As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything.— Ecclesiastes 11:5
Ecclesiastes can be a hard book to read, much less understand. Written in the voice of Solomon, “son of David, king in Jerusalem,” who had wealth and power in almost limitless measure, Ecclesiastes begins with the cry, “everything is meaningless!” (Eccles. 1:2, NIV). This meaninglessness, or vanity as the Hebrew word is more often translated, is a resounding theme throughout the book. Are you rich or poor? Are you good or evil? Do you work hard? Are you foolish, wise, happy, or unhappy? It makes no difference—everyone dies eventually.
But maybe this is relatable. Maybe you sit here and read the words, “All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it” (Eccles. 1:8), and your heart weeps within you from the touch of the familiar. Maybe you, too, have thought, “I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind” (Eccles. 1:14). Maybe Ecclesiastes is exactly what you need.
It seems a contradiction to put faith in an all-knowing God and yet to learn to be content with mystery. Even more puzzling is that this all-knowing God allows us to come before him with our questions. In Ecclesiastes, Job, the Psalms, Lamentations, and throughout Old and New Testament narratives, God’s people cry out from their places of lowness, sorrow, and weariness, and God hears them. More than that, in God’s word to us, he gives us a model for bringing our hard questions before him. The Preacher in Ecclesiastes grapples with these questions of existence and meaning, and so may we also.
As humankind has progressed into the 21st century, pondering the great mysteries of life is often blocked out by distracting technology and pushed off by helpful advances in medicine, housing, transit, and education. And yet, the mysteries still exist. Scientists can explain in which part of the brain decisions are made, but they can’t account for morality. Studies have been conducted on flight or fight responses, but who can explain the faith that guides someone to the flames of martyrdom? A sonogram can show you how far along your baby is, how many fingers and toes she has, but it cannot say when she received a soul or from where it came. “The union of the soul with the body,” writes Charles Bridges, “of the immaterial spirit with the gross corporeal substance—in all this, the soul is a mystery to itself. We know not the way.”
This—the soul, the receiving of life in the womb—is the great mystery the Preacher uses when drawing out the unsearchable wonders of God. It’s a humbling thought. If we can’t untangle the mystery of the soul, it means we can’t even know ourselves as well as God “knows our frame” (Ps. 103:14). “The attempt to comprehend one’s self conquers our understanding. Anatomical experiments may bring out some facts. Questions may be asked. But they can only be answered by the confession of our ignorance.”
With the greatest humility, in an attitude of wonder and praise, we should contemplate the spirit-in-our-bones and these God-given souls. Your existence is a wonder. Even more wonderful is that the true Son of David and King of Jerusalem, Jesus Christ, became man that he might save us, body and soul, for eternal life—praise be to God, Lord of all that lives (Num. 27:16).
______________________________________________________
This is an excerpt from Core Christianity’s 30-day devotional on the sanctity of life: Fearfully Made.
Footnotes
Charles Bridges, Ecclesiastes, Geneva Series of Commentaries, (Edinburgh: The Banner Of Truth, 1961), 273.
Ibid.
Arie Van Weelden
