401: Ecclesiastes: Conclusion | Tim Henderson

Introduction

Gonna resume, and I hope that you will come to it. In fact, when you came in, you should have received a letter from me that looks like this double-sided thing. One side is Ecclesiastes; we'll be there in a second. Look at the one with my signature at the bottom. This explains what I'll be doing in the class, and I'm super excited about this. We're gonna do—this is gonna be a long process. I don't know if it'll take a year or two years, but it'll take as long as it takes. I'm going to do a thorough doctrinal survey. There are basically ten major doctrines in Christianity: the doctrine of the first person, the Godhead, second person, third person, man, sin, salvation, church, Bible—there's all kinds of stuff. And we're gonna walk through each one of them. You are gonna get, if you come, a very engaging, very dialogical class. If you've been to my class before, you know it's very dialogue-based. It's not just some big, dry lecture, and it's gonna be great. You are gonna learn so much stuff that I think will be helpful for you to know.

And if you think about it, coming to that class is about the easiest way that you can dramatically expand your experience. You don't have to drive anywhere because you're already here. Just come a little bit early. For those of you that are here, if you're typically here at the second service, it would just mean you come a little bit earlier—be here at 10:05 when we get started—and you're gonna get a ton of stuff. So I hope that you'll come. It'll be right here at 10:05 every week. I hope you'll be part of it.

Finishing Ecclesiastes

But whether or not we're gonna finish today our study in Ecclesiastes, we've been studying Ecclesiastes all summer long. I've enjoyed it, and I hope that you have too. This is the last touch of it. We have seen throughout the summer that heaven abounds, that our enemies are great, that our strategies are insufficient, and even the best recommendations that we have can give us a partial win at best.

Today, the teacher's gonna bring the whole thing home with this—this picture. It's actually a poem that he gives us. Ecclesiastes 12 is a poem. I wanted you to have it printed out because I wanted you to see it almost in versified settings. So flip over your page here. The poem—you got it—it’s basically Ecclesiastes chapter 12. We're gonna walk through it line by line to make sure that it's clear and that you understand what it's about.

Before we turn to his words, I just want you to draw an image to your mind. Please envision a grand house. But even better still, envision a grand house, a formerly grand house, that has become dilapidated and is breaking down. The shingles are loose, the roof is leaking, and it is in need of paint. But the paint's not really gonna help that much because the very structure of the house is in a state of decay.

Not only is the house breaking down, not only the building, but the inhabitants are not what they once were. Both the owners of the home and the servants of the home are languishing. Now, this house that is in decay, inhabited by people whose lives are in decay, is set in an atmosphere that is gray and overcast. It's been raining, but as we'll see, it's still gray. It's not the way it ought to be.

This house has endured great storms, but it's just living in an environment that is murky. Usually, weather's pretty great after the rain. The rain comes through, it clears everything out, and then the sky turns blue—but not for us. This scene has a sense of impending doom.

Finally, observe that the house is not an ordinary house. For the poem, the picture is a metaphor about you. You are the house. It's you, specifically you in your old age. Some of you are right now in the years that the poem depicts, and it's gonna be easy to see yourself in its lines. Others are fast approaching those years, and you know it. Others still are heading toward it, but the bloom of youth blinds you from seeing it.

Regardless, this poem is about every person in this room, and it should remind you of your own failing body because you are dying. This house that is you will not forever withstand the storm that is life. You are—I am—we are—as a group, a house that will fall.

And so, as we close our study of Ecclesiastes, we're gonna walk through this poem line by line and see what it has for us. But this poem, which is a picture of a house in a stormy land—that is you. And I will say, as we begin, it seems like I preached two weeks ago about the fact that we should enjoy life. Everybody loved that sermon. I've heard from so many people that were like, man, that was great. Just enjoyed that. I'm so grateful for that. Got a lot of notes. I don't think I'm gonna get any notes this week. Okay? And that's okay because we, at Church of the Holy Spirit, just follow the text. Alright? So it is what it is, and we're gonna walk through it and see what perhaps we could take away from it.

The Poem: Line by Line

Let's take a look at verse one. Verse one is not really the poem quite yet. It says:

Remember also your creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, I have no pleasure in them.

He begins this chapter with the end in mind. He gives an exhortation that while you're still young, before this whole poem comes to pass, before these evil days come upon you, you should remember God.

This is what we would call an Inclusio. Verse one and verse thirteen are like the brackets that enclose the poem. What he says here in verse one, we'll see again in verse 13 as he's kind of framing it. These brackets draw our attention to what's here in the middle.

Verse two is where the poem really begins in earnest. Here's what he says:

Before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain.

This is where we get our storm imagery. This is where it begins. The sun, the light, the moon, the stars—they're all darkened. In the daytime, you can't see the sun. In the nighttime, you can't see the moon and the stars. The skies have become opaque, as in a storm.

I'm sure I've told you before that my favorite book in all the world is David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. You should read it, but you probably won't because nobody ever does—it's 900 pages long. But it's brilliant, and it's wonderful, and it contains a chapter that's probably the most vivid depiction of a storm in all of English literature. The title of the chapter is The Tempest. It goes on for pages and pages and pages.

I'm just gonna read you a sample of it because I want you to feel the storm that this house perhaps is in. It begins with David, the protagonist, and he says:

Don't you think that, I asked the coachman in the first stage out of London, a very remarkable sky. I don't remember to have seen one like it, nor I, nor equal to it, he replied. That wind, sir. There'll be mischief done at sea, I expect, before long. The sky was a murky confusion. Here and there blotted with a color like the color of smoke from damp fuel. Flying clouds tossed up into the most remarkable heaps suggesting greater heights in the clouds than there were depths below them to the bottom of the deepest hollows of the earth. Through which the wild moon seemed to plunge headlong as if in a dread disturbance of the laws of nature, she had lost her way and were frightened. There had been a wind all day and it was rising then with an extraordinary great sound. In another hour, it had much increased, and the sky was more overcast and blew hard. But as the night advanced, the clouds closing in and densely overspreading the whole sky, then very dark, it came on to blow harder and harder. It still increased until our horses could scarcely face the wind. Many times in the dark part of the night, it was then late in September and the nights were not short, the leaders turned about or came to a dead stop. We were often in serious apprehension that our coach would be blown over. Sweeping gusts of rain came up before this storm like showers of steel. And at those times, when there was any shelter of trees or lee walls to be got, we were fain to stop in a sheer impossibility of continuing the struggle.

That's a vivid depiction of a storm. He continues on and on, but after the storm, as always happens, the rain clears and the sky turns blue. But in our poem, that does not happen. After it says that after, that the clouds return after the rain. Darkness is followed by light and rain is supposed to be followed by clear skies—but not here.

Now, recall that you are the house. What is it that he is saying about you and about your future, maybe even your present? I think what he's saying is relatively obvious: your vision is growing worse and worse. I love to read, and I've read a lot of books, but I went several years basically without reading. Started when I was about 42 years old, and reading just became fatiguing. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't read, and it certainly wasn't bad enough to get glasses, but it was bad enough that it was unpleasant to read. And so, for several years, I just didn't. It was just too tiresome to do. And then I was cut off from one of my greatest sources of joy, so finally I gave in and I went to see Kevin Koolbaugh, and he gave me these old man presbyopia short-arm glasses. Do you know this game? Glasses. How many of you have to do this? You know, like, you can't—I could no more read. You'd have to hold this 35 feet away. I mean, I can't read anything. It's terrible. Right? And here's the thing: my vision will never improve as long as I live. I just go see Kevin every year, and he's like, yeah, you gotta change your prescription. And we slowly, I'm just slowly losing my vision, and it's just receding away from me. It hasn't grown dark exactly yet, but, you know, who knows what kind of cataracts or glaucoma lie ahead. Right? The thing is just breaking down, and the sky—the sun—doesn't come back out after the storm. Right?

Take a look at the next stanza. I want you to think about the house, but I want you to think about the human as well. Verse three. In the days when the keepers of the house tremble and the strong men are bent, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look through the windows are dimmed.

This stanza is about the people inside the house. The first three describe the servants. Pretty sure the fourth is actually just the inhabitant, the owner of the house. Who would be the keepers of the house and the strong men? What servant would that be? I think it's the—they're the guards, the protectors of this home, and they themselves have grown weak and fearful. Grinders—this, you gotta kinda jump your culture a little bit, but who would grinders be? Who would the servant be that we'd call a grinder in this house? Can you guess what that means? It’s probably the cooks. It's probably the women in the kitchen that are grinding the grain into flour to prepare the meal. And there's not as many as there used to be. Right? And the last one, the person looking out the windows—probably because they have no discernible role—is probably the master or the mistress of the house who has no work to do.

Now think about it, about the aging body. The keepers of the house—what would that be? I think it's probably this. Your fists start to get shaky. The keepers of the house tremble, and the strong man is bent. The back is bowed as we age. Then grinders—what is that? That's your teeth. The grinders cease because they are few. You're losing your teeth, it gets harder to chew, and everything's falling apart. And then once again, the view is dimmed as eyesight fails. Okay? Making sense? Getting the poem?

All right. Take a look at verse four. It says, the doors on the street are shut when 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. This house, it's closed up. It’s closed off. It’s cut off from the outside activity. I think what he's suggesting here is the idea of loneliness and isolation that often becomes a part of our lives as we age. But not only that, because the doors are closed and we're cut off, you just don't hear what's going on outside as well anymore. So not only are we losing our vision, but we're losing our hearing. And everything is beginning to break down. But paradoxically, even though we're losing our vision, something as slight as the sound of a bird can wake you up.

Do you remember? I remember fondly sleeping through the night. It's been years. Okay? As you get older, I just—I wake up in the middle of the night multiple times. I had no idea when I last slept through the night. And I’m always awake by, like, 6:00 in the morning. Don't need to set a stupid alarm. I'm just gonna wake up. Right? And that's just the way life is. The older you get, the earlier you wake. We arise at the sound of the birds as we get older.

Next, you're gonna love this one. Okay? I'm gonna do it line by line. Verse five. They're also afraid. They are afraid also of what is high and terrors in the way. I think that's pretty straightforward. Just when you get old, you're losing your vision, you're losing your hearing, you're losing your strength—you just become more vulnerable, and the world becomes a more intimidating place. How about this? The almond tree blossoms. What does that mean? The almond tree blossoms. What's it? White hair. Yeah. An almond tree has white petals. And so what he's saying is that our hair turns white. Yeah, I would love to have white hair. I think that'd be amazing. But the next line is this. Okay? The grasshopper drags itself along and desire fails. Anybody have the courage to guess what that means? You guys, this line tells us that this particular house is a male house because men have a feature that is, shall we say, springy. And it hops up when it finds what it loves most of all. But apparently, so I am told, there comes a time where the formerly eager springy part of a man's body loses its spring and becomes somewhat lifeless. And that grasshopper just doesn't hop like it used to. Vivid. All right. That next line, by the way, is related. I don't know. Should we just close in prayer right there? All right? That's it. That’s really all we wanted you to know. That's all you got.

The next phrase is actually related to it. What your Bible probably says—ESV says—and desire fails. The translators are cleaning that up for you a little bit. What it literally says is that the caper berry is no longer effective. The reason they clean that up is because nobody knows what the heck a caper berry is, but it’s a berry that was used as an aphrodisiac. My understanding is that they're small and blue, but you can look that up. I'm not sure if it's actually true. Desire fails, and the grasshopper doesn't hop anymore. Okay? It is hard getting old, so I'm told.

Now, the next thing he says is, because man is going to his eternal home and the mourners go about the streets. Because what this poem is saying is not merely that we get old, but that we die. That every one of us in this room, every one of us—no one gets out alive—we're all going to die. And this is the point, honestly, where the teacher becomes more intense with his imagery. He's gonna give us four lines that are about death itself. Okay? There are two couplets. This house has a lamp and this house has a well.

Look at what he says about the lamp first. I think it's verse six. He says, before the silver cord is snapped, or the golden bowl is broken. You guys, this is an oil lamp. It's a valuable lamp. It's made of silver and gold. But when this precious thing breaks, the lamp ceases to give light, and the light of life is extinguished. And then, the well—the pitcher is shattered at the fountain, and the wheel is broken at the cistern. The wheel is the pulley of a well, and the pitcher is the vessel that contains water. And it, like the lamp, is bound to break. The day is coming that you will have neither the light of life nor the living water that gives life. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.

His next line is an unmistakable allusion to Genesis 2 and 3. It says: the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, says the preacher. As we began, we were looking at in the NIV—meaningless, meaningless. Everything is meaningless. And there's nothing you can do to escape this. You guys, the greatest of all our enemies, we've seen it throughout Ecclesiastes, is death—and no one gets out alive. The storm is great and the house is falling.

Now, this I want you to hear how Ecclesiastes 12 ends. Right? This is the other bracket, the rest of this inclusio. Remember, verse one, was a call to remember your creator while you're young. This is the second bracket. He says in verse 11:

The words of the wise are like goads, and like nails firmly fixed are the collected sayings. They are given by one shepherd. My son, be aware of anything beyond these. 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 this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every sacred secret thing, whether good or evil.

It’s probably the case that this passage will resonate more and more with you as you get older, but it was actually written to the young. It is written while you are still young: remember your creator.

Application

Ecclesiastes calls us—all of us who are dying—to attend to the words of the wise. And this is important. This is actually what I wanted to tell you, this whole series. This is the climax of the whole thing and where this story points. As we've seen, what we've tried to do every week—I want you to remember this:

Do you recall that Jesus himself told a story about a house in a storm that fell? You heard it this morning. Jesus, the wisest person who ever lived, exhorted us that we would listen to his words—that we would build our life on his words. Here's the story that Bob read; it's from Matthew 7. Listen to this:

Everyone then who hears these words of mine, and does them, will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat on that house. But it did not fall because it had been founded on the rock.

And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat against that house, and it fell—and great was the fall of it.

As Fetz talked about last week, the wisest man who ever lived is Jesus. Though he was often thought to be a fool, he is the final word spoken by the Father. His words are life. And today, whether you are young or old or somewhere in between, bend the knee before his greatness and his supremacy. He faced and endured, he defeated the heavil of this world. It is in him, and it is only in him, that the light of life is found. He is the light of the world. He brings the water of life—the living water. And it is in him, and only in him, that you will survive this storm.

His beauty is matchless, his wisdom is unfathomable, and his sacrifice is sufficient. Have you begun to notice that your house is falling? If you're over 25, you should have. You guys, the whole story of Ecclesiastes exhorts us to abandon all hope in our own self-righteousness and even in our unrighteousness, and to dress ourselves in his credited righteousness. He offers to give you credit for his matchless life and to take into himself the blame for every unworthy thing you've ever loved. And life is found in him.

Today would be a good day to come before him in humility and gratitude and offer him your life. And in fact, we set aside time every week for this very purpose. There might be some small part of your life that you've held back from him—some strategy, work, wisdom, wealth, pleasure, who knows—that you're using, and maybe now that we're done, it's time to go, all right, let it go because it's never gonna work. It'll work a little bit for a little while, but it's never gonna work. He invites you to come and be in him.

Or maybe it’s not just some small part of your life—maybe it’s your whole life. All of you. He is the one, the only one, that can possibly conquer the greatest burdens in our lives. And he is the one who loves you so much that he would literally rather die than live without you. So we invite you: you come down this morning. You could pray alone if you want to deal with him; we can go back, we'll have friends and prayer ministers in the back who would pray with you. Whatever we can do for you would be our great pleasure—to see you come to some new or newer connection with the God who made the world.

Closing Prayer

And that, I think, is what Ecclesiastes means. I hope it'll be helpful to you as you read it in the future—to remember these things. Let's pray together.

Lord Jesus, we love you because you are so great, and you are the one who solves it all. Lord, this passage exhorts us to fear you, which could be confusing because we often tend to think of ourselves as good, and we would only fear bad things. And we do not fear you like a child would fear a kidnapper. Lord, we fear you like a criminal fears a judge. For you are goodness itself, and purity, and justice, and holiness, and we are not. Lord, before you, we are dust.

I pray that in your love and in your mercy, you might raise us up to see how great you are, and that we might live before your face. Lord, we thank you for your precious word and the knowledge contained therein. Lord, help us to read it, love it, discover its treasures, and conform our lives to all that you have revealed.

And, Lord, would you give us the grace that our decaying bodies would themselves drive us to you so that we might build our lives on you. We love you; we thank you for loving us. Amen.