Rev. David Horton, Lead Pastor at Gethsemane

Ecclesiastes 1:1-11
1 The words of the Teacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
2 Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
   vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
3 What do people gain from all the toil
   at which they toil under the sun?
4 A generation goes, and a generation comes,
   but the earth remains for ever.
5 The sun rises and the sun goes down,
   and hurries to the place where it rises.
6 The wind blows to the south,
   and goes round to the north;
round and round goes the wind,
   and on its circuits the wind returns.
7 All streams run to the sea,
   but the sea is not full;
to the place where the streams flow,
   there they continue to flow.
8 All things are wearisome;
   more than one can express;
the eye is not satisfied with seeing,
   or the ear filled with hearing.
9 What has been is what will be,
   and what has been done is what will be done;
   there is nothing new under the sun.
10 Is there a thing of which it is said,
   ‘See, this is new’?
It has already been,
   in the ages before us.
11 The people of long ago are not remembered,
   nor will there be any remembrance
of people yet to come
   by those who come after them.

Reflection:
The first mountains I laid eyes on were the Appalachian Mountains. My family took a road trip from our home in North Carolina to Nashville, Tennessee. The interstate took us up the mountains on one side and down the mountains on the other. I thought the Appalachians were huge, and indeed they are huge. But they’re not the Rockies. The Rockies stand head and shoulder above the Appalachians. I remember the first time I laid eyes on the Rocky Mountains. I saw the snow-capped peaks. I thought, “Now this is a mountain.”

I learned something a while back. The reason the Appalachians are so much shorter than the Rockies is because they’re so much older than the Rockies. The Appalachians were once much taller than they are now but they’re so old, they’ve crunched under their own weight. The Appalachians are to the Rockies what a retired 60-something is to a teenager. The Appalachians had reached adulthood before the Rockies were even born. The Rockies are old, but the Appalachians are older than dirt (literally).

Just imagine something that old. Just imagine all the time and seasons and weather those mountains have seen. Just imagine how the world keeps spinning and the mountain is unchanged, unconcerned, and unimpressed. Just imagine the generations of animals and plants and people who have come and gone and the mountain doesn’t know or even care. Just imagine telling the mountain your worries. See if the mountain cares. It makes me feel small. It scares me a little.

And now you can appreciate how the author of Ecclesiastes feels. He takes an inventory of his life from the perspective of the sun and wind and streams, things that go on and on forever. What is he compared to all that? What is his work, indeed what is his life in comparison to the world around him, a huge unfeeling world that doesn’t consider him worth losing sleep over? What could he possibly offer a world that hasn’t seen anything new since God hung the stars?

“The people of long ago are not remembered.” It’s a chilling thought but true. I preside at memorial services, and eventually, there’s the moment when the casket or urn is lowered into the ground. I look around at the other tombstones, grave markers, and other works of stone that attempt to make our existence eternal. I see them fade and crumble, the names unreadable. I wonder who remembers those people. I wonder if anyone living remembers them. I wonder if I will be remembered. I wonder if I will become one of those people of long ago not remembered.

Ecclesiastes does two things: it forces you to confront the hard fact that you are finite, fragile, and fallible. We will all expire, we will all crack under the pressures of life, and we will all make mistakes. Count on it. But Ecclesiastes does one more thing: it points you in the direction of a God who wants to see legacy, not success; resilience, not comfort; and growth, not perfection. Success, comfort, and perfection are fleeting and forgettable. Legacy, resilience, and growth are the stuff of mountains. They’re here to stay.

Prayer:

Loving God, as I study the Book of Ecclesiastes, help me to appreciate my place in creation. I am here to be your servant, to be useful to you, to be your vehicle of love for all people. I put myself at your service. Help me to trust you in all things. In the name of Christ. Amen.