Ecclesiastes 3:1-15 There are seasons for birthing, loving, laughing,
and there also are seasons for dying, weeping and (yes) making war.
Teeter-totter time
Author Ann Patchett wrote a book about her dear friend Lucy Grealy after Grealy’s untimely death at age 39. Patchett knew she needed to write the book when people called her three weeks after the death and said brightly, “Well, you sound better!” Patchett says, “I didn’t want to sound better. I wanted to grieve my friend. Writing gave me permission to dwell with the sadness of Lucy’s death.”
Of all the scriptural commentaries on time, none is more famous (or beloved) than Ecclesiastes 3. The poetry’s melodic rhythm may lull us into missing the news that while there are seasons for birthing, loving, laughing, dancing and peacemaking, there also are seasons for dying, killing, breaking down, weeping and (yes) making war. We would rather reduce the unpleasant activities to mere moments — blips on the calendar rather than periods of indeterminate length.
Ignatius of Loyola gave us the terms consolation and desolation to describe this push and pull of human existence. In moments of consolation we feel close to God; in moments of desolation, God seems absent.
I taught a Sunday school class in which several members described growing up in “fire and brimstone” churches that overemphasized sin, confession and self-denial. Such churches could do with a healthy corrective of consolation in their theology. (Jesus came to bring good news, after all!)
Other folks grew up in overly cheerful congregations in which no despair or doubt was permitted: “Every day with Jesus is sweeter than the day before!” was their rallying cry. Acknowledgement of a little desolation would add integrity to the witness of such churches.
Discerning what season we’re in is a tricky business. When exactly is it time to kill? (When an insect invades my house?) A time to lose? (When playing Candy Land with my daughter.) A time to throw away? (When clutter gets overwhelming!) If we’re not careful, we can trivialize the passage into a set of handy self-help principles.
Or we can use this passage to justify all behavior as part of God’s pre-ordained balance of time. An article in the Washington Post told about an Israeli pediatrician named Yuval. By day he treats Israeli and Palestinian children alike, caring for them equally and compassionately. By night he flies combat helicopter missions for the Israeli air force, firing missiles on terrorist targets. Yuval is careful to protect civilians, in some cases refusing to fire if it puts innocent people at risk. Still, he wonders whether the targets are people he grew up with, and tries not to think about the terrorists’ mothers as he stares through the crosshairs. He also wonders whether the Palestinian children he treats will someday become terrorists themselves. The title of the article? “A Time to Kill, and a Time to Heal.”
The situation in the Middle East is complicated. Still, is a world in which a physician saves lives by day and takes lives by night God’s greatest desire for us? Is that the message of Ecclesiastes 3? The article describes Yuval becoming ill from the stress of having to compartmentalize his two roles.
Yet the powers of this world encourage us to compartmentalize. They say, “There is a time to worship God (Sunday), and a time to worship money and power (Monday through Saturday); a time to love your neighbor (when it’s convenient), and a time to be selfish (the rest of the time); a time to practice your faith (when it will benefit you), and a time to keep quiet about it (when it will cost you something).”
We are called to resist this alternate telling of Ecclesiastes 3. One of the goals of the spiritual path, even in the midst of divergent seasons, is a life that is congruent, that “matches soul with role,” in the words of Parker Palmer. We will never achieve a perfect equilibrium in the midst of the push and pull of life. The consolations and desolations persist, despite our best efforts to cling to the former and minimize the latter. Like a tightrope walker, we constantly recalibrate, finding our balance again and again. The passage ends in the only place it can, acknowledging our limited ways of seeing, and inviting us to stand in awe of God who “has made everything suitable for its time.” |
