All is Vanity

Recently I have read through the book of Ecclesiastes. When I was younger I got the impression that Solomon was fumbling his way through to the conclusion, where 'all counts' where of course I thought he was right there, but not so right in the rest of the book. How could he be right, a Christian, a Jew, saying 'Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow you die. All is vanity!' He sounded like a crazy magician at a feast with an open bar.

However, this round, this verse caught my eye: "Behold, what I have seen to be good and fitting is to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of his life that God has given him, for this is his lot. Everyone also to whom God as given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil-- this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart."

I found this scandelous. A rich man, a God-fearing rich man, enjoy his wealth? He shouldn't, like the pious saints and monks, give it away to the poor and live as a hermit in the desert? A gift of God to enjoy possessions? A gift of God to enjoy life? A command to eat and to drink (alcohol?!) and most shockingly Be Happy? I'm not supposed to go around thinking about the passion of Christ all day and be sad I'm not as good as I ought to be?

This will sound very silly, but for a long time I thought only stupid people were happy. Pure gothic romantic that I was, I didn't think Christians were allowed to be happy, and that if you were, it was only because you were to dim to see the enormous suffering present in the world. How dare you be happy when there are people dying in Africa?

I laught to think of myself in high school. I had a crazy ambitions list: I wanted to see all 7 wonders of the world; I wanted to learn 7 different languages; read the complete works of Sherlock Holmes and Shakespeare; to climb the Appalachian trail, to learn how to install a carburator, to become ambidexterous.

College tempered that. Professor Goldberg used to say college was about finding your limitations, and then build yourself up within those limitations to achieve what you needed to. I found my limits and I've rather neglected the ambitions list, but I found, despite it all, that I don't remember much. I don't remember much of high school, or even of college: of friendships, or past relationships, or heart-aches, or despairs. I find that Solomon is right, that I have not remembered the days of my life, because 'God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.'

And, as hedonistic as it may sound, in the past year, well-apart from this verse, I have striven to be joyful in the present day. I'm a much calmer person. I'm no longer freaking out, as I probably should, about the fall ["omg i don't have any solidified plans"]; I'm worried about my dissertation, with my present task as I should be.

I found the book of Ecclesiastes so intruiging, I asked a lady in my church to read through it with me, as I am sure there are many more gems hidden within this work to further instruct me in wisdom. Perhaps I am horribly naive, but I've always approached books with, what can I possibly learn from this? What does this have to teach me? Even if I'm being stupidy fooled, its a delicious way of doing so.