Chasing the Wind Under the Sun Text: Ecclesiastes 1:1-11
Introduction: The Black Velvet of the Gospel
We live in a frantic age. Our culture is a perpetual motion machine, fueled by the desperate belief that the next thing, the new thing, the undiscovered thing, will finally deliver the meaning we crave. We chase after new technologies, new experiences, new political saviors, new spiritualities, and new identities, all in a breathless attempt to prove that there is, in fact, something new under the sun. We are like children on a carousel, convinced that if we just spin fast enough, we will eventually arrive somewhere different.
Into this carnival of distraction, the book of Ecclesiastes lands with the force of a gravestone. It is God's inspired diagnosis of the human condition when lived apart from Him. It is written by Solomon, the wisest and wealthiest man who ever lived, who ran the ultimate experiment. He had unlimited resources to pursue pleasure, wisdom, wealth, and power. And his conclusion, from the perspective of a man living "under the sun," is a devastating one. All is vanity. All is vapor. All is a chasing after the wind.
Now, we must be careful here. This book is not a manual for nihilists. It is not an endorsement of despair. Rather, it is the black velvet on which the diamond of the gospel is meant to shine most brightly. Solomon is locking every door and boarding up every window of worldly hope to force us to look for the only exit that exists, which is the door that leads up. He is showing us the absolute bankruptcy of humanism, secularism, and every man-centered project so that we will abandon our self-salvation projects and turn to the only one who can give meaning to the vapor.
The key to the entire book is the phrase "under the sun." This is the recurring qualifier. Solomon is describing life on a horizontal plane, life in a closed system, life lived as though this world is all there is. And his conclusion is entirely correct. If there is no God, if there is no resurrection, if there is no judgment, if there is no meaning infused into creation from above, then everything we do is ultimately a rearranging of deck chairs on the Titanic. This is not pessimism; it is realism. And it is the necessary starting point for wisdom.
The Text
The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
"Vanity of vanities," says the Preacher, "Vanity of vanities! All is vanity."
What advantage does man have in all his labor In which he labors under the sun?
A generation goes and a generation comes, But the earth stands forever.
Also, the sun rises and the sun sets; And hastening to its place it rises there again.
Going toward the south, Then circling toward the north, The wind goes circling along; And on its circular courses the wind returns.
All the rivers go into the sea, Yet the sea is not full. To the place where the rivers go, There they continually go.
All things are wearisome; Man is not able to speak of it. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, Nor is the ear filled with hearing.
That which has been is that which will be, And that which has been done is that which will be done. So there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there anything of which one might say, "See this, it is new"? Already it has been for ages Which were before us.
There is no remembrance of earlier things; And also of the later things which will be, There will be for them no remembrance Among those who will come later still.
(Ecclesiastes 1:1-11 LSB)
The Royal Diagnosis (vv. 1-3)
The book opens by identifying the author and stating his thesis with blunt force.
"The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem. 'Vanity of vanities,' says the Preacher, 'Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.' What advantage does man have in all his labor In which he labors under the sun?" (Ecclesiastes 1:1-3)
The author is the "Preacher," in Hebrew, Qoheleth, meaning one who assembles or gathers. He is the son of David, king in Jerusalem, which points unmistakably to Solomon. This is crucial. If anyone could find meaning in this world, it was him. He had divine wisdom, staggering wealth, and absolute power. He is the ultimate human test case, and he is about to give his lab report.
His thesis is stark: "Vanity of vanities! All is vanity." The Hebrew word for vanity is hebel. It means breath, vapor, smoke, or mist. It is something fleeting, insubstantial, and impossible to grasp. When you try to clutch smoke, your hand closes on nothing. "Vanity of vanities" is a Hebrew superlative, meaning the utmost, supreme vanity. This is not to say that life is worthless or evil. A sunset is not worthless, but it is fleeting. A meal is not evil, but it does not grant eternal satisfaction. Solomon is saying that everything in this life, when pursued as an end in itself, will ultimately disappoint. It promises substance but delivers smoke.
He then asks the central question of his investigation: "What advantage does man have in all his labor?" The word "advantage" is yitron, a commercial term. It means profit, the surplus that is left over after all the costs have been paid. Solomon is conducting a cosmic audit. After a lifetime of toil, sweat, and striving, what is the net gain? What is left in the account when the books are closed at death? From the perspective "under the sun," the answer is a hard zero. You work, you build, you acquire, and then you die and leave it to someone else. The balance sheet does not carry over.
The Great Cosmic Treadmill (vv. 4-8)
Solomon then provides his evidence for this vanity by pointing to the monotonous, cyclical nature of the created order.
"A generation goes and a generation comes, But the earth stands forever. Also, the sun rises and the sun sets; And hastening to its place it rises there again... All the rivers go into the sea, Yet the sea is not full... All things are wearisome..." (Ecclesiastes 1:4-8)
He looks at four areas: human history, the sun, the wind, and the water cycle. Generations of men rise and fall like waves on the sea, but the stage upon which they strut and fret, the earth, remains impassive and indifferent. The sun diligently runs its course, rising and setting, only to have to do it all over again the next day. It is a cosmic hamster on a wheel. The wind blows south, then north, circling back on itself, never arriving anywhere new. The rivers pour ceaselessly into the sea, yet the sea is never full, and the rivers must continue their work. It is a picture of endless motion with no progress, immense labor with no final accomplishment.
From a Christian perspective, this is a picture of God's faithful providence, holding all things together. But from the "under the sun" perspective, it is a maddening, closed loop. It is nature's great shrug. It is a universe that is going nowhere.
And this weariness extends to human experience. "All things are wearisome; Man is not able to speak of it. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, Nor is the ear filled with hearing." You cannot consume your way to contentment. No matter how many beautiful things you see or wonderful things you hear, the soul's appetite is infinite. Trying to fill the human heart with created things is like trying to fill the ocean with a teaspoon. The created world was never designed to bear the weight of our worship. When we ask it to be our god, it breaks our hearts.
The Illusion of Novelty (vv. 9-11)
The final nail in the coffin of worldly hope is the denial of progress, the great idol of the modern age.
"That which has been is that which will be... So there is nothing new under the sun... There is no remembrance of earlier things..." (Ecclesiastes 1:9-11)
This is a direct assault on our pride. We think our age is unique, that our challenges are unprecedented, and that our technologies have changed the fundamental game. Solomon says this is nonsense. The packaging changes, but the product is the same. The costumes are different, but the actors are reading from the same old script of pride, greed, lust, fear, and rebellion. Human nature does not evolve. The fundamental questions and struggles of life are perennial.
When someone breathlessly exclaims, "See this, it is new!" Solomon's response is a weary sigh. It has all happened before; you just have a short memory. Our supposed novelty is simply a function of our ignorance of history. And just as we have forgotten the generations before us, so the generations after us will forget us. The frantic pursuit of legacy, of making a name for oneself, is the ultimate chasing of the wind. The sands of time will cover all our monuments. The universe, from this vantage point, has amnesia.
Above the Sun
So, is this the final word? Is the Bible telling us to simply despair and accept the meaninglessness of it all? Not for a moment. This entire chapter is a masterful work of apologetics. It is clearing the ground of all our idols. It is burning down all the false shelters so that we will run to the only true refuge.
The problem is not the creation; the problem is the perspective. "Under the sun" is the problem. The entire book is an argument for the necessity of revelation, the necessity of a word from "above the sun."
And that Word has come. Into this monotonous, cyclical world of sin and death, something genuinely new has appeared. "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come" (2 Corinthians 5:17). Jesus Christ is the one thing that is truly new under the sun, because He is from above the sun.
He breaks the cycle. He answers the question of profit. What is the advantage of our labor? "Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain" (1 Corinthians 15:58). Labor under the sun is vanity. Labor in the Lord is eternal. He gives meaning to the mundane.
He satisfies the restless heart. He is the Bread of Life and the Living Water. When we have seen Him, our eyes have seen salvation. When we hear Him, our ears are filled with the words of eternal life.
And He secures for us a remembrance that cannot be erased. He is the one who says, "I have engraved you on the palms of my hands" (Isaiah 49:16). Our names are not written in the shifting sands of human history, but in the Lamb's Book of Life from before the foundation of the world.
Ecclesiastes tells us that the world without God is a closed, dark room. The door is locked, the windows are barred, and the air is stale with the breath of futility. But Jesus Christ is the one who kicks the door off the hinges and floods that dark room with the light and fresh air of eternity. Solomon shows us the dead end. Christ shows us the new beginning.