First Lesson Focus
Commentary
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By James A. Nestingen
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13 (New Year`s Day)
Sometimes, after many Christmases and an equal number of New Year`s Eves, hope settles in for the long term. The ebullience gone, there`s just enough expectation remaining to slog on toward Epiphany.
The Preacher, as the speaker of Ecclesiastes is commonly called, is the prophet of such occasions. Walking a couple of steps behind or off to the side, grimacing when the young charge by full of eager intention, but still moving when it is time to quit, he sees right through the adrenaline flushes and the heady optimism rushing around him. A couple of forces keep his heels and toes in resolute contact with the earth.
One of them is the daily rhythm. Good things happen, no question about it: there are the joyous family gatherings of the season, the evenings rejoicing with friends, the intrigue of some delightful new possession, the rediscovery of relationships taken for granted. But for every such melodic point there is some grim counterpoint: a Christmas alone, replete with memories to make the isolation all the more biting; a New Year`s Eve watching others play at joy on television; the boredom of a spent novelty; it deepened awareness of bad habits and the revolting nearness of someone who long ago parted ways with wonder. Strophe, antistrophe; point, counterpoint - to everything a season, joy and misery tumbling over another so that we`re just caught by and in whatever happens to be on top at the moment. There`s no point getting too enthused.
As the rhythm binds, the inevitable mystery of life also sets limits. Five minutes can be an experience of eternity, but laying hold of it, really getting a sense of eternity, not to speak of the God in and beyond it, that is another matter. What`s out there, anyway? A projection of the human heart? Cosmic principle? Ground of being? Or maybe an oriental potentate writ large and arbitrary across the heavens? Who can fathom such mystery? No, it is better to keep both feet firmly on the ground and tend theinimums.
It would be reasonable to hope for more. Isaiah will register in on the day of Epiphany, ratcheting expectations up to the maximum. But then again, hope also has to deal with the routines and learn to accept the inevitable. And then maybe it`s good to have the Preacher, like Eeyore in Winnie the Pooh or some grim Nordic fatalist concealing a grin, to come around and remind us that while another new year has come, we`re not in heaven yet. We might as well go to work, then, and make the best of it.
By James A. Nestingen
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13 (New Year`s Day)
Sometimes, after many Christmases and an equal number of New Year`s Eves, hope settles in for the long term. The ebullience gone, there`s just enough expectation remaining to slog on toward Epiphany.
The Preacher, as the speaker of Ecclesiastes is commonly called, is the prophet of such occasions. Walking a couple of steps behind or off to the side, grimacing when the young charge by full of eager intention, but still moving when it is time to quit, he sees right through the adrenaline flushes and the heady optimism rushing around him. A couple of forces keep his heels and toes in resolute contact with the earth.
One of them is the daily rhythm. Good things happen, no question about it: there are the joyous family gatherings of the season, the evenings rejoicing with friends, the intrigue of some delightful new possession, the rediscovery of relationships taken for granted. But for every such melodic point there is some grim counterpoint: a Christmas alone, replete with memories to make the isolation all the more biting; a New Year`s Eve watching others play at joy on television; the boredom of a spent novelty; it deepened awareness of bad habits and the revolting nearness of someone who long ago parted ways with wonder. Strophe, antistrophe; point, counterpoint - to everything a season, joy and misery tumbling over another so that we`re just caught by and in whatever happens to be on top at the moment. There`s no point getting too enthused.
As the rhythm binds, the inevitable mystery of life also sets limits. Five minutes can be an experience of eternity, but laying hold of it, really getting a sense of eternity, not to speak of the God in and beyond it, that is another matter. What`s out there, anyway? A projection of the human heart? Cosmic principle? Ground of being? Or maybe an oriental potentate writ large and arbitrary across the heavens? Who can fathom such mystery? No, it is better to keep both feet firmly on the ground and tend theinimums.
It would be reasonable to hope for more. Isaiah will register in on the day of Epiphany, ratcheting expectations up to the maximum. But then again, hope also has to deal with the routines and learn to accept the inevitable. And then maybe it`s good to have the Preacher, like Eeyore in Winnie the Pooh or some grim Nordic fatalist concealing a grin, to come around and remind us that while another new year has come, we`re not in heaven yet. We might as well go to work, then, and make the best of it.
