Tag: old testament

  • Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3.

    Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3.

    Why there’s an audio version
    Some readers prefer to read at their own pace. Others (especially when eyesight, energy or health make reading harder) may find listening easier. So, I’ve added an audio option—feel free to relax, sit back and listen, or carry on reading—whichever suits you best.

    A Time for Everything: Learning to Live in God’s Seasons.

    Ecclesiastes 3 is one of those passages that seems to belong to everyone. Even people who have never opened a Bible recognise the cadence: “a time to be born, and a time to die… a time to weep, and a time to laugh… a time for war, and a time for peace.” It’s been quoted in songs, at funerals, at weddings and in films.

    But the writer of Ecclesiastes – often called “the Preacher” – is doing far more than offering a comforting poem about life. In chapters 1 and 2 he has already dismantled our illusions about what will finally satisfy us. Life “under the sun” (life as we see it, limited to this world) runs in weary circles. Pleasure, success, projects, even human wisdom cannot bear the weight of ultimate meaning. And at the end of it all, death levels us all.

    So, when we reach chapter 3, a deeper question surfaces: if life is this brief and fragile, if I cannot control outcomes, if even wisdom and hard work cannot outrun death – how am I meant to live? Ecclesiastes 3 answers with something both humbling and strangely comforting: God rules the times and seasons. Our calling is not to master time, but to trust the One who does.

    A Time for Everything: Life’s Contrasts on the Page.

    The chapter opens: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). What follows is a beautifully balanced poem: fourteen pairs of opposites that sweep across the whole range of human experience – birth and death, planting and uprooting, weeping, and laughing, mourning, and dancing, silence and speech, love and hate, war, and peace.

    This is not a sentimental calendar quote. It is a painfully honest description of real life. We have days of joy and days of heartbreak. There are moments when we must tear things down and other moments when we slowly build again. There are times when speaking up is courageous and right, and times when silence is the wisest, kindest choice we can make.

    The Preacher is not saying that everything on his list is morally equal. “A time to kill” is not a free pass for murder; it reflects that in a fallen world there are God-ordained moments of judgement and just defence, as opposed to unlawful violence. “A time to hate” is not a nod to pettiness or prejudice, but to a right hatred of evil that destroys what God loves.

    Nor is this poem inviting us to do whatever we like whenever we feel like it. The real point is much more unsettling: real life includes all these experiences, and we are not in charge of when they arrive. We did not choose our birth. Few of us choose the moment of our death. We cannot schedule sorrow or predict when unexpected joy will break in.

    In chapter 1, the Preacher watched the cycles of nature – sun, wind, rivers – circling under God’s hand. Here, in chapter 3, he shows human life moving to the same unseen rhythm. There is a pattern to our days that we did not write.

    What Gain Has the Worker? The Question That Lingers.

    After the poem, the old question returns: “What gain has the worker from his toil?” (Ecclesiastes 3:9). We have already heard this question in chapters 1 and 2, as he wrestles with whether anything truly “profits” in the end. Now the question is asked again, but inside a world where God appoints times and seasons.

    You can work hard and create something beautiful, only to see it broken down in a later season. You can pour yourself into relationships, and then a time of distance, disappointment or loss arrives. You can enjoy a season of laughter and lightness, and then without consulting you, life moves into a time of weeping.

    The Preacher says, “I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with” (Ecclesiastes 3:10). He is not saying that work is pointless. He is saying that work is not ultimate. We do not stand outside time, managing it. We live inside it, subject to it. That realisation will either drag us into despair or drive us into trust.

    Eternity in Our Hearts: Beauty in Its Time.

    Then we reach the beating heart of the chapter: “He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

    Here are two massive truths held together.

    First, God “has made everything beautiful in its time.” Not everything is beautiful in itself. Illness, injustice, grief, and war are truly evil. Yet God is so wise and so sovereign that he can weave even painful seasons into a larger pattern of beauty in his time. You and I see a handful of tangled threads. God sees the whole tapestry. The timing belongs to him, not to us.

    Second, God “has put eternity into man’s heart.” Deep down, we know we were made for more than “birth → work → death.” We long for permanence. We ache for justice that is not postponed or buried. We feel, sometimes almost physically, that death is wrong and life is too short. That ache is not a glitch in the system or a psychological trick. Ecclesiastes says it is something God himself has planted in us.

    And yet, the verse continues, we “cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” We are big enough to sense that there is a story larger than our own, but we are small enough that we cannot fully grasp that story while we are inside it. We want the full blueprint; God gives us enough light for the next step.

    So how do we live inside that tension? The Preacher says: “I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also, that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God’s gift to man” (Ecclesiastes 3:12–13).

    This is not shallow escapism. It is an invitation to receive the ordinary gifts of life – food, drink, work, friendship, rest – as gifts from God’s hand, not as little gods in themselves. Enjoy your meals as gifts, not as your comfort saviour. Enjoy your work as service, not as your identity. Enjoy your relationships as blessings, not as foundations that must never crack. Real joy in God’s gifts is part of trusting him, not a distraction from it.

    The God Whose Work Endures Forever.

    The next verses shift our eyes from our fragile activity to God’s enduring work: “I perceived that whatever God does endures for ever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that people fear before him” (Ecclesiastes 3:14).

    Our plans are temporary and easily interrupted. God’s purposes stand. We cannot “improve” his wisdom or undermine his final design. That is not meant to crush us, but to humble us into reverent trust. If we could see and control everything, we would forget him entirely. Because we cannot, we are invited to bow before him.

    Verse 15 echoes the sense of repetition from earlier in the book: “That which is, already has been that which is to be, already has been and God seeks what has been driven away.” The cycles of history are not random. The “I’ve seen this before” moments of life unfold under a God whose purposes are consistent, even when his timing puzzles us.

    When Justice Fails and Death Looms.

    Just when we might be tempted to turn this into a neat “everything is beautiful, so everything is fine” message, Ecclesiastes drags us back to hard reality. “In the place of justice, even there was wickedness, and in the place of righteousness, even there was wickedness” (Ecclesiastes 3:16). Courts can be corrupt. Safe places can be dangerous. People who should do right often do wrong.

    What then? The Preacher answers in two ways. First, there will be a time of judgement: “God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for there is a time for every matter and for every work” (Ecclesiastes 3:17). Justice delayed is not justice abandoned. The God who orders times for birth and death also has his own time for putting things right. If judgement fell instantly every time we sinned, there would be no room for repentance, faith, or growth.

    Second, God uses the delay to expose what we really are. He is “testing” the children of man so that they may see they are “but beasts” (Ecclesiastes 3:18). Physically, we share the mortality of animals; we breathe, weaken, and return to dust. And if we live as if this world is all there is, with no God, no eternity, no final justice, then in the end we have no lasting advantage over the beasts.

    He even asks, “Who knows whether the spirit of man goes upward and the spirit of the beast goes down into the earth?” (Ecclesiastes 3:21). He is not denying the difference; by the end of the book, he will clearly say that “the spirit returns to God who gave it.” But inside the cycle of life and death, from our limited vantage point, we see so little. Ecclesiastes wants us to feel that smallness, not to mock us, but to loosen our grip on self-sufficiency.

    Rejoicing in Your Lot Today.

    The chapter closes very practically: “So I saw that there is nothing better than that a man should rejoice in his work, for that is his lot” (Ecclesiastes 3:22). Work is not your god, and it is not your curse. It is your portion – part of the daily calling God has entrusted to you.

    You and I do not know how long our work will last. We cannot see “what will be after” us. We have no idea how God might use what we do beyond our own lifetime. But we do know this: today has been given to us. The tasks in front of us are not accidents. The ability to enjoy them, even in small ways, is a gift. The right response is not anxious control, but thankful faithfulness.

    Learning to Trust the Lord of Time.

    Ecclesiastes 3 does not offer a shortcut around pain. Instead, it gives us a way to live honestly and hopefully in a world we do not control. You do not manage the seasons of your life; God does. Your deep longing for “something more” than this short, fragile existence is not madness; it is eternity written on your heart.

    For Christians, this chapter also points us towards Jesus Christ, the One who stepped into our times and seasons. The New Testament says, “when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law” (Galatians 4:4). In Jesus, God entered our “under the sun” world to bear our sin, taste our death, and open up eternal life beyond the cycle.

    If you are a believer, Ecclesiastes 3 invites you to loosen your grip on control and receive today as a gift from a Father whose wisdom outlasts you. If you are exploring or sceptical, it gently asks why your heart insists that life should be more just, more permanent, more meaningful than it often feels. That ache may be God’s way of drawing you towards the One who makes “everything beautiful in its time” and who promises a world where time itself is healed.

    You do not need the full map. You have today’s portion: today’s work, today’s relationships, today’s opportunities to do good and to rejoice. Walk faithfully in that and dare to ask whether the God who holds your times in his hands might also be holding out his hand to you.

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  • 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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  • 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
      Christopher Francis

      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
        Jo Blogs

        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.