Under the Sun
Ecclesiastes is my favorite Old Testament book. I love that it's a puzzle. It gives the shapes of certain things, and leaves you to understand what has been omitted. And in the omissions I can see amazing things. I do not believe everyone sees the same things. But I saw something the other day that you might find interesting.
Ecclesiastes is strange sort of text with a fairly comprehensive indictment of mortality. If mortality is everything, then everything is nothing. A fascinating philosophical premise!
I quote from the KJV: "What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?" (1:3). "Under the sun" is, according to a footnote, a phrase that comprehends mortality and nothing more. I pondered this question yesterday. Why do we work?
"All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing [Netflix, anyone?], nor the ear filled with hearing. The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun." (1:8-9). Basically, nothing that happens on earth is permanent or original. None of it. Nothing we do will remain unchanged behind us when we leave, and nothing we create is truly unique. The generations come and go like tides. (1:4,7)
So why do we do anything? What is the purpose of anything we do on this earth? We come, we work, we go. We are rolled under the great human turnover.
We work because WE are permanent, and because WE are original. Work on this earth isn't about what we create, although some of that stuff is pretty swell! We work on this earth because it creates us.
Perhaps that means we should be more choosy about how we spend our time and energy, but I don't like to think of this puzzle piece in terms of judgment (except maybe as a metaphorical excoriation of law schools in general), but in terms of building an eternal resume. Eternal resumes aren't at all like resumes "under the sun": you don't have to quantify anything. You don't have to prove anything to anybody. You don't need to lie. It's not about the glamor of your everyday, or how far you can telescope your philanthropy.
But think of what your daily, hourly, annual occupation has added to your character. Have you learned patience with people who are struggling? Have you learned to keep things in perspective? Have you learned how much of yourself you can give without becoming emptied? Have you learned what you can from certain kinds of pain? -- In religious settings, we often think of "bearing our crosses" or seeing the purposes or miracles in the suffering that is inflicted on us by chance, God, or the decisions of others, but do we understand that Jesus's grace can sanctify everything else, too? -- Have you learned not to laugh when it will hurt someone, but to laugh with joy in your whole soul when something is a delight? Have you learned to see value in someone that was at first a challenge? Have you learned that you are stronger with (some) others than you are alone? Have you learned the power of your own voice and words? Have you learned to take great care in performing an important task? Have you learned how to practice something until you master a skill? Have you learned how to confront your own shortcomings with determination?
I am no expert on life, resumes, or work in general. If you judge me under the sun, you will find me wanting in all things (except girth). There are things you know that I do not, because of the opportunities you have been offered and have chosen to take. But I am grateful to know that I am both permanent, and original. The labor I have done and continue to do every day might not make me rich, but it makes me more and more like what I want to be.
Ecclesiastes is strange sort of text with a fairly comprehensive indictment of mortality. If mortality is everything, then everything is nothing. A fascinating philosophical premise!
I quote from the KJV: "What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?" (1:3). "Under the sun" is, according to a footnote, a phrase that comprehends mortality and nothing more. I pondered this question yesterday. Why do we work?
"All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing [Netflix, anyone?], nor the ear filled with hearing. The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun." (1:8-9). Basically, nothing that happens on earth is permanent or original. None of it. Nothing we do will remain unchanged behind us when we leave, and nothing we create is truly unique. The generations come and go like tides. (1:4,7)
So why do we do anything? What is the purpose of anything we do on this earth? We come, we work, we go. We are rolled under the great human turnover.
We work because WE are permanent, and because WE are original. Work on this earth isn't about what we create, although some of that stuff is pretty swell! We work on this earth because it creates us.
Perhaps that means we should be more choosy about how we spend our time and energy, but I don't like to think of this puzzle piece in terms of judgment (except maybe as a metaphorical excoriation of law schools in general), but in terms of building an eternal resume. Eternal resumes aren't at all like resumes "under the sun": you don't have to quantify anything. You don't have to prove anything to anybody. You don't need to lie. It's not about the glamor of your everyday, or how far you can telescope your philanthropy.
But think of what your daily, hourly, annual occupation has added to your character. Have you learned patience with people who are struggling? Have you learned to keep things in perspective? Have you learned how much of yourself you can give without becoming emptied? Have you learned what you can from certain kinds of pain? -- In religious settings, we often think of "bearing our crosses" or seeing the purposes or miracles in the suffering that is inflicted on us by chance, God, or the decisions of others, but do we understand that Jesus's grace can sanctify everything else, too? -- Have you learned not to laugh when it will hurt someone, but to laugh with joy in your whole soul when something is a delight? Have you learned to see value in someone that was at first a challenge? Have you learned that you are stronger with (some) others than you are alone? Have you learned the power of your own voice and words? Have you learned to take great care in performing an important task? Have you learned how to practice something until you master a skill? Have you learned how to confront your own shortcomings with determination?
I am no expert on life, resumes, or work in general. If you judge me under the sun, you will find me wanting in all things (except girth). There are things you know that I do not, because of the opportunities you have been offered and have chosen to take. But I am grateful to know that I am both permanent, and original. The labor I have done and continue to do every day might not make me rich, but it makes me more and more like what I want to be.
Comments
Post a Comment