The Last Exam Text: Ecclesiastes 12:1-8
Introduction: An Appointment You Will Keep
The book of Ecclesiastes is Solomon's final thesis, written in his old age, looking back over a life of unparalleled wisdom, wealth, and folly. He has taken us on a grand tour of life "under the sun," showing us that if you limit your perspective to this horizontal plane, the result is always vanity, a chasing after the wind. But Solomon is not a nihilist; he is a repentant king, teaching us that the only way to enjoy the vanity is to see it from "above the sun." The only way to enjoy the cans of peaches God gives you in this life is if He also gives you the can opener of faith. Without that, the wealthiest man is just licking the label, trying to get some taste from the glue.
Now, at the end of his argument, he brings it all to a sharp and personal point. The Preacher turns from the philosophical to the biographical. He has shown us the vanity of wisdom, pleasure, and labor when pursued as ultimate things. Now he shows us the vanity of our own bodies as they inevitably break down. This is not a chapter for the faint of heart. It is a stark, unflinching look at the process of dying. And the central command, the thesis of this final section, is given right at the beginning: "Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth."
This is a call to covenant remembrance. It is a call to live your life backward from its end. We live in a culture that is pathologically obsessed with youth. We worship it, we try to preserve it, we inject things into our faces to mimic it. But God tells us to use our youth, not to worship it. Use it to build a foundation that will hold when the evil days come, when the house of your body begins to tremble and fall apart. Because that day is coming for every one of us. You have an appointment with the decay described in this chapter, and it is an appointment you will keep. The question is whether you will arrive at that appointment having remembered your Creator, or having spent your life trying to forget Him.
Solomon is giving us a final exam. The subject is your own mortality. The question is, have you lived in light of it? Have you used the strength and vigor of your youth to establish a living, covenantal relationship with the God who made you and who will one day call you to account?
The Text
Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days happen and the years draw near in which you will say, "I have no delight in them"; before the sun and the light, the moon and the stars are darkened, and clouds return after the rain; in the day that the watchmen of the house tremble, and valiant men bend down, the grinding ones stand idle because they are few, and those who look through windows grow dark; and the doors on the street are shut as the sound of the grinding mill is low, and one will arise at the sound of the bird, and all the daughters of song will sing softly. Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and of terrors on the road; the almond tree blooms, the grasshopper drags itself along, and the caperberry is ineffective. For man goes to his eternal home, but the mourners go about in the street. Remember Him before the silver cord is snapped and the golden bowl is crushed, the pitcher by the spring is broken and the wheel at the cistern is crushed; then the dust will return to the earth as it was, and the spirit will return to God who gave it. "Vanity of vanities," says the Preacher, "all is vanity!"
(Ecclesiastes 12:1-8 LSB)
The Prime Directive (v. 1)
We begin with the central command of the entire passage.
"Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days happen and the years draw near in which you will say, 'I have no delight in them';" (Ecclesiastes 12:1)
The word "remember" here is not a passive mental exercise. In Hebrew, to remember is to act upon the memory. When God remembered Noah, He sent a wind to dry the earth. When God remembered His covenant, He raised up Moses. To remember your Creator is to live in a certain way, to orient your entire existence around the fact that you are a creature and He is the Creator. This is the fundamental distinction of all reality, the Creator/creature distinction. To forget it is the root of all sin and folly. The fall in the garden was an attempt to erase this distinction, to "be as God."
And the time to do this is "in the days of your youth." Why? Because youth is a stewardship. It is a season of strength, energy, and opportunity. It is the time for laying foundations. A young man who spends his youth chasing folly is like a foolish builder who uses sand and mud for his foundation. When the storms of old age and death arrive, the whole structure will collapse into ruin. But a young man who remembers his Creator is laying a foundation of solid rock. He is investing his strength in something that will outlast his strength.
The alternative is stark: "before the evil days happen." These are not evil days in a moral sense, but in the sense of affliction and trouble. They are the years of decline, when the simple pleasures of life fade and the body begins to betray you. These are the years when you will say, "I have no delight in them." This is a raw, honest assessment of old age apart from God. If your joy is rooted in your physical abilities, your sharp mind, or your sensory pleasures, then old age will be a slow, agonizing process of having all your joys stripped away one by one.
The House of You (v. 2-5)
Solomon now launches into a magnificent and terrifying allegory for the process of aging, describing the body as a decaying house.
"before the sun and the light, the moon and the stars are darkened, and clouds return after the rain; in the day that the watchmen of the house tremble, and valiant men bend down, the grinding ones stand idle because they are few, and those who look through windows grow dark;" (Ecclesiastes 12:2-3 LSB)
The darkening of the celestial lights in verse 2 likely refers to the dimming of the mind and the spirit, the loss of the bright optimism of youth. The "clouds return after the rain" is a poignant picture of old age; in youth, a storm passes and the sun comes out. In old age, one trouble simply follows another without a break.
Then in verse 3, the allegory of the house begins in earnest. The "watchmen of the house" are the arms and hands, which begin to tremble. The "valiant men" are the legs and back, which bend and stoop. The "grinding ones" are the teeth, which become few and cease their work. And "those who look through windows" are the eyes, which grow dark as sight fails.
The description continues, moving from the outer frame to the inner life of the house.
"and the doors on the street are shut as the sound of the grinding mill is low, and one will arise at the sound of the bird, and all the daughters of song will sing softly." (Ecclesiastes 12:4 LSB)
The "doors on the street" are likely the ears, which are shut to the outside world as hearing fades. The "sound of the grinding" being low refers both to the loss of teeth and a diminished appetite. The old man "will arise at the sound of the bird," a picture of the light, fitful sleep of the elderly, easily disturbed. And "all the daughters of song" being brought low refers to the weakening of the voice and the loss of the ability to enjoy music.
The allegory concludes with the psychological effects of this decay.
"Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and of terrors on the road; the almond tree blooms, the grasshopper drags itself along, and the caperberry is ineffective. For man goes to his eternal home, but the mourners go about in the street." (Ecclesiastes 12:5 LSB)
Fear replaces the boldness of youth. A simple curb can seem like a mountain. The "almond tree blooms," a beautiful image of white hair. The "grasshopper drags itself along," a picture of the once-spry body now moving with great effort. The "caperberry is ineffective," referring to the failure of appetites and desires, including sexual desire. All of this points to one great reality: "man goes to his eternal home." The body is shutting down in preparation for its final journey. The mourners are already gathering.
The Final Snapping (v. 6-7)
The Preacher now gives us four final, sharp images of death itself.
"Remember Him before the silver cord is snapped and the golden bowl is crushed, the pitcher by the spring is broken and the wheel at the cistern is crushed;" (Ecclesiastes 12:6 LSB)
These are all images of catastrophic, irreversible failure. The "silver cord" is likely the spinal cord, the thread of life. The "golden bowl" is the skull or the brain it contains. The "pitcher by the spring" and the "wheel at the cistern" are images of the circulatory system, the heart, failing to draw up the water of life. When these things happen, it is over. The machinery of life has broken down completely.
This leads to the final separation.
"then the dust will return to the earth as it was, and the spirit will return to God who gave it." (Ecclesiastes 12:7 LSB)
This is the great undoing of creation. In Genesis 2, God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into him the breath of life. At death, God reverses the process. He withdraws the spirit, and the body dissolves back into its constituent elements. The body goes down to the dust, and the spirit goes up to God for judgment. This is a sober and universal reality. Every person who has ever lived has a spirit that will render an account to the God who gave it. You are not your own. You were created, and you will be judged.
The Final Word on Vanity (v. 8)
Solomon concludes this section by returning to his grand theme.
"'Vanity of vanities,' says the Preacher, 'all is vanity!'" (Ecclesiastes 12:8 LSB)
After this graphic depiction of our mortality, what else can be said? If this life is all there is, if there is no Creator to remember and no God to return to, then the whole thing is the grandest and most cruel of jokes. Your life, your loves, your accomplishments, all of it is a puff of smoke, a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes. If you live "under the sun," this is the necessary conclusion. The breakdown of the body is the ultimate proof that, on its own terms, life is hebel, vanity.
Conclusion: Remembering the Second Adam
But for the Christian, this is not the end of the story. This entire chapter, this grim catalog of decay, must be read in the light of the gospel. We are commanded to remember our Creator. And who is our Creator? John 1 tells us that "All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made." Jesus Christ is the Word by which all things were created.
But because of our sin, because we forgot our Creator, our bodies are now subject to this curse of decay and death. The house trembles and falls because the first Adam was a catastrophic failure as a landlord. He handed the keys over to sin and death. So we must not only remember our Creator, but we must remember our Redeemer.
Jesus Christ, the second Adam, entered into this world of decay. He took on a body, a house that could feel pain and weariness. He walked the road with its terrors. And ultimately, He allowed His own body to be broken. The golden bowl was crushed on Calvary. The pitcher was broken, and His lifeblood poured out. His spirit returned to God who gave it. He entered fully into the curse described in this chapter.
Why? So that He could reverse it. He went down into the dust so that He could raise up a new creation from that dust. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is God's answer to Ecclesiastes 12. It is the great promise that though this earthly tent, this house of our body, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens (2 Cor. 5:1).
Therefore, remember your Creator in your youth. Flee to Christ now. Entrust the house of your body and soul to Him now. Because if you do, then when the evil days come, when the watchmen tremble and the windows grow dark, you will not have to say, "I have no delight in them." You will be able to say, with the apostle Paul, "For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain." You will see the decay of this body not as a tragedy, but as the prelude to glory, the blessed snapping of the silver cord that finally releases your spirit to go home to the God who did not just give it, but redeemed it.