Ecclesiastes is not a comfortable book to read during a hard quarter. Everything is vapor, the Teacher says, and then goes on to list all the things he built and how little peace they bought him.
I read it anyway, most years, usually in the fall, when the business is either working or it is not and I can no longer pretend the difference is entirely up to me.
The comfort in “meaningless”
There is a strange relief in being told, from Scripture, that the striving itself was never going to be the point. Not because effort does not matter. It does. But because it was never going to be what filled the emptiness that shows up after a win.
I have seen all the things that are done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind.
The Teacher does not end in despair. He ends by telling you to eat your bread, drink your wine, do your work, and enjoy the portion you have been given. That is not resignation. It is permission.
I still build. I still care whether the number moves on Friday. I just no longer expect the number to do what only God was ever going to do.
