destiny, whether we're righteous or wicked, good or bad, clean or unclean, religious or irreligious. The common destiny is death. It doesn't matter what we've done, whether we've tried to please God or not, whether we follow the law or not. We're all going to come to the same end.

The Shadow of Evil

In verses 3 and 4, the Teacher makes it a little darker. He says that he is aware of the evil, and the fact is that this evil is that the righteous and the unrighteous seem to have the same fate. The voice in the back of his head wants us to think this must be unfair. He rightly deconstructs the question in verse 3. We do the same thing sometimes when we ask the question of what's often called the problem of evil, where we say, "Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?" The Teacher in verse 3 is giving a proper answer. He says, well, no one is actually good. In fact, he says that people's hearts under the sun are full of evil. And so the Teacher reminds us that all of us live under the shadow of evil and the shadow of death.

Then he moves on in verse 4, just adding darkness to darkness. On its surface, it looks like the Teacher is trying to give hope to those who live under the sun. He says anyone who is among the living has hope. But he doesn't state the hope for us. Instead, he says that even a live dog is better than a dead lion.

Now, this is an interesting line because in our modern world, we see people who probably love their dogs as much as they love their children. But this wasn't so in the ancient world. In ancient Israel, dogs were not the domesticated pups that sit in our laps and keep us warm in the winter. Dogs were wild and dangerous. Dogs were the kind of things that would attack your herds; dogs were scavengers. And yet, the Teacher says even to be a live dog is better than to be a dead lion, no matter how majestic it was. In other words, our only hope is that we're not quite dead yet.

Dwelling on the Grave

As we've seen, his observations remain dark and bleak. He restates his thesis in poetic form in verses 5 and 6. He goes on to tell us, "The living know that they are going to die, but the dead know nothing." Again, here is his contrast. What is our hope if we're alive? Not that we can have life with meaning in the days that God has given us, but rather that we just understand that we're not quite dead.

As an aside, a charitable reading of this particular passage might mean that knowledge of our death should reorient how we live our life. We actually talked about that in chapter 7, but here in chapter 9, he doesn't take the time to spell any of that out. He just dwells on death. One wonders if he's even thinking about how our understanding of the reality of death should impact us. Instead, he goes on in verses 5 and 6 to say that the dead know nothing, which is to say, in some form they just cease to exist. He says they have no reward because there's nothing left for them to live for. Their name will be forgotten.

In fact, just go walk through a cemetery. Many times, even around national holidays, we go and look at the cemetery to see the people who have served in the military and people that are important to us. But you look among the tombstones and you see tons of names. How many names do you see where no one has any idea who they are? In fact, the older the tombstones get, the harder it even is to read those very names. He goes on to say that their loves and their hates and their jealousies will all just go away, because the things that we valued in life are nothing to us now. They no longer take part in what happens under the sun, which is to say that they have exited life and they're no longer a part of the day-to-day reality. There are no more deeds for them to do, and there is nothing for them to add.

Listen to how hopeless the Teacher sounds. The dead know nothing. The reward is gone. Their memory fades. Their loves and hates disappear. Whatever it is that the Teacher believes about the afterlife, one thing is unmistakable: the afterlife offers him absolutely no comfort. His eyes remain fixed on the reality that what can be seen under the sun is all there is, and all he sees is the grave.

Seize the Day

If that's true, then what does the Teacher say that we should do? He tells us, in verses 7 through 10, a number of options. First, he says that we should eat our food with gladness and drink our wine with a joyful heart. This is actually the fifth time in the book where the Teacher tells us, in light of the struggles of this life, to—for lack of a better term—seize the day, enjoy whatever there is, because that's all you've got. But this isn't advice at this point; it's an imperative. He says, "Go, eat, drink." There's an urgency to how he says this, because given that death is on its way, here is the only way to orient your life.

And when he says that God has already approved what you do, we're not 100% sure what he means. Does he mean that God has approved whatever you do, as in, God doesn't care whether what you've done is good or bad? Or does he mean God's happy with whatever it is that you do? And the reason that we don't know is because the Teacher seems to have this significant struggle with how he understands God. Is God an ogre? Is God good? Since he can't know, what do we do? We seize the day in the hopes that God is the one who approves our life.

He doesn't just tell us to eat and drink. He says, be clothed in white and anoint your head with oil. He likely points out here this idea of living your life in a way that is joyful and celebratory in the hot and dry world of the Middle East. He says, you know the sun is going to dry out your skin, and dark clothes are only going to make life horrible. So go and wear your nice cool clothes, anoint your skin, and keep off the heat of the day. Make the best of life while you can.

And then he says, think about your home. Enjoy life with the wife of your youth—this woman whom you love. But then he casts it with the line: "all the days of your meaningless life." We'd think that that was good advice if it wasn't for the fact that he's like, even this is just meaningless somehow. He reframes this wonderful idea—since life is difficult, or at least is going to become difficult sooner or later, I guess make the best of it seems to be what he's saying.

Finally, as he closes this section, he similarly takes us to the rest of life. He says, this is your lot in life and your toilsome labor under the sun. This doesn't really sound like joy, does it? Your toilsome labor. Whatever you do, do it because you can, because once you die, there is nothing left for you to do. But in the end, it's all toil; it's just the cards that you've been dealt. How does the Teacher put it? Because once you are in the realm of Sheol, the realm of the dead, there's nothing left for you to do. There is no knowledge, there is no wisdom, there is no work.

Notice what the Teacher isn't saying. He isn't saying life is beautiful because God makes all things new. He isn't saying that because there is a good God, suffering may have a purpose. He isn't saying joy will ultimately triumph. He's saying something much smaller: eat and drink, enjoy your spouse, go to work because tomorrow you may be dead. That's not flourishing—that's coping.

Where do we, as modern people, try to make life bear the weight of our hopes? The world around us wants us to have hope—hope that we can make the world better, hope that these things too shall pass. We often express this and we say things like, "If I can just retire, life will be better then." "If only my kids turn out okay, then I think I will have lived a good life." "If I could just get this promotion, then I'll be paid what I need to be paid and we can be happy." But have you ever noticed that all of these hopes assume that you're still going to be alive to enjoy them? None of these are bad things, the problem is they can be small things. When we experience real grief and depression and loneliness, we can often go to comments like this. But the Teacher breaks our hope apart with a wrecking ball, because the problem is life under the sun can't bear the weight of our hopes.

2. Under the Sun, Seek Wisdom, But Know That It's Often Going to Fail

In verses 11 through 18, though, he turns his reflections away from life and death, and he turns to the idea of wisdom and chance. Because this is the other place where we often go to place our hopes in the desire to make life work. The Teacher says our ability to make life work through wisdom looks this way: sometimes the fastest person loses the race; sometimes the weaker army is going to win the battle; sometimes the wise person starves; and sometimes the smartest people aren't the ones who can make the best living.

Why? Well, because the fastest person can trip at the starting line and lose. The great army can be defeated by hard terrain. The best farmer can't control whether it rains, and the smartest people can't make others listen. You can't control the world around you. Not only that, but in verse 12, the Teacher again reminds us of pain and failure and death. You never know when you're going to be caught in a cruel net or taken in a snare. And so it is with people who are trapped by evil times; no one expects them, they just seem to come.

Grievances with the Idealized World

In fact, we can make a short digression for a moment in the book of Ecclesiastes, because there is a difference between the Book of Proverbs and the Book of Ecclesiastes. You see, the Book of Proverbs sees wisdom as something that is kind of woven into the fabric of life, woven into the fabric of creation itself. And it works in a certain way. And while if you look at the Book of Proverbs, it's not making promises like these things always have to take place, Proverbs is making an assertion that if you do certain things, you should expect certain outcomes, and often they come true. Proverbs can read a little bit idealistic. Oftentimes it begins with this idea of fearing the Lord, and for those who fear the Lord and live in these ways, generally good things will come.

But the Teacher in Ecclesiastes sees the Proverbs worldview and says, "You know what? I've got some grievances." I keep looking at the world under the sun, and I don't see things working that way. In fact, often enough, I see the opposite. And verses 11 and 12 are just a version of this. You can make all the right plans, but chance can blow them up in a heartbeat.

But the Teacher doesn't think that wisdom is bad; rather, he thinks that it's somewhat helpful. In verses 13 through 16, he gives us a lesson in wisdom. He introduces his story, saying, "In fact, I have this story of wisdom, and I was greatly impressed by what I saw." He tells us that there was a small city with only a few people who were in it, and they were besieged by a great king who built great siege works to surround it. Now, notice the differences here. He wants us to see the smallness of the one city and the greatness of the army against it. And when we read it, everything inside of us says, well, this is a foregone conclusion.

And yet he goes on to say that in the city there was a poor man who was also a wise man, and through his wisdom, he was able to save the city. Here again, note that the lesser is the greater thing, right? The lesser is the thing that wins. He's not a great wise man—he's a poor wise man. He does save the city, but no one remembers him.

Imagine being that poor man. You'd think that by saving the city, he would become a hero. Isn't that what our fairy tales teach us, that "happily ever after" is the way that he lived? But this wasn't the case, since no one remembers him. So if the poor man had put his hopes in his own wisdom, in the end, under the sun, nothing changed.

And often we do the same thing. We seek for wisdom, thinking it will give us hope. We think if the right person were to lead us, then we'll see change. But the Teacher again dashes our hopes. He tells us that wisdom is better than strength, but the poor man's wisdom is despised. Sometimes we look to the wrong places for our wisdom; we often look to the great rather than the small. He goes on to tell us that wisdom is often quiet, but in our culture today, it seems like the loudest voices—and often the most foolish voices—are the ones that carry the day.

Wisdom, he tells us, is better than weapons of war, but he closes by saying, "One sinner destroys much good." No matter how great wisdom is, one person can undo much of what it offers. You know, the story we are told is that the Great Wall of China wasn't ultimately breached because they built better siege works or better towers to be able to get over it. They were able to get through it because of the fact that they bribed the door wardens to go through. One person's compromise undid years and years of careful planning. If we put our hopes in wisdom, it can often be a good thing, but wisdom under the sun can fail because life under the sun can't bear the weight of our hopes.

3. There Is a Life Under the Son That Is Greater Than This Life Under the Sun

So if death and pleasure can't bear the weight of our hope, and if wisdom can't bear the weight of our hope, what can? There is a life that can, and it is not merely under the sun (s-u-n), but it is under the Son (S-O-N).

The Teacher has shown us a poor wise man who saved his city and is forgotten. But in the Gospel, we see a man who was born to a poor family, a man who was considered wise by the world around him, who didn't just save a city, but saved all of humanity and created a kingdom of people that he has drawn to himself. And this poor man hasn't been forgotten. Instead, after he died, God raised him up, and he has drawn him up into the heavenly places and seated him at his right hand, from where he rules to this day. And we together as his people, even now, are gathered because of the work that he did.

You see, the reality of Jesus makes us rethink everything that we have just heard from the Teacher. Because to the Teacher, death is inevitable, but through Christ, we're victorious over death. Yes, we'll die, but that doesn't make our life on this earth meaningless. The idea of chasing after vapor—life under the sun—shows us that even in times where life seems meaningless, God is actually at work. Because the resurrection doesn't erase the frustration that the Teacher observed. Christians still bury loved ones, we still experience injustice, we still watch wisdom ignored, and we still work by the sweat of our brow. But because Christ is risen, those things are no longer vain, no longer meaningless.

To the Teacher, death is inevitable. But through Christ, we're victorious over death.

To the Teacher, wisdom doesn't always win. But Jesus is God in the flesh; he is wisdom. And when he was on earth, he experienced all the negative things that the Teacher talked about. I mean, he actually, as a righteous man, suffers the death of a criminal. And yet wisdom didn't fail there; in fact, his death is the very wisdom of God.

A Meal Approved by God

And when the Teacher tells us to enjoy the good things in life, like food and drink and our family, he seems to do so with a bit of an edge. It's not really true joy that he offers. But the reality of life under the Son is different, because we can enjoy our food, we can enjoy the wine before us, and we can even enjoy our work. Is it still toil? Sometimes. But it's not meaningless, because life under the Son, there, nothing is meaningless. We toil because the curse of the fall has not been fully removed, but because Jesus defeated sin, we toil in hope as we look to the time when he renews all things.

We enjoy our families because they are gifts of God; they are entrusted to us. And sometimes things aren't easy, but they're good. We enjoy good food because God gave it to us. I mean, the beauty of a good steak is that it's a good steak—it's a gift to be savored and enjoyed as a gift of God.

And here before us today, we have a meal given by God. We see the bread and we see the cup. And in them, we are reminded of the work of Christ: his body broken and his blood shed for us so that we can be forgiven and brought together into his kingdom. In them, our faith is nourished and grown because they point us to the One who gives us new life under the sun. It allows us to enjoy a meal together where we can say without hesitation that it is approved by God, because it's the very meal he gave us. And it's here at this table this morning that we get to see a tangible reality of life under the Son.

You see, if Christ had not been raised, the Teacher's question would continue to haunt every one of us: "Is this as good as it gets?" But because Christ has risen, the answer to that question is no, this is not as good as it gets. We live under the sun today, and one day we'll live with the Son in the new creation, where death, futility, and toil will finally give way to the fullness of God's kingdom.

transcribed by Sermonspark.ai