Remembering how far the writer of our book excels all who have ever
come after him, in ability, wisdom, or riches, his groans of
disappointment shall have their true weight with us, and act as
lighthouse beacons, warning us from danger, or from spending the one
short fleeting life we have in treading the same profitless pathway of
groaning.
So chapter six opens, still on the same subject of wealth and its power
to bless. A sore evil, and one that weighs heavily on man, has Solomon
seen: riches, wealth, and honor, clustering thick on the head of one
person, and yet God has withheld from him the power of enjoying it all.
As our own poet, Browning, writes that apt illustration of King Saul:
"A people is thine,
And all gifts, which the world offers singly, on one head combine!
High ambition, and deeds which surpass it, fame crowning them all,
Brought to blaze on the head of one creature--King Saul."
So sorrowful is this in our preacher's eyes, and so thoroughly does it
bespeak a state of affairs under the sun in confusion, that Solomon
ventures the strongest possible assertion. Better, he says, an
untimely birth, that never saw light, than a thousand years twice told,
thus spent in vanity, without real good having been found. How bitter
life must show itself to lead to such an estimate! Better never to
have been born than pass through life without finding something that
can satisfy. But this is not looking at life simply in itself, for
life in itself is good, as the same poet sings:
"Oh, our manhood's prime vigor! No spirit feels waste,
Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced.
Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock,
The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock
Of the plunge in a pool's living water!
How good is man's life--the mere living! how fit to employ
All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!"
It is because man has, of all the creation of God, an awful shadow
hanging over him--"death and darkness and the tomb," with the solemn,
silent, unknown "beyond" lying before him, robbing him of rest. Angels
have present pure delight, with no such shadow possible--they die not.
The beast may enjoy his pasture, for no thought of a coming death
disturbs him. Life may be full of a kind of enjoyment to such; but
man, poor man, when awake to the possibilities of his own being, as it
surely becomes man to be (and that is just the point of this book--we
are not looking upon man as a mere animal, but as a reasoning creature,
and as such he), is robbed of present rest and enjoyment by an
inevitable fate to which he is hastening, and from which there is no
possible escape. Do not all go to one place?--that vague "Sheol,"
speaking of the grave, and yet the grave, not as the _end_, but an
indefinite shadowy existence beyond? All, all go there; and with no
light on _that_, better, indeed, "the untimely birth which came in
vanity and departs in darkness;" for this, at least, has the more rest.
Bitter groan this, indeed!
For the Preacher continues: "Does man's labor satisfy him? Can he get
what is really 'good' from it?" No. For never is his appetite filled
so that it desires nothing more. The constant return of its thirst
demands constant toil; and fool and wise must alike obey its call.
This is not confined to bodily food, but covers that bitter hunger and
thirst of the heart, as the use of the word soul (margin) shows. The
longings of the wise may be for a higher food. He may aim above the
mere sensual, and seek to fill his soul with the refined, but he
_fails_, as indeed do all, even "the poor man who knows to walk before
the living;" that is, even the poor man who, with all the disadvantages
of poverty, has wisdom enough to know how to live so as to command the
respect of his fellows. Wise indeed must such be; but he, no more than
the fool, has found the "good" that forever satisfies hunger and
thirst, and calms to rest the wandering of the soul, which, like the
restless swallow, is ever on the wing. Man is made up of desire, and
one glimpse with the eyes, something seen, is at least something
secured, and it is better than all mere longing, which is vanity and
the pursuit of the wind. For everything has long ago been named _from
its own nature_; and in this way its name shows what it is. Thus man,
too, (Adam,) is, and ever has been, known from his name, from "adamah,"
earth; his name so showing his mortality. If thus he has been made by
his Creator, how vain for him to hope to escape his fate, for with Him
no contention is possible. What use, then, in many words (not things)
since they afford no relief as against that end? they only increase
vanity. Then the last sad wail of this subject: "Who knoweth what is
really _good_--satisfying for man--during the few fleeting years of his
vain life here, which he passes as a shadow; and when he is gone, who
can tell him what shall be after him under the sun"?
Let that wail sink down deep into our ears. It is the cry that has
been passed, in ever increasing volume, from heart to heart--every
empty hollow heart of man echoing and re-echoing, "Who will show us any
good?" Now turn and listen to One who came to answer that fully, and
in His word to Mary, the sister of Lazarus, He does distinctly, in
words, answer it. She had chosen the portion that He could call
"good." And was that travail and toil, even in service for Himself?
No, that was rather her sister's portion; but a seat--expressive of
rest--(consider it), a listening ear, whilst the Lord ministered to
her;--and that is all that is needful! What a contrast between this
poor rich king, communing with his own heart to find out what is that
good portion for man; and the rich poor saint in blessed communion with
infinite Love, infinite Wisdom, infinite Power, and resting satisfied!
Surely, Solomon in all his glory had no throne to be compared to hers,
as she sat lowly "at His feet." And mark carefully, for thy soul's
good, that word of tender grace that the Lord said, This is "needful."
He who had listened to the groan of man's heart through those long four
thousand years, and knew its need fully and exactly, says that this
good portion must not be regarded as any high attainment for the few,
but as the very breath of life--for all. If He knows that it is
needful for thee, then, my soul, fear not but that He will approve thy
taking the same place and claiming Mary's portion on the ground of thy
_need alone_.
Yes, but does this really answer the root cause of the groan in our
chapter? Is the shadow of death dispelled by sitting at His feet! Is
death no longer the dark unknown? Shall we learn lessons there that
shall rob it of all its terrors, and replace the groan with song? Yes,
truly, for look at the few significant foot-prints of that dear Mary's
walk after this. See her at that supper made for the Lord at Bethany.
Here Martha is serving with perfect acceptance--no word of rebuke to
her now; she has learned the lesson of that day spoken of in the tenth
of Luke. But Mary still excels her, for, whilst sitting at His feet in
that same day of tenth of Luke, she has heard some story that makes her
come with precious spikenard to anoint His body for the burial!
Strange act! And how could that affectionate heart force itself calmly
to anoint the object of its love for burial? Ah! still a far sweeter
story must she have heard "at His feet," and a bright light must have
pierced the shadow of the tomb. For, look at that little company of
devoted women around His cross, and you will find no trace of the no
less devoted Mary, the sister of Lazarus, there. The other Marys may
come, in tender affection, but in the dark ignorance of unbelief, to
search for Him, in His empty tomb on the third day. She, with no less
tender affection surely, is not there. Is this silence of Scripture
without significance, or are we to see the reason for it in that "good
portion" she had chosen "at His feet"?--and there did she hear, not
only the solemn story of His cross leading her to anoint His body for
the burial, but the joyful story of His resurrection, so that there was
no need for _her_ to seek "the living amongst the dead;"--she _knew_
that He was risen, and she, as long before, "_sat still in the house_"!
Oh, blessed calm! Oh, holy peace! What is the secret of it? Wouldst
thou learn it! Sit, then, too, "at His feet," in simple conscious
emptiness and need. Give Him the still more blessed part of
ministering to thee. So all shall be in order. Thou shalt have the
good portion that shall dispel all clouds of death, and pour over thy
being heaven's pure sunlight of resurrection; and, with that Light,
song shall displace groan, whilst thy Lord shall have the still better
part--His own surely--of giving; for "more blessed it is to give than
to receive."