What Jesus Said

  • The Great Unfolding: Matthew Part 2 of 7.

    The Great Unfolding: Matthew Part 2 of 7.

    The Great Unfolding: How Jesus Fulfils God’s Ancient Promises.

    Have you ever picked up a book and felt like you started in the middle? The characters have histories you don’t know, and events are unfolding based on a backstory you missed. For many, opening the New Testament can feel like this. A man named Jesus of Nazareth appears, and the world is never the same. But where did He come from? Was His arrival a sudden, unexpected event, or was it the long-awaited climax of a story that began thousands of years before?

    The Gospel of Matthew answers this with a resounding declaration: Jesus did not appear in a vacuum. He is the stunning fulfilment of a story God began telling in the very first pages of the Old Testament. This post, the second in the series “The King and His Kingdom,” explores how Matthew builds a powerful bridge between the Old and New Testaments. We will see that Jesus is the ultimate answer to the hopes, the laws, and the prophecies of God’s ancient people. He is not the start of a new story, but the glorious chapter for which the entire world had been waiting.

    A Royal Tapestry Woven Through Time.

    Matthew begins his Gospel not with a miracle or a sermon, but with a list of names. The genealogy in Matthew 1:1–17 can seem dense, perhaps even skippable. Yet, in this careful tracing of ancestry, Matthew is making one of the most profound claims in history. He opens with, “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.” In one sentence, he connects Jesus to the two most significant figures in Israel’s history.

    This is not just a family tree; it is a royal and covenantal lineage. By linking Jesus to Abraham, Matthew asserts that Jesus is the ultimate heir to the covenant promise God made to Abraham—that through his offspring, all the nations of the earth would be blessed. By linking Jesus to David, Matthew declares that Jesus is the long-awaited King, the rightful heir to the throne of Israel, the Messiah who would reign forever.

    The forty-two generations listed are a testament to God’s faithfulness through centuries of victory, failure, exile, and silence. Each name is a stitch in a divine tapestry, a story of God preserving a specific lineage for a singular purpose. This list demonstrates that Jesus’s arrival wasn’t an accident of history. It was a divine appointment, meticulously planned and sovereignly guided from the very beginning. This unbroken line is the first and most foundational plank in the bridge between the Testaments, establishing Jesus not as a rogue teacher, but as the legitimate, long-promised King.

    Whispers of Prophecy, Now a Resounding Voice.

    If the genealogy is the structural foundation of the bridge, the fulfilment of prophecy is its unbreakable support. Throughout the opening chapters of his Gospel, Matthew repeatedly uses a powerful phrase: “that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet.” He is showing his readers that the key events of Jesus’s birth and early life were not random. They were, in fact, the echoes of ancient prophetic words coming to pass with breathtaking accuracy.

    Consider the evidence Matthew presents. The miraculous conception of Jesus is shown to be the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy: “Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel” (Matthew 1:22–23). When the wise men seek the newborn king, the scribes know exactly where to direct them, quoting the prophet Micah: “in Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is written by the prophet” (Matthew 2:4–5).

    The pattern continues with astonishing consistency. The family’s flight to Egypt to escape Herod’s wrath is not merely a desperate act of survival; it is the fulfilment of Hosea’s words, “Out of Egypt I called My Son” (Matthew 2:15). Even the horrific tragedy of the slaughter of innocent children in Bethlehem was foreseen, as Matthew notes, “Then was fulfilled what was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet” (Matthew 2:17). Finally, the family’s decision to settle in the obscure town of Nazareth brings to pass what was “spoken by the prophets, ‘He shall be called a Nazarene’” (Matthew 2:23).

    These are not isolated coincidences. Matthew is building an irrefutable case. He is demonstrating that God was so intimately involved in the details of the Messiah’s arrival that He announced the specifics centuries in advance through His chosen messengers. The entire Old Testament, in this light, becomes a map pointing to one specific person, in one specific place, at one specific time.

    Not to Abolish, but to Complete.

    Lest anyone misunderstand His purpose, Jesus Himself addresses His relationship to the Old Testament in one of the most important passages in all of Scripture. In the Sermon on the Mount, He declares, “Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfil” (Matthew 5:17).

    This statement is the key that unlocks the unity of the entire Bible. Jesus did not come to discard the Old Testament as something outdated or irrelevant. He came to be its very substance and goal. The moral law given to Moses revealed God’s holy character and the perfect standard of righteousness—a standard no one could perfectly keep. Jesus came and lived that perfect, sinless life, fulfilling the law’s demands in His own person. The sacrificial system, with its intricate rituals, pointed to the need for atonement for sin. Jesus became the ultimate and final sacrifice, fulfilling the purpose of every animal ever offered on the altar.

    The Prophets spoke of a coming King, a suffering servant, a righteous judge, and a merciful saviour. Jesus embodies all of these roles. He is the true and better King David, the prophet greater than Moses, the priest in the order of Melchizedek. He doesn’t erase the old story; He is its intended meaning. He makes sense of it all. He goes on to say that true righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees (Matthew 5:20), a righteousness that is impossible on our own but is made possible through Him—the very fulfilment of the Law.

    One Story, One King.

    From the first verse of his Gospel, Matthew masterfully demonstrates that the story of Jesus is the story of God’s faithfulness. The genealogy establishes His legal right to the throne. The fulfilled prophecies confirm His divine identity. His own words proclaim His ultimate purpose. Jesus is the bridge that connects God’s ancient promises with their glorious reality.

    For the believer, this truth provides an unshakable foundation for faith. Our hope is not in a recently invented philosophy, but in a God who makes promises and keeps them across the span of human history. It allows us to see the Bible not as a collection of disconnected books, but as one beautiful, cohesive, and perfect story of redemption, culminating in Christ.

    For the seeker, this presents a compelling truth. The Christian faith is deeply rooted in history and prophecy. The claims about Jesus are not made in a vacuum; they are presented as the intentional, sovereignly orchestrated climax of a story God set in motion at the dawn of time. He is the answer to the questions the Old Testament raises, the hope it looks forward to, and the King it promises. He is the great unfolding of God’s perfect plan.

    Coming Soon.

    Part 3: The Global Rescue Plan.

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  • The Royal Portrait. Matthew Part 1 of 7

    The Royal Portrait. Matthew Part 1 of 7

    Welcome to the first part of my new series, The King, and His Kingdom: A 7-Part Journey into the Heart of the Gospel. Over the next seven posts, we will walk through the Gospel of Matthew, exploring its central, breathtaking theme: the identity of Jesus as the true King and the nature of His heavenly kingdom. There is no more fundamental question a person can ask than, “Who is Jesus?” Our culture offers many answers: a good teacher, a moral example, a prophet, a revolutionary. But the author Matthew, writing under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, has a singular, unambiguous purpose. He presents us with a royal portrait, meticulously crafted to demonstrate that Jesus of Nazareth is none other than the Christ, the long-awaited Messiah, the rightful King with all authority over heaven and earth.

    For those of you who are exploring Christianity, this post seeks to answer that foundational question directly from the historical record. For those who are already followers of Christ, this is a call to return to the heart of our faith—to stand in awe once more and to worship Jesus not just as Saviour, but as the reigning King of every aspect of our lives. Let us begin this journey by looking at the very first strokes of Matthew’s masterpiece.

    The King’s Royal Lineage.

    Matthew does not begin his account with a miracle or a sermon. He begins with a list of names, a genealogy. He opens with these momentous words: “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matthew 1:1). In these first few words, Matthew lays his royal cards on the table. The title “son of David” is not merely a statement of ancestry; it is a profound theological and royal claim. It was to King David that God had made an everlasting promise of a descendant who would sit on his throne forever. For centuries, Israel had waited for this promised King, this Messiah who would restore all things. By starting here, Matthew is declaring from the outset that the wait is over. Jesus is not an unexpected character in history; He is the culmination of it, the legal heir to the throne of Israel. This is His birthright.

    The King’s Royal Birth.

    A king’s arrival is never an ordinary event, and the birth of Jesus was prophesied and heralded in a way that confirms His unique royal status. Matthew draws our attention to the ancient prophecy of Isaiah, stating, “‘Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel’ (which means, God with us)” (Matthew 1:23). Consider the weight of this title. This child would not just be a great human king; He would be the very presence of God dwelling among His people. He is a King of an entirely different order. His authority is not derived from human power but from His divine nature. He is God, come to rule and to save.

    This royal identity was not only understood through prophecy but was also recognized by those seeking Him. Shortly after His birth, wise men from the East arrived in Jerusalem with a startling question: “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him” (Matthew 2:2). It is a remarkable scene. These Gentile scholars, outsiders to the covenant promises of Israel, were guided by the heavens themselves to find and worship a newborn King. They did not come to see a baby, but to pay homage to royalty. Their quest, their gifts, and their worship all serve as a powerful testimony. From the moment of His birth, the identity of Jesus as King was being declared, not in a palace, but in a humble stable, recognized by seekers from afar.

    The King’s Royal Identity Confessed.

    As Jesus began His public ministry, the evidence of His authority became undeniable, leading those around Him to moments of stunning recognition. After witnessing Jesus walk on the turbulent sea and calm the storm with a word, His disciples, battered by the wind and waves, fell before Him in reverence. Their response was not one of mere amazement but of worship. They declared, “Truly you are the Son of God” (Matthew 14:33). They saw in that moment an authority that did not belong to a mere man. They saw a power over creation itself, a power that belongs only to the Creator, the King of all. Their fear was transformed into awe as they realized they were in the presence of divine royalty.

    This private recognition culminates in the most pivotal confession in Matthew’s Gospel. When Jesus asked His disciples who they thought He was, it was Peter who gave the definitive answer: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). The title “Christ” is the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew word “Messiah,” which means “Anointed One.” In ancient Israel, priests, prophets, and especially kings were anointed with oil as a sign of being set apart and empowered by God for their task. Peter’s declaration was a thunderclap. He was saying, “You are the one. You are the long-prophesied, God-anointed King.” This was the secret now being revealed, the truth upon which Christ would build His entire church. It is the core confession of a believer: Jesus is the rightful, anointed King.

    The King’s Royal Presence and Proclamation.

    The kingship of Jesus is not a distant, abstract concept. It is a present reality. He Himself promised an intimacy unknown with earthly rulers: “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them” (Matthew 18:20). The King is present with His people. He presides over every gathering, no matter how small. His authority and presence are not confined to a temple or a throne room; they are accessible to all who come together under His name. This is the nature of His rule—it is personal, relational, and ever-present.

    Finally, near the end of His earthly ministry, the King who was declared at birth and confessed in private receives His public welcome into the royal city, Jerusalem. This event, known as the Triumphal Entry, was a direct and deliberate fulfilment of prophecy. Matthew records, “Say to the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden’” (Matthew 21:5). He does not come on a warhorse as a worldly conqueror, but in humility on a donkey, a symbol of peace. And the people understand. They lay their cloaks and branches on the road, a traditional welcome for a king, and they cry out with the royal psalm: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” (Matthew 21:9). “Hosanna” is a plea, “Save us now!” and they direct it to the “Son of David,” the royal heir. In this moment, all the threads of Matthew’s portrait come together in a public proclamation. The King has come to His city.

    From the first verse to this climactic entry, Matthew’s purpose is clear: to present Jesus as the King. His lineage gives Him the legal right, His birth marks Him as divine, His followers confess Him as the Anointed One, and the crowds welcome Him as their prophesied ruler. The evidence is laid before us. The question that remains is not about His identity, but about our response. Will we, like the wise men, seek Him and worship Him? Will we, like Peter, confess Him as the King, the Christ? Will we make Him the King, not just in theory, but of our very lives? This is the invitation of Matthew’s royal portrait.

    Coming soon.

    Part 2: The Story That Never Ended.

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  • Ecclesiastes, Chapter 2.

    Ecclesiastes, Chapter 2.

    Why Wealth, Wisdom, and Work Aren’t Enough.

    The second chapter of Ecclesiastes documents one of the most profound human experiments ever recorded. King Solomon, a man of unparalleled wisdom, wealth, and power, embarks on a personal quest to find lasting meaning and satisfaction “under the sun.” He systematically tests the greatest pursuits of human life—pleasure, grand accomplishments, and even wisdom itself—to see if they hold the key to a genuinely good life. His findings are both startling and deeply relevant, revealing that the things we often chase with all our might are ultimately empty when pursued apart from their divine source.

    The Grand Experiment with Extravagant Pleasure.

    Pursuing Joy Through Indulgence

    Solomon begins his test with an all-out pursuit of pleasure. In his heart, he resolves to experience every form of enjoyment available. He starts with laughter and mirth, only to quickly dismiss them as “mad” and pointless in providing any substantial benefit. He then turns to wine, not as a drunkard, but in a controlled experiment to see if it could cheer his body while his mind remained guided by wisdom. He sought to “lay hold on folly” to understand its appeal and its ultimate value during the brief days of human life. This wasn’t a reckless binge but a calculated investigation into the limits of sensual satisfaction. The conclusion was immediate and stark: raw pleasure and amusement offered no lasting substance.

    Building an Earthly Paradise

    Moving beyond simple indulgence, Solomon leverages his immense resources to create a world of unparalleled magnificence. He undertakes massive architectural and agricultural projects, building great houses for himself and planting sprawling vineyards. He designs and cultivates elaborate gardens and parks—what the original text calls “paradises”—filled with every kind of fruit tree. To sustain this lush creation, he constructs complex irrigation systems, including pools of water to nourish the flourishing groves.

    His acquisitions extended to people and possessions. He bought male and female slaves and had servants born into his household, a sign of established wealth and stability. His herds and flocks surpassed those of any ruler in Jerusalem before him. He amassed a treasury filled with silver, gold, and the “peculiar treasure of kings and provinces”—tribute and wealth from subject territories. To complete this world of luxury, he hired professional male and female singers and acquired “the delight of the sons of man”—a vast harem of wives and concubines. By every worldly metric, he had achieved everything a person could possibly desire.

    The Sobering Verdict on Pleasure

    After achieving this pinnacle of success, Solomon pauses to evaluate his accomplishments. He had denied himself nothing. Whatever his eyes desired, he took. He found a measure of temporary pleasure in the process—a fleeting joy that he identified as the only “reward” for all his toil. But when he stepped back and considered all that his hands had done and the exhaustive effort he had expended, his conclusion was devastating. Everything was “vanity and a striving after wind.” Despite possessing everything the world could offer, he found there was nothing of lasting gain to be found under the sun. The satisfaction was in the doing, but once done, the accomplishment was hollow.

    The Surprising Limits of Human Wisdom.

    Is Wisdom Really Better Than Folly?

    Having found pleasure wanting, Solomon turns his attention back to a comparison of wisdom, madness, and folly. His initial observation confirms what seems obvious: wisdom is superior to folly just as light is superior to darkness. The wise person, he notes, “has his eyes in his head,” navigating life with foresight and understanding. The fool, by contrast, “walks in darkness,” stumbling through life with blind infatuation and making fatal errors. In the practical matters of life, from managing affairs to building projects, worldly wisdom clearly has the advantage. It provides skill, good sense, and the ability to operate within safe and respectable bounds.

    The Great Equalizer: Death

    Yet, this advantage is ultimately superficial. Solomon perceives a sobering, universal truth that levels the playing field entirely: “the same event happens to all of them.” Both the wise person and the fool die. This single, inescapable reality undoes the earthly superiority of wisdom. If the final outcome is the same, what ultimate profit is there in being so wise? He asks himself why he had pursued wisdom with such effort if his fate was identical to that of the fool who pursued nothing. This realization leads him to declare that the pursuit of worldly wisdom, as an end in itself, is also vanity. No matter how wisely one lives, there is no “enduring remembrance.” In the days to come, both the wise and the fool are forgotten.

    A Descent into Despair

    This profound insight sends Solomon into a state of despair. “So, I hated life,” he confesses, “because what is done under the sun was grievous to me.” If every human endeavour—whether foolish pleasure or wise accomplishment—leads to the same end of death and obscurity, then life itself feels like a meaningless and burdensome exercise. The great pursuits that should have brought fulfilment instead revealed a deep-seated futility, proving to be nothing more than another form of “striving after wind.”

    The Heavy Frustration of Fruitless Toil.

    The Agony of the Successor

    Solomon then narrows his focus to the nature of his work. He had toiled with immense wisdom, knowledge, and skill to build his kingdom and amass his wealth. But now, even this brought him anguish. “I hated all my toil,” he says, because he must leave the fruit of his labour to the man who comes after him. And the crushing uncertainty is whether his successor will be wise or a fool. This was not a theoretical problem for Solomon; it was a deeply personal anxiety about his own son, Rehoboam, who would later prove to be a fool and fracture the kingdom. The thought that a foolish heir could gain mastery over all he had so wisely and painstakingly built rendered his life’s work a bitter vanity.

    When Work Becomes a Constant Burden

    This perspective transforms the very nature of work from a source of purpose into a source of unending pain. The Preacher gives his heart over to despair. What does a person truly get from all the toil and anxious striving? His days are filled with sorrow, and his work is a “vexation.” The anxiety is so pervasive that even at night, his heart finds no rest. Labor, when viewed only through an earthly lens, becomes a great evil—a consuming effort whose rewards are temporary and whose legacy is, at best, uncertain.

    The True Source of Simple Enjoyment.

    A Crucial Shift in Perspective

    Just as the chapter reaches its bleakest point, Solomon introduces a radical shift in perspective. After concluding that human effort alone cannot secure meaning, he points toward another possibility. He states, “There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil.” At first glance, this might sound like a retreat into simple hedonism, but the line that follows changes everything: “This also, I saw, is from the hand of God.”

    Joy as a Gift from God’s Hand

    Here lies the chapter’s central lesson. The ability to find genuine, simple enjoyment in the basic provisions of life—food, drink, and satisfying work—is not something we can seize for ourselves through wealth or wisdom. It is a divine gift. Solomon, who had more resources than anyone to create his own happiness, failed. He learned that apart from God, no one can truly eat, drink, or have enjoyment. True satisfaction is not achieved through frantic striving but received with gratitude from God. God mercifully spares most people the sad experiment Solomon conducted, allowing us to learn from his experience without paying the dear price he paid.

    The Divine Economy of Blessing

    Solomon concludes with a profound statement on God’s divine economy. To the person who pleases Him, God gives wisdom, knowledge, and joy. In contrast, the sinner is given the task of gathering and collecting wealth, only to ultimately see it given “to one who pleases God.” While this principle was especially visible in the immediate rewards and consequences of ancient Israel, it remains a spiritual reality. The backsliding Solomon found no happiness in the riches he sought apart from God. Ultimately, true, and lasting joy is the portion of the godly, for it flows directly from the hand of the Giver. Any other pursuit is, and always will be, vanity and a striving after wind.

    In this chapter, Solomon challenges us to examine the foundation of our own lives. Are we striving to build our own satisfaction through pleasure, accomplishments, or knowledge? Or are we learning to gratefully receive the simple, daily joys of life as a gift from the hand of God?

    Further Reading.

    • Title: ESV Study Bible
    • Source: Crossway
    • Rationale: It offers extensive, verse-by-verse notes, theological articles, and maps that provide a comprehensive and accessible framework for understanding the historical and theological context of Ecclesiastes.

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  • Ecclesiastes Chapter 1.

    Ecclesiastes Chapter 1.

    The Preacher’s Warning: Is Everything Under the Sun Truly Vain?

    The Perpetual, Profitless Cycle of Earthly Toil

    The immediate question that follows the opening declaration is blunt: “What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” The answer the Preacher develops is found in comparing human life to the relentless, unchanging cycles of the natural world.

    The Earth Endures, Man Passes

    The Preacher observes the contrast between the brief span of human life and the ceaseless constancy of creation. Generations rise and fall, but “the earth remains forever” (Ecclesiastes 1:4). This “forever” is used comparatively, highlighting the vast difference between man’s fleeting existence and the planet’s enduring presence. The sun rises, pants its way to the zenith, and returns to the same starting place. The wind constantly shifts between north and south, only to return again to its circuits. The rivers continually flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full, and the waters flow back to their source through the cycles of evaporation and rain (Ecclesiastes 1:5-7).

    The implication is clear: Nature’s cycle is a closed loop—it is constant, but it is not progressive in terms of finding meaning. Human effort is seen as similar: a never-ending round of work and change that fails to achieve any lasting, novel satisfaction.

    The Tyranny of the Unsatisfied Senses

    Moving from nature’s macro-cycles to man’s inner experience, the Preacher asserts that this toil results in deep weariness. Everything is full of a deep, inexpressible exhaustion (Ecclesiastes 1:8). The senses—the eye and the ear, often the taskmasters for which man labours—are perpetually unsated.

    No matter how much a person sees or hears, no new source of true happiness is ever found. There is “nothing new under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:9). What is thought to be new has simply been forgotten from the ages before, because the memory of “former things” and “later things” is continually lost across generations (Ecclesiastes 1:10-11). The world moves in a circle; therefore, any effort dedicated only to earthly pursuits is ultimately caught in this same cycle of repetition and dissatisfaction, leading to no lasting profit or joy.

    The Vanity of Intellectual Wisdom and Knowledge

    Having established the futility of common toil, the Preacher turns his focus to his own highest achievement: wisdom. This section begins with his re-introduction, reminding the reader of his authority: “I the Preacher have been king over Israel in Jerusalem” (Ecclesiastes 1:12). This signifies that the following conclusions are drawn from his unique, comprehensive, and royal experience.

    Wisdom is a Vexing Task

    Solomon had dedicated his mind to seek out and investigate everything done on earth, an effort he labels “an unhappy business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with” (Ecclesiastes 1:13). This exhaustive search into human works and political science led to the same disheartening conclusion as observing common toil: it is all “vanity and a striving after wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14). It is a “vexation,” or a preying upon the spirit, with no tangible reward.

    His investigation revealed that human affairs are hopelessly flawed, or “crooked,” and cannot be manually corrected by intellectual effort (Ecclesiastes 1:15). In the absence of a divine straightening, man cannot count or calculate the defects and wants of his condition, because his state is not partially but totally defective when viewed without God.

    The Sorrow of Increased Knowledge

    The Preacher boasts of his vast intellectual superiority, surpassing all previous rulers in Jerusalem in “wisdom and knowledge” (Ecclesiastes 1:16). He applied his heart not only to true wisdom but also to the effects of “madness and folly”—the works and consequences of both good and bad human reasoning—and found that this, too, was a “striving after wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:17).

    The ultimate paradox of purely human, speculative wisdom is revealed in the final, sombre verse: “For in much wisdom is much vexation, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow” (Ecclesiastes 1:18). This is not a condemnation of wisdom in general, which is good when held in its proper place, but of the speculative knowledge that investigates human error and attempts to solve the world’s inherent defects without turning to the chief good, which is God. The more one knows about the brokenness of man’s world, the greater one’s pain and grief will be.

    Conclusion: The Start of the Search

    Ecclesiastes 1 serves as the powerful launching point for the Preacher’s search for meaning. By dismantling the pursuits of labour, wealth (implied through labour), and even human wisdom, he establishes the radical emptiness of life when it is solely confined “under the sun.”

    The main takeaways are:

    1. Ultimate Vanity: All earthly pursuits, when made an end in themselves, are fleeting and profitless.
    2. The Closed Cycle: Human life mirrors the constant, non-progressive cycles of nature, offering no lasting novelty or satisfaction.
    3. The Pain of Knowledge: The more one dedicates oneself to purely human wisdom and the study of human affairs, the greater one’s vexation, and sorrow over the world’s incurable brokenness.
    4. The Necessity of the Chief Good: The chapter implicitly argues that because earthly things cannot satisfy, man must look beyond them—ultimately towards the fear of God—for enduring significance.

    The Preacher’s opening statement challenges us to honestly assess our own toils and aspirations. Are we chasing the wind?

    Further Reading

    • Book Title: The ESV Study Bible
    • Author/Source: Crossway
    • Rationale: The comprehensive introduction and theological notes on Ecclesiastes provide a helpful framework for understanding the book’s purpose (to find enjoyment in God’s gifts despite life’s brevity) and its unique structure.

    2 responses to “Ecclesiastes Chapter 1.”

    1. Christopher Francis Avatar

      Good day Jo. The Book Of Ecclesiastes has long been one of my favorite Bible books. You make some excellent points in this post, including: “In the absence of a divine straightening, man cannot count or calculate the defects and wants of his condition, because his state is not partially but totally defective when viewed without God.” In stating that man’s state is…totally defective when viewed without God” reminds me of some of Francis Schaeffer’s points in “The God Who Is There”, which I just finished reading. Keep up the good work and God bless you.

      1. Jo Blogs Avatar

        Thank you so much, Christopher, for your very thoughtful and encouraging comment. As this website is my first time blogging, reading my first comments from you is a landmark.

        I’m with you completely: Ecclesiastes has a rare ability to cut through all the noise and get right to the heart of what life is like when we try to make sense of it “under the sun”—the relentless cycles, the striving, and the vanity. It’s such a grounding book that beautifully sums up the human condition without God.

        Thank you for bringing up Francis Schaeffer’s The God Who Is There. I actually haven’t read that book yet, but I took a quick look and clearly see the connection you’re making. Both the Preacher in Ecclesiastes and Schaeffer look hard at the world—one from the wisest man Solomon, and Schaeffer at the state of modern life—and show that when God is left out, everything just falls apart. The thematic link is there.

        Thanks again for the insightful recommendation. I’ve decided to get a copy and read it soon.

        I am enjoying your posts, and they resonate with me. I will make sure to leave comments in future. This is all still new to me.

        I appreciate your kind words and your contribution to the conversation. God bless you.

        Jo.

  • Can We Know God Exists Part-2-Evidence or Faith? The Surprising Case for God

    Can We Know God Exists Part-2-Evidence or Faith? The Surprising Case for God

    Addressing Secularism: When the Props of Chance Fail.

    In Part One, I established that truth is knowable and that reason, when diligently applied, leads us to the reality of a transcendent God. Yet, the current of Western culture flows strongly in the opposite direction, dominated by the philosophy of naturalism—the assertion that nature is all that exists, that there is no supernatural reality, and that every phenomenon, from the formation of galaxies to the creation of a thought, must be explained by purely physical, non-directed causes.


    Naturalism is the great intellectual and cultural challenger to faith. If it is true, then the questions of origin, meaning, and morality are definitively settled: they are merely accidents of chemistry, evolved for temporary utility. Therefore, to continue our journey to certainty, we must turn a critical, unblinking eye toward the primary claims of naturalism, particularly its proposed explanations for ultimate origins.


    Naturalism makes a grand claim—that it can explain everything. But upon close, rational inspection, the philosophical props it relies on prove to be surprisingly flimsy. I will demonstrate how secular origin theories, even when framed by prominent scientists, often contradict reason, scientific evidence, and observable reality. I am not here to dismiss science, but to critique the philosophical assertion that tries to claim science as its exclusive territory.

    The Problem of Ultimate Cosmic Origin: The Fine-Tuning Paradox.

    The most fundamental question is the origin of the cosmos itself. Secular accounts, often rooted in the Big Bang model, describe the universe expanding from an initial singularity. While the physics and mathematics of the expansion are robust, the naturalistic assertion that this event occurred by pure, undirected chance runs headlong into the Fine-Tuning Paradox.


    Simply put, the universe appears to be mathematically, almost impossibly, tailored for life. The laws of physics are governed by fundamental constants—values like the strength of gravity, the electromagnetic force, and the ratio of the electron mass to the proton mass. These constants are not derived from known laws; they are simply the given conditions of our universe.


    The paradox lies here: if these values were altered by even the smallest fraction—in some cases, one part in a billion billion—the universe would be sterile. A slightly weaker gravitational force, and matter would never clump into stars and planets. A slightly stronger force, and the universe would have immediately collapsed. The precise density fluctuations in the early universe, the exact amount of dark energy, and the required initial low-entropy state all scream of an arrangement.


    As the renowned British Astronomer Royal, Sir Martin Rees, noted when discussing the precise values of six key cosmological numbers: “The basic recipe involves these six numbers… if any one of them were to be [changed] by more than a few per cent, there would be no stars, no carbon, and no life.”


    The naturalistic explanation for this incredible precision is often dismissed as pure luck, or by resorting to speculative, untestable theories like the multiverse—an infinite collection of universes that ensures, by sheer probability, that one of them had to hit the cosmic jackpot. But postulating an unobservable infinity of universes to explain one highly ordered universe is a philosophical leap, not a scientific conclusion, and certainly fails the test of observable reality.

    The Problem of Life’s Origin: The Information Gap.

    If the universe’s origin is problematic for naturalism, the origin of life on Earth—abiogenesis—presents an even more formidable obstacle. How did non-living chemicals assemble themselves into the first self-replicating, metabolizing cell?


    Naturalism requires that, given enough time and energy, random chemical reactions somehow crossed the vast chasm separating inert molecules from living matter. Yet, the immense complexity of even the simplest cell fundamentally challenges this assertion. The cell is not merely a bag of chemicals; it is an irreducibly complex factory, requiring dozens of different molecular machines (proteins) that are simultaneously necessary for replication and energy production.


    The greatest hurdle is information. The function of a cell is dictated by the precise sequence of chemical “letters” in its DNA and RNA—a sophisticated, digital-like code. This code is not merely ordered (like a repeating crystal structure); it is specified (like the text of a novel). Information theory consistently shows that specified complexity, whether in a computer program or a DNA molecule, is the product of intelligence, not random physical forces.


    Dr. James Tour, a world-leading synthetic organic chemist, has repeatedly demonstrated that scientists cannot even rationally propose a method for synthesizing the necessary precursor molecules, let alone assembling them into a self-replicating system. He writes that scientists “have no idea how life arose,” and that the naturalistic explanations offered often rely on cartoon models rather than actual chemistry.


    For naturalism to be true, the universe must have created its own operating system and coded its own software entirely by chance. This defies logic, the principles of information science, and the observable laws of chemistry.

    The Problem of the Conscious Mind.

    Finally, naturalism struggles profoundly to account for the unique phenomenon of the conscious mind—subjective experience, self-awareness, reason, and objective moral intuition.


    If the mind is only the brain—a purely physical, chemical reaction, as naturalism asserts—then our thoughts, feelings, and even our most brilliant scientific insights are merely the predictable movements of atoms, nothing more than the fizzing of soda or the falling of a domino.
    The devastating self-contradiction here is clear: If our thoughts are just the product of unguided chemical reactions designed solely for evolutionary advantage, why should we ever trust them to arrive at the objective truth? Why trust the very reason naturalists use to argue their case?


    When the philosophical props for secularism fail to account for observable reality—the fine-tuning of the cosmos, the specified complexity of life, and the immaterial reality of the mind—the door opens wide for a logical, non-naturalistic explanation: the transcendent God we introduced in Part One.