Lessons in Futility pt. 2

Shelby Olive

Ecclesiastes 2:1-11
I said to myself, “Come now, I will make a test of pleasure; enjoy yourself.” But again, this also was vanity. 2 I said of laughter, “It is mad,” and of pleasure, “What use is it?” 3 I searched with my mind how to cheer my body with wine—my mind still guiding me with wisdom—and how to lay hold on folly, until I might see what was good for mortals to do under heaven during the few days of their life. 4 I made great works; I built houses and planted vineyards for myself; 5 I made myself gardens and parks, and planted in them all kinds of fruit trees. 6 I made myself pools from which to water the forest of growing trees. 7 I bought male and female slaves, and had slaves who were born in my house; I also had great possessions of herds and flocks, more than any who had been before me in Jerusalem. 8 I also gathered for myself silver and gold and the treasure of kings and of the provinces; I got singers, both men and women, and delights of the flesh, and many concubines.

9 So I became great and surpassed all who were before me in Jerusalem; also my wisdom remained with me. 10 Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them; I kept my heart from no pleasure, for my heart found pleasure in all my toil, and this was my reward for all my toil. 11 Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had spent in doing it, and again, all was vanity and a chasing after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.

Reflection:
My landlord recently broke the news to me that she would be selling her house, which means I’m gearing up for a move. For the last several months, I have been enjoying cheap rent in a large space that I get to have all to myself. When I moved in, I added some furniture, some rugs, and some extra decorations in order to fill the extra space. Well, things have changed now, and I’m apartment hunting, which I actually happen to enjoy. There’s just one thing. I don’t know what to do with all my stuff. As I’ve looked at a mix of studio and one-bedroom apartments, it has become very clear that I’m going to have to let some things go. But I don’t want to.

One of the biggest lessons in apartment hunting is the steady realization that I just can’t have it all. I can’t have a spacious apartment with updated appliances and luxury amenities in an area that is close to work and close to entertainment within a price I’m comfortable paying. That apartment does not exist. Don’t get me wrong, I have found plenty of nice apartments that do check off a few of those boxes at a time, but I still can’t seem to get over the fact that I’m just going to have to let some stuff go.

Now, this apartment hunting conundrum, in the grand scheme of things, is pretty trivial. I will still have shelter. I will still have my basic needs met and beyond. I will be fine without many of these things that I’ll have to let go. But what is it about stuff that makes it have this effect on us? Why is it so hard to let things go, even things that hold no sentimental value? And more importantly, why is it so hard to let go of the dream of having it all?

The teacher of Ecclesiastes proclaims that he did, in fact, have it all. He lived a life of excess, possessing far more than one should ever possess, including that which should never be possessed (I mean, go take a look at that list). And even still he says, it was just vanity. It was chasing after wind. It was nothing. Perhaps having it all isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Perhaps having it all is, whether we’re able to achieve it or not, futile.

Self-indulgence feels good. It feels good to be able to amass material possessions. It feels good to absorb fun and exciting experiences. While I would not be willing to say that material possessions and fun experiences are bad things in and of themselves, at some point we would do well to draw a line and say, “This is more than enough” so that we don’t place them on a pedestal. In the age of sponsored ads and content showing off new, top-of-the-line products, drawing that line becomes harder and harder. The Christian life is countercultural in that way. In a world that uplifts the accumulation of goods, Christ invites us to a life of self-emptying, of generosity, and letting go of the things that do not actually produce fruit. The Christian life is one of downsizing so that we can make room for that which matters most – the love of God and the love of others. 

So, though I may not do it with a glad and cheerful heart, I will downsize and accept that I am not any better for possessing rugs, and books, and bookshelves, and a too-large dining table, and miscellaneous kitchenware. I will make room.

Prayer:
Loving God,
You have not asked me to amass but have called me to a life of letting go. I confess that I often find myself too attached to the things that don’t really matter. Help me to loosen my grip so that I may be free to embrace the fruitful life to which you have called me. Amen.