Ecclesiastes 12
This chapter makes a perfect conclusion for the book of Ecclesiastes. Essentially, the writer reviews the
points he has made, namely that life is fleeting and futile, and that we must keep our hearts and our heads
up, seeing joy and reward as present within the speeding time capsule of our lives rather than as things to
be sought outside our daily experience. Finally, in one of the final verses (12:13) he concludes by
encapsulating this collection of wisdom into two simple commands: “Fear God, and keep his commandments,
for this is the whole duty of man.”
points he has made, namely that life is fleeting and futile, and that we must keep our hearts and our heads
up, seeing joy and reward as present within the speeding time capsule of our lives rather than as things to
be sought outside our daily experience. Finally, in one of the final verses (12:13) he concludes by
encapsulating this collection of wisdom into two simple commands: “Fear God, and keep his commandments,
for this is the whole duty of man.”
As a refresher, here is this verse annotated:
“Fear God” = pay attention to what God is doing in the world and be prepared to participate in this work
(Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places)
(Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places)
“and keep his commandments” = love God and love others (Jesus)
Though the specific details of how each of us should do these things are not prescribed, this is quite obviously
for good reason: the work of God is vast in scope and purpose, and while the commands above provide a
universal measure, unique individuals will be led down a myriad of different paths in the course of heeding these
commands to pay attention, to participate, and to love. Ecclesiastes puts an emphasis on individual
responsibility for meeting this standard with the final verse (12:14): “For God shall bring every work into judgment,
with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.”
for good reason: the work of God is vast in scope and purpose, and while the commands above provide a
universal measure, unique individuals will be led down a myriad of different paths in the course of heeding these
commands to pay attention, to participate, and to love. Ecclesiastes puts an emphasis on individual
responsibility for meeting this standard with the final verse (12:14): “For God shall bring every work into judgment,
with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.”
I’ll close by commenting on a few of my favorite phrases/verses in this chapter.
As the writer ends his book, he makes multiple references to the creeping end of life, beginning with verse one.
12:1 “Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh,
when thou shalt say, ‘I have no pleasure in them.’”
when thou shalt say, ‘I have no pleasure in them.’”
These words spark a few different thoughts. The most noticeable spark begs me to ponder the phrase “the evil
days.” What is meant by “evil” in this context? After consulting additional interpretations, it seems the most logical
answer is the correct one. The NRSV translates this as “the days of trouble,” and Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase,
The Message, offers a beautifully poetic rendition: “Honor and enjoy your Creator while you are still young, before
the years take their toll and your vigor wanes.” This interpretation confirms my second thought: age brings cynicism
and disillusionment, as well as an unintended loss of energy (perhaps coinciding with or caused by a loss of optimism?
And yet another factor/cause could be the growing realization of mortality). Finally--and this is an associative
interpretation--the opening sentiment of this verse seems to fit that cliched admonishment to not only turn toward God
when things are bad but to seek God with equal ernest when things are good.
days.” What is meant by “evil” in this context? After consulting additional interpretations, it seems the most logical
answer is the correct one. The NRSV translates this as “the days of trouble,” and Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase,
The Message, offers a beautifully poetic rendition: “Honor and enjoy your Creator while you are still young, before
the years take their toll and your vigor wanes.” This interpretation confirms my second thought: age brings cynicism
and disillusionment, as well as an unintended loss of energy (perhaps coinciding with or caused by a loss of optimism?
And yet another factor/cause could be the growing realization of mortality). Finally--and this is an associative
interpretation--the opening sentiment of this verse seems to fit that cliched admonishment to not only turn toward God
when things are bad but to seek God with equal ernest when things are good.
In verses 3 - 6 the writer traces the decay of vitality through a series of images that function both literally and
metaphorically, and in verse 5 he delivers one of my favorite phrases: “and desire shall fail, because man goeth to his
long home.” It is the phrase “man goeth to his long home” that I particularly love. The meaning is straightforward, but the
idea that death is a destination likened to a return home is a beautiful one. In case my logic isn’t obvious enough, a “long
home” is surely the place that holds our truest and greatest identity, the place that we know as a child and return
to--whether via our bodies, our memories, our minds, or our spirits--to find comfort, safety, and love. All that we have
been, all that we are, and all that we will be must be the essence of our “long home.” And if this idea weren’t beautiful
enough, there is another that seems worth pondering: “and desire shall fail because man goeth to his long home.” It is
interesting that this phrasing suggests that the loss of desire isn’t something to lament. Remember all the things the
“long home” represents? We are returning to our own mother, our own father, our own siblings, our own God. Gone is
the “ambition [that] bites the nails of success” (U2, “The Fly”). Gone is the fear and the anxiety that constantly battles
our self-acceptance and our efforts to love. Gone is the uncertainty of who we are and what we are to do. Over is the
searching, the wondering, and the wandering; in the place of all these things (in which hopefully we have taken pleasure
and recognized joy) is a place where we are welcomed and find rest. The failure of desire is the final relinquishment,
the peace we have been destined to find only at the end of our short-lived lives. For the many who can’t identify with these qualities in the home of their childhood, I can only say that I am sorry, that this is not fair, and that this is not the reality of your “long home.” For you, the “evil days” came early, but your “long home” is the more real place, the place where your mere existence is celebrated and the place where you can lie down and rest without fear, the place where you are loved because you are a unique and beautiful creation.
metaphorically, and in verse 5 he delivers one of my favorite phrases: “and desire shall fail, because man goeth to his
long home.” It is the phrase “man goeth to his long home” that I particularly love. The meaning is straightforward, but the
idea that death is a destination likened to a return home is a beautiful one. In case my logic isn’t obvious enough, a “long
home” is surely the place that holds our truest and greatest identity, the place that we know as a child and return
to--whether via our bodies, our memories, our minds, or our spirits--to find comfort, safety, and love. All that we have
been, all that we are, and all that we will be must be the essence of our “long home.” And if this idea weren’t beautiful
enough, there is another that seems worth pondering: “and desire shall fail because man goeth to his long home.” It is
interesting that this phrasing suggests that the loss of desire isn’t something to lament. Remember all the things the
“long home” represents? We are returning to our own mother, our own father, our own siblings, our own God. Gone is
the “ambition [that] bites the nails of success” (U2, “The Fly”). Gone is the fear and the anxiety that constantly battles
our self-acceptance and our efforts to love. Gone is the uncertainty of who we are and what we are to do. Over is the
searching, the wondering, and the wandering; in the place of all these things (in which hopefully we have taken pleasure
and recognized joy) is a place where we are welcomed and find rest. The failure of desire is the final relinquishment,
the peace we have been destined to find only at the end of our short-lived lives. For the many who can’t identify with these qualities in the home of their childhood, I can only say that I am sorry, that this is not fair, and that this is not the reality of your “long home.” For you, the “evil days” came early, but your “long home” is the more real place, the place where your mere existence is celebrated and the place where you can lie down and rest without fear, the place where you are loved because you are a unique and beautiful creation.
The last favorite phrase I want to share is simply a different angle on the same reality: death.
12:7 “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return to God who gave it.”
I particularly appreciate the reminder that in a physical sense, we are made of earth (“For you were made of dust, and to dust you shall return” - Genesis 3:19). But from a literary perspective, I enjoy the fact that the writer of Ecclesiastes hasn’t explicitly stated, “You are dust.” Rather, he’s written “Then shall the dust return to the earth,” aka “You know your body is temporal; you know your brief existence is some kind of excruciating miracle; you know you are more than your body; you know you belong to God (your Creator) whether you have a physical body or not.” Wow. The responsibility that comes with the possession of a body and the consciousness that apparently accompanies this state has long been an anxiety of mine. As a young child I fantasized about being an inanimate object rather than a being possessing a consciousness, and thanks to a “good” education, I now realize that I was experiencing an existential crisis from the time of my earliest memories. A child’s emotions expressed in an adult’s words might say, “Oh, that this dust had remained only dust!” But--and this makes my eyes water--the Creator (whomever it may be) chose these particular particles of dust to animate into a living, breathing, eternal (according to Ecclesiastes) being. With this as background, it’s easy to imagine how much I am loved. It’s easy to believe that my “long home” is not something to fear but rather something to look forward to, a place I will find regardless of which direction I walk, and the more I pay attention to and participate in God’s work, the more I love others, the shorter and more joyful this journey will be.
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