Is this something?
Notes
Transcript
Prayer
Prayer
Infinite, almighty, the only wise God,
You are our God and our shepherd, and we are the sheep of your pasture
For you have gathered, preserved and defended us for another week, and brought us to this place. You have covered us by the blood of the lamb and promised that you would be a God to us and to our seed after us. And this morning, your people are gathered together in your presence.
When your people cry out to you in your name, hear them, we pray.
When your sheep wander away and lose their way, when they come to their senses and cry out to you in your name, hear them. Find them. Bring them home.
When your people are sick and afraid, in pain and falling apart, when they cry out to you, hear and heal and forgive.
When we cry for wisdom and for patience, hear our prayer. Do not let us wander but teach us, Giver of Life, to learn to sit quietly and wait.
When we gather in your name, outcast, alone, afraid – wrap us in your everlasting arms and comfort us with the gospel, that you will never leave us nor forsake us.
Faithful father, we cry out to your for mercy for our community. We pray that you would gather together your people wherever they are. We remember that you did not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. Send that call out and gather your harvest. The addicted, the outcast, the drunkard, the prostitute, the afflicted, the oppressed – gather them together and be merciful to them.
We remember that whenever you heal the sick, you deliver from death. So we pray for your deliverance.
Provide for Roger all that he needs. Give to us clothing and shelter and food each day.
And deliver us from evil
When we are struck with the attacks of the evil one, pour out your spirit. Strengthen us we pray. For you give us more than we can handle frequently, that we might learn to stay close to you and rely on you alone.
Teach us that we are but human. Like flowers we fade and die. But you are eternal in the heavens. Cause us to lift our eyes up out of the ruins of this world to where heavenly joys await us, so that we can run the race you have placed before us with patience, thanksgiving and joy.
And teach us to hallow and magnify your name. May our words and our works reflect the love of our savior to all around us. May our presence shine peace to our neighbors.
Lift up your people with the word of your gospel and breathe new life into these dusty bones.
We have a lot of changes coming, and changes make us anxious and afraid. Be a place of refuge for us. Remind us that you are our Shepherd, and you preserve our going out and our coming in.
Bless the reading and preaching of the word today. Guide my lips and give us hearts to hear.
And together
14 Let the words of my mouth,
And the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight,
O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.
Text
Text
1 The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
2 “Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher;
“Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”
3 What profit has a man from all his labor
In which he toils under the sun?
4 One generation passes away, and another generation comes;
But the earth abides forever.
5 The sun also rises, and the sun goes down,
And hastens to the place where it arose.
6 The wind goes toward the south,
And turns around to the north;
The wind whirls about continually,
And comes again on its circuit.
7 All the rivers run into the sea,
Yet the sea is not full;
To the place from which the rivers come,
There they return again.
8 All things are full of labor;
Man cannot express it.
The eye is not satisfied with seeing,
Nor the ear filled with hearing.
9 That which has been is what will be,
That which is done is what will be done,
And there is nothing new under the sun.
10 Is there anything of which it may be said,
“See, this is new”?
It has already been in ancient times before us.
11 There is no remembrance of former things,
Nor will there be any remembrance of things that are to come
By those who will come after.
Sermon
Sermon
In my dream there is an old town in ruins.
It isn’t an ancient town. It used to have a Dollar General and a Shell gas station. Lucky’s diner was once on the corner and a Dickenson’s Menswear store. There was a post office that was made of brick and mortar and across the street there was a Ben Franklin 5 and dime store.
But it is in ruins. The streets are broken and the windows smashed out. Pillars of concrete with bent rebar burst through the earth and a few desperate blades of desert grass thrust their brown tendrils through the sidewalks looking for somewhere to make a purchase.
What really gets me in the dream is the silence. I cannot even hear my own heart beating. There is no wind. There is no far-off whistle of a bird. There is no buzzing of an errant insect. No children are in the streets. No lovers whispering. No mourners and no laughers. It is just a heavy darkness, but a darkness of sound rather than a darkness of light. It weighs so heavy you can almost feel it. I can’t even hear a ringing in my ears.
The light itself has a tinge of yellow but all in all it is too bright, too hot, too strange. It is almost like the sun got too close.
In my dream, there is an elusive feeling of ancient pain. It feels like an unsafe place, where something wrong and cursed happened many years ago.
The ruins are far away. To get there, I drive a car and I travel up a curving road past a large reservoir. I know that people usually have boats on the lake and they ski and swim and laugh and drink Sunkist orange soda pop and 7up out of Styrofoam coolers. But in my dream the water is black and still. The trees are stunted and dying. The lake is empty of houseboats and revelers.
But my car takes the long circle around the lake to the ruins. I don’t know why I am going, but I am afraid of them. There is a taste in the back of my throat that I can’t pin down, but it feels like long-forgotten pain. That pain is somehow associated with the town in ruins.
There is something about ruins that calls the soul to sober reflection. Poets and artists and musicians understand the power of ruins. Ruins speak of wasted dreams and past disasters and forgotten friendships. They speak of change and decay and death that surround everything. Perhaps I am the first to dream of ruins with a Dollar General Store in the middle, but I’m not the first to dream of ruins. Shakespeare’s Hamlet reminisces over a skull in the graveyard and Percy Bysshe Shelley writes of Ozymandius.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert…. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
The ruins of the shattered visage, the skull of Yorick, Johnny Cash’s empire of dirt, and the ruins of the Dollar General are echoes of a reality that none of us want to face:
Here we have no lasting country. Our labor, our buildings, our loved ones, our art, our music, and every endeavor under this sun are headed to the grave and no amount of effort, money, skill, wisdom or beauty will alter that reality.
We were created to have purpose and meaning. We were created to love God and live with him in eternal blessedness to praise him forever.
But now the world is under a curse. We don’t live as we were created to live. We are not yet home. We now live in a world that the Inspired Preacher calls, “Under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:3).
“Under the sun” describes everything that we see, everything we can examine; everything that we can describe and know with our senses. It’s the labor we undertake, the spouses we marry, the kids we raise, the music and art and poetry. It’s the buildings we build and the institutions we support and the gardens we plant and the charities we donate to.
On the one hand, these things are beautiful. Shakespeare wrote,
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals.
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
This is life under the sun. One the one hand, noble, wise and beautiful – on the other, the quintessence of dust.
But what does our Inspired Preacher say about it?
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. (Ecc 1:2 KJV)
The word “vanity” was also the name of the first murder victim – Abel. In Hebrew it’s pronounced “hevel”. Two breathy consonants. To pronounce the word is to know the meaning: hevel. Breath. Vapor. Huffing. Nothing substantial. Emptiness.
The meaning is seen in the names of the first two boys: Cain and Abel.
The promise of the Garden was that the seed of the woman would crush the head of the serpent. The first man born was Cain. Substance. Something.
David Letterman used to have a bit on his show in the nineties – is this something? He would have strange performers come on and then he would look at his band leader and make a determination.
“Is this something?”
“No, this is nothing.”
Or “YES, this is something!”
When Cain was born, Eve said, “This one is something!!” He’ll make a name. He’ll overcome this curse. He’ll fix what is wrong.
When Abel was born, Eve saw him and said, “This is nothing. Hevel. Vapor. Wind. Breath.
No wonder Cain responded in fury when God accepted Abel and rejected him. You receive him? He’s nothing? I’m something! Look at me!
And thus in Cain we see our natural religion. Look at me! I’m something.
Look at what I’ve done. Look at my accomplishments. Look at my wisdom. Look at my life.
I have a reputation; I have possessions; I have power; I have influence over people; I have beauty; riches; wealth.
And the answer is in our text. Vanity of vanities. All is vanity.
The Hebrew language has a way of connecting nouns together known as the “construct” relationship. In English, we connect those Hebrew nouns with the word “of”. It can have a wide variety of meanings. When the nouns are the same, it indicates the superlative – the highest degree.
So, for example – the holy of holies means the holiest place. The place with the highest degree of holiness.
The song of songs – the song of the highest degree. The greatest song. The songiest of songs.
And here – vanity of vanities. It means the highest worthlessness, emptiness, breathiness. The vanitiest of all vanities
Here is wisdom literature. Here is the pinnacle of the highest thought of the wisest man who ever lived. What is the secret of life? What is the goal? What is the highest aspiration?
How do we find peace and joy and happiness? What is the key that brings everything together?
The king has called an assembly. “Preacher” is one who calls the assembly of God’s people and addresses them. They gather to hear his wisdom. He is famous throughout the world. Even the queen of Sheba makes the journey.
His final speech. His greatest accomplishment. And they gather in anticipation. The crowd is hushed. They wait for the pearls of wisdom from the voice of the king.
What will he say? Wisdom is the sound of one hand clapping? Love your families and live life to the fullest? No one ever goes to their death bed wishing that they had spent more time at the office? Carpe diem? What will he say?
His first words are “Everything is empty vapor. Utter nothingness. The vanitiest of all vanities”
The highest wisdom under the sun, the greatest accomplishment under the sun, a lifetime a labor and reputation and influence
A breath. A vapor. Is this something?
The late night host looks at Solomon, “Is this something? We have the wisdom of the ages! We have Ozymandias, king of kings! Yorick the skilled jester and kind friend. The ubiquitous Dollar General. We have music and dancing, wisdom and foolishness, wine and whiskey and the mountains of books and poems and essays and films and…tell me. Is this something?”
And the wisest man replies, “No. It’s nothing. It’s a vapor. Utter madness.”
Is this simply the musings of depression? Is it atheistic nihilism? Is this simply nirvana – the state of nothingness that the Buddhist aspires to?
Not at all. It is simply an acknowledgment of the truth that can only come from the Most High. Under the sun, you won’t find your place. Under the sun, you won’t find your purpose. Under the sun, you have no place to stand.
Under the sun – although we see God’s order in creation and in the government of men – we also see that there is much that we do not see. God’s wisdom is far, far higher than ours. Ultimately all of man’s labors under the sun are nothing. Vapor. Breath. We fade and die like the flowers of the field.
17 Then to Adam He said, “Because you have heeded the voice of your wife, and have eaten from the tree of which I commanded you, saying, ‘You shall not eat of it’:
“Cursed is the ground for your sake;
In toil you shall eat of it
All the days of your life.
18 Both thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you,
And you shall eat the herb of the field.
19 In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread
Till you return to the ground,
For out of it you were taken;
For dust you are,
And to dust you shall return.”
This is the reality. There is no work, no monument, no statue, no building and no organization that will outlast the unstoppable devolution to dust.
And so we are challenged to walk by faith, not by sight.
The problem is that we expect the kingdom of God, but we think that it will look just like every other kingdom. We want to tell God what success looks like. And this is what we call wisdom. This is what “something” looks like. Look at that guy. Isn’t he something!
But the preacher says, “No. that isn’t something. That’s nothing.”
The preacher calls you to turn off Facebook; turn off the TV; take out the earplugs and look at your life. Meditate on what you are doing. What is this? What are you accomplishing? Reflect on the ruins.
Look at all of mankind. Look at what they spend their time on. Look at their hopes and dreams. Look at their buildings and societies and leaders. Look at the music and art. Look at their wise men. Look at everything that is done under the sun.
Is it anything? Vanity of vanities. All is vanity. Ozymandias collapses in the desert. The town falls to ruin. The jesters lips rot off of the skull.
And here, as we will see, is where we finally find our freedom. We’ve shackled ourselves to cruel bondage. We’ve become enslaved to building up castles of straw. We become bondservants to utter nothingness and have become slaves to the vanitiest of vanities.
We’ve bonded our name to jobs, reputations, possessions, toys, wealth. We’ve become slaves to bank accounts and stock portfolios and have allowed our self-worth to be determined by how many books we’ve read, whether we are married or not, what kind of knowledge we have, what accomplishments we have made. We enslaved ourselves to the opinions of others. Am I something? How many likes to I get? How many people do I count as friends? How many people look at me and say, “Now here’s something!” What about the long robes and the best seats in the synagogues and the invitations to the feasts and the greetings in the marketplace.
We looked at Cain and decided, with Eve, here’s something. Here’s a man that I want to be. Here’s a man from the LORD.
But Cain was nothing. We don’t even know where his grave is. He returned to the dust.
East of Eden Cain builds a city. He names the city after his son. Here’s my line. Here’s my city. Here’s my legacy. And the flood took it all away.
Vanity of vanities; all is vanity. And we all live east of Eden. Mankind spread throughout the world bringing with them the spirit of Cain – this is my name. My city. My identity. I’m something.
But in the endless quest to be something, millions were treated as nothing. As vanity, emptiness. Fuel for the fire, fodder for the mills. As the strong strove to be Cain, they filled the mass graves with the millions of Abels, and everyone’s name was forgotten. Can you name a Hittite king? Can you name an Egyptian Pharaoh?
But the day would come when the promised seed would arrive. God calls his name Jesus, and gives him the throne of his father David.
The whole world would look and say, “There’s nothing there.”
Born outside and laid in a manger. Wrapped in swaddling cloths. He would grow up despised and rejected. He didn’t take the form of a king – he didn’t take the form of “something”, but came as a slave. Cain had a city. Jesus didn’t even have a place to lay down. He entered our world of vanity, of breath, of nothingness – he was born under the law, under its curse. He lived a life of obedience in our world of vanity and was crucified as a slave and a criminal.
And when he died he turned the world upside down. He made something out of nothing. He’s the creator. He can do that.
Remember that He spoke into nothing “Let there be light” and there was light.
He creates something out of nothing.
Romans 4 says that God brings the dead to life and calls into existence the things that don’t exist.
He looks at the scattered, those who are not his people and says, “You are my people”. People like you and me, strangers to the promise, aliens in a land that isn’t ours.
He looks at childless Abraham and says, “You are the father of many nations.”
He looks at the broken, bloody, wounded, outcast and says, “Live”, and calls us his bride. He found us as an aborted baby, cast away to die. He found us in our blood and said, “Live!”
And the book of Ecclesiastes reminds us to keep grounded. Quit calling those things that are nothing as if they are something. Vanity of vanities. All is vanity.
Too often we think of success in life in terms of things under the sun. Even in the church. Success is measured in numbers, programs, influence, power – but Solomon said, All nothingness.
The church, at the same time is both beautiful, impregnable, and glorious - and ALSO the quintessence of dust - because we have our feet in both world, in two kingdoms. One kingdom will reign over all. The other will fade into the dust. Our conquests and buildings and worries and sermons and even our names are forgotten under the sun -
But our names are written in the book of life, and we have a place on the throne of the Lion of Judah.
Under the sun, all is vanity. Even any blessings that God may give the church – ultimately is vanity.
This isn’t a mark of despair, but of great hope! Our names are written in heaven, and that indeed IS something.
The preacher in Ecclesiastes reminds us that our home isn’t here. Our treasure isn’t here. Those things that we long for aren’t here.
Under the sun, we have been given tasks to do, work to accomplish. We have also been given food, and shelter and sometimes good days. Also many dark days.
Under the sun, we toil. Our toil is useless and without end and without hope – under the sun.
And yet, through it all, through the toil and labor of our souls, we hear the voice of the shepherd crying out,
Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Mat 11:28 KJV)
Jesus gives rest. It is the goal of all of creation. On the seventh day, God rested. He saw his work and said, “Behold, it is very good.”
But we are too busy building castles and kingdoms, ships and sails and sealing wax and cannot find rest.
Even the gospel as it is usually preached is more work, more hot air, more vanity, more striving for the wind. You don’t find rest at the foot of the modern preacher.
But Jesus came that we might walk with him into the throne room of God himself, and when we are there we will know what it means to rest.
The scribes and Pharisees were looking for the new David.
39 Then some of the scribes answered and said, “Teacher, You have spoken well.” 40 But after that they dared not question Him anymore.
41 And He said to them, “How can they say that the Christ is the Son of David? 42 Now David himself said in the Book of Psalms:
‘The Lord said to my Lord,
“Sit at My right hand,
43 Till I make Your enemies Your footstool.” ’
44 Therefore David calls Him ‘Lord’; how is He then his Son?”
45 Then, in the hearing of all the people, He said to His disciples, 46 “Beware of the scribes, who desire to go around in long robes, love greetings in the marketplaces, the best seats in the synagogues, and the best places at feasts, 47 who devour widows’ houses, and for a pretense make long prayers. These will receive greater condemnation.”
To the scribes, David was the highest point. They looked backwards and longed for a day that was gone. They thought that Messiah would bring back past glory.
They longed for that day of greetings in the marketplace, and long robes, and grand feasts, where they would have the praise of men and control of kingdoms - and they thought that this was the kingdom of God.
And Jesus cuts through it all with one quote from Psalm 110.
Why did David call his Son, “My Lord”?
David’s kingdom is a kingdom of dust. Even while Jesus was speaking to the scribes, they were standing on David’s ruins. His palace; his walls; his city.
A lasting city will be a city far, far greater than anything David could build. David’s body is in the grave.
But David’s lord will rise from the dead.
God will not permit his holy one to see corruption. And this Holy One is preparing a place for us that never falls into ruin, never fades away, where there are no more tears, no more goodbyes, and no more curse.
And there, in the arms of Jesus, we finally have our rest.