Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23; Psalm 49:1-12; Luke 12:13-21; Colossians 3:1-11
What have the following in common: Genghis Khan, Adolf Hitler, St Andrew, Robert the Bruce, Malcolm X and Mother Teresa of Calcutta? That's right: they're all part of the great dead majority. And, in due course, they're going to be joined by you and me. Of course, not all of them have equally good reputations among those of us currently breathing. I shall leave it to you to decide which the heroes are and which the villains. But, on the other hand, they are all dead. So, demands the book of Ecclesiastes, what's so great about being alive, when you know what's coming up? It's all just vanity... not vanity as in looking into every mirror as you pass, but as in uselessness; as bad as chasing after the wind, when you know you can never catch it up.
Ecclesiastes is not really holiday reading. On the other hand, the very fact that it's in the Bible indicates that, if you do ever wake up in the morning wondering whether it's worth getting out of bed, and if so, why, other people have felt the same, and God hasn't rejected them. We don't know for certain who ‘the Preacher' was who wrote Ecclesiastes - the book itself says it was Solomon, who had more than enough riches for anyone (and, indeed, more than enough wives) - but whoever it was seems to have had a good try at everything and anything that might be considered worthwhile in life. We've only heard the edited highlights in our reading this morning, but if you read the whole book - it's not very long - you'll discover that the Preacher tried in turn concentrating on getting wisdom, pleasure, riches, power and success through hard work; and concluded that none of them was worth the effort, because however well you did, however much stress you went through to achieve your goals, you'd still end up just as dead as if you'd never bothered. What's more, whatever you'd achieved in life, after you died, someone else would take it all, and there'd be no guarantee they'd do anything sensible with it.
You could call the Preacher the grumpy old man of his time. Ecclesiastes is the sort of book Victor Meldrew might have written, if he'd ever stopped moaning at his poor wife long enough.
But our psalm this morning seems to have a very similar theme. Listen: When we look at the wise, they die; fool and dolt perish together and leave their wealth to others. Their graves are their homes for ever, their dwelling-places to all generations, though they named lands their own. And according to the psalmist there's one more twist to this sad saga: Mortals cannot abide in their pomp; they are like the animals that perish.
That's a surprisingly modern thought, that we human beings shouldn't flatter ourselves, because even if we give ourselves airs, basically, we're like animals. It's something you'd expect to hear from Richard Dawkins, not the Bible. Yet it reminds us of the other side of the argument that money won't make us happy. Though I stand by what I said, it's also true that lack of the basic necessities of life - warmth, food, shelter - which money can provide can make us unhappy, and, if severe enough, will kill us. If we don't look after our bodies, we will painfully discover the dangers of ignoring them.
From the Hebrew Bible point of view, as we find in Ecclesiastes and the Psalms, one more thing we share with animals is the lack of afterlife. We live, we die, that's it. And that focuses the mind wonderfully on living well while we're alive. The poet Walter de la Mare advises us, Look thy last on all things lovely every hour, and it's good advice; why miss out on beauty and goodness just because there's going to be more around the corner? Hospices have the same philosophy: it's not the length of life that's ultimately important, it's the quality. Compared with a bank statement our riches towards God, built up over a lifetime, may look very unimpressive: a photo of a child? an old letter of thanks? a ring? a pressed flower? but we know their message: that we have been creative; that we have been transformed by living into something beautiful for God; that we have loved and been loved. That takes us right back to the beginning of the Bible, when God made the whole of life, including human beings, and in spite of everything that was to come, called it all ‘very good'.
But from the Christian point of view, this life is not all there is, so our reading from Colossians distinguishes between things on earth and things above.
This is a distinction I'm not always happy to make. Christian belief has sometimes been caricatured as ‘pie in the sky when you die' - forget about what things are like here on earth, you'll be in heaven soon. There are hymns to reinforce that point of view: Brief life is here our portion; brief sorrow, short lived care; the life that knows no ending, the tearless life, is there. That sort of attitude can tempt Christians to ignore present injustice in a ‘that's none of our business' sort of way; until, that is, we go back to the prophets of the Hebrew Bible, reminding us that God wants justice done for widows and orphans: those in society who cannot speak up for themselves. But Paul isn't making that sort of distinction. He's giving his friends in the Colossian church very practical advice on how to start living now as if they were already in heaven. I can imagine them sitting together in someone's house listening to Paul's latest epistle. ‘Put to death therefore,' he says, ‘whatever in you is earthly: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed (which is idolatry)... get rid of anger, wrath, malice, slander and abusive language'. And I can imagine them glancing at each other, as what he said hit home. We know what weaknesses we struggle with; our nearest and dearest may know too, as they are often the ones pushing our buttons, or who get clobbered. And we may know the temptation to say to ourselves: ‘What's the point in trying to change? This is just how I am, and it's never going to be any different till the day I die. If what cheers me up is putting something else I don't need on the credit card, or passing on the latest about someone's problems, or yelling at the cat, so what?' But Paul begs to differ. Why? Because as Christians, we're all part of the greatest makeover programme never shown on reality TV. From the moment we met Jesus - whether that was in our cradle or just a few years ago - to the moment of our death, we are each, whoever we are, being made over into his image: the one true human being, who most perfectly shows us what God is like. As far as my own makeover is concerned, it's a tough job for God, and for me as God's apprentice. It's going to take a lifetime. But for me and for you, the rich results will be worth all the effort. And that's not vanity, in either sense of the word.