Tuesday, October 22, 2024

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READ: Ecclesiastes 6

For who knows what is good for anyone in life, in the few days of his futile life that he spends like a shadow? Who can tell anyone what will happen after him under the sun? Ecclesiastes 6:12 CSB

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Last week I took the week off from writing because it was Canadian Thanksgiving. In Canada, Canadian Thanksgiving is known just as “Thanksgiving” but that is confusing to my American friends (some who read this devotional), so I will oblige with the national designation. 

It was good to be with family. Truth be told, we celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving two weekends ago with my extended family, this past weekend with our kids and Tara’s mom and sister, and this coming weekend we will celebrate one more time for good measure with my parents and my Manitoban kinfolk. 

Thanksgiving, Canadian or otherwise is a time for family. And whenever there is time for family one cannot but reflect on the family that is missing. On Sunday, one week after the official Canadian Thanksgiving, I saw some friends I hadn’t seen for a long time. Friends that I love like family. We were at a funeral. 

At Thanksgiving, we say, “It’s good to see you!” And we mean it. At funerals, we say, “It’s good to see you.” But that’s always a bit awkward, isn’t it? We wouldn’t have seen each other if not for the death of some mutual relationship.

Thanksgiving and funerals give us a reason to think about mortality; but from time to time, death stalks closer to home. We found out yesterday that Tara’s uncle had passed away. While I didn’t know him well, and while his life was one marked by profound brokenness, I still feel his passing. 

What is this whole mess of pain for? I often relate to Psalm 90 which talks about our lives – even the good long ones – being filled with sorrow and pain. Truthfully, it is this exact thing – the pain of life – that draws me to the hope of a Saviour. Isn’t it strange that the very same thing drives others away from God? 

As I was sitting at the funeral on Sunday and as I reflected on our uncle’s passing yesterday, I felt the injustice of death; the reality of it. And then I remembered that every soul lost to conflict in the Middle East or Ukraine and every cry drowned out by hunger in Sudan, or in the darkness of storms, is just as real to others and just as unjust. Where kids played just days ago, buildings have since fallen. Where families laughed over meals and sang songs, bombs echoed into silence. 

This is the warp and woof of life that the writer of Ecclesiastes draws our attention to – it is futility woven into purpose – or maybe the opposite. It is the yin and the yang, a push and a pull, night and day, birth and death. Each hanging on the other in tension and tandem, until an image of Jesus emerges. 

The problem is that it can feel relentless; it just keeps on coming at you, so I keep going to Him. It’s His tapestry after all.