Ecclesiastes 11

The general tenor of this chapter seems to be that in its essence life is a mystery, unpredictable, uncontrollable, and in the end something we participate in via appreciation rather than via our commanding presence. (The thought that attempting to “manhandle” life is a futile endeavor came to mind as I read, which is interesting primarily because the term “mansplaining” has come to common usage the last few years, which reminded me that we’ve made gender designations for particular behaviors for decades. At this point in time, the generalized male approach to things is seen as a negative (and rightly so), but it would be interesting to be an observant ghost a hundred years from now to see how the balance between gender perspectives plays out.)

Another common phrase in current times is “It is what it is,” and while I mostly categorize this as
“athlete interview talk,” it’s become much more ubiquitous than that. This phrase annoys me every
time I hear it because it essentially bypasses any effort to analyze or evaluate a situation. So it’s
intriguing to me that Ecclesiastes offers this interpretation of life: “and if the tree fall toward the south,
or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, there shall it be” (11:3) In other words, it is
what it is. What is implicit in this statement is that we must deal with things as they are, regardless
of whether our own actions contributed to our present reality. Obviously, this also emphasizes our lack
of control over our own lives. Even so, we are instructed to take joy in our lives because “the works
of God maketh them all” (11:5) and “Truly the light is sweet” (11:7) and “Rejoice, O young man, in thy
youth” (11:9).

Though we can’t know what life will bring, it is interesting that we are given particular commands on
how to receive it. While we are told in 11:8 to rejoice in all the days of life, we are also told to “remember
the days of darkness, for they shall be many.” In this context, it seems that “because” could be a
synonymous replacement for “for,” which would mean “remember the days of darkness, because they
shall be many.” If this isn’t simply a case of over-analysis brought on by an ambiguous translation, it’s
an interesting idea. It seems we are being told that we should not dismiss or forget significant portions
of our lives, i.e. the portions that are painful or sorrowful. The “days of darkness” matter because they
are not simply some blip on the radar indicating that we tripped on a crack in the sidewalk one day;
rather, “days of darkness” are a significant portion of our existence and are essential to understanding
the meaning and purpose of our lives.

The second command regarding how we should receive our lives is in the closing two verses, verses 9
and 10. We are told to rejoice in our youth, to follow our hearts, but we are also cautioned that our
actions will be judged: “but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment” (11:9).
This creates an interesting ambivalence: what if my heart leads me in a direction that will be disapproved
of by God? I suppose the most logical response is to reference another scripture verse, “Guard your
heart” (Proverbs 4:23: “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it,” NIV) and
acknowledge that while there is an element of “carpe diem” in this sentiment (“walk in the ways of thine
heart”), there is also a sentiment that says, Be careful what you grab hold of and do it only after thoughtful
consideration.

Finally, verse 10 says, “Therefore, remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh, for
childhood and youth are vanity.” It seems contradictory to say “remember the days of darkness” in
verse 8 and “remove sorrow from thy heart” in verse 10, but honestly, I’m inclined to believe that the
contradiction is entirely intentional. Given the perspective of Ecclesiastes as a whole, this makes sense.
While the writer emphasizes vanity (“the quality of being worthless or futile,” Google dictionary), he has
also emphasized appreciation and enjoyment. Yet how can we appreciate or enjoy something that is
worthless or futile? This is the ultimate conundrum, and it is within this ambivalence that our power of
choice as created beings has power. Just as Rick Bragg* ends his narrative about a visit to his abusive
father with the acknowledgement that he is trapped between a “long-standing, comfortable hatred” and
“forgiveness,” we can choose--with our hearts--the position from which we operate. Will it be hatred or
forgiveness? Will it be regret or hope? Will it be disappointment or appreciation? Will it be cynicism or
joy? The writer of Ecclesiastes has identified each of these conflicting possibilities, and he has
consistently exhorted us to choose forgiveness, hope, appreciation, and joy.

*from Rick Bragg’s memoir, All Over But the Shoutin’”