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Herausgeber: Crossway
Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
Sprache: Englisch
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

What if it is death that teaches us how to truly live? Keeping the end in mind shapes how we live our lives in the here and now. Living Life Backward means taking the one thing in our future that is certain—death—and letting that inform our journey before we get there. Looking to the book of Ecclesiastes for wisdom, Living Life Backward was written to shake up our expectations and priorities for what it means to live "the good life." Considering the reality of death helps us pay attention to our limitations as human beings and receive life as a wondrous gift from God—freeing us to live wisely, generously, and faithfully for God's glory and the good of his world.

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Leseprobe

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“The past two decades have witnessed quite a number of popular expositions of Ecclesiastes—and this one by David Gibson is the best of them. It follows the line of the book in a believable and compelling way. Its applications and reflections are cogent and telling, and the writing is characterized by grace and verve. Moreover, the questions found at the end of each chapter make this volume suitable for small-group Bible studies. Highly recommended.”

D. A. Carson, Research professor of New Testament, Trinity Evangelical Divinity School; president, The Gospel Coalition

“David Gibson’s expositions of Ecclesiastes are like Ecclesiastes itself: sometimes shocking, often tantalizing, always refreshing. He deftly combines serious stuff with a light touch, clear style, and gospel relief. You will repeatedly run into ‘think-stoppers’; he will make new grooves in your gray matter that weren’t there before; and you will often admit, ‘I wish I’d have thought to put it like that!’ I think the writer of Ecclesiastes would be pleased with David’s work.”

Dale Ralph Davis, former professor of Old Testament, Reformed Theological Seminary

“If Ecclesiastes is a book for our times, then this is the book to unpack it. Beginning with the paradigm shift that embracing death is essential for life, I was intrigued from the start. Utterly counter to a modern worldview, the truths of Ecclesiastes are woven with ease into a narrative that rightly makes sense of why we are alive. Bold and beautiful in style, this book promises to jolt the mind and shake us out of our complacencies. I couldn’t put it down!”

Fiona McDonald, director of national ministries, Scottish Bible Society

“Every reader of David Gibson’s steady and reverent progress through the book will reap wonderfully enhanced understanding and rich insight into divine truth. Those who have benefited from David’s work in the foundational book From Heaven He Came and Sought Her will rush to enjoy the same values here of profound scholarship and covetable clarity of presentation.”

Alec Motyer, author; Bible expositor

Living Life Backward

How Ecclesiastes Teaches Us to Live in Light of the End

David Gibson

Living Life Backward: How Ecclesiastes Teaches Us to Live in Light of the End

Published by Crossway1300 Crescent StreetWheaton, Illinois 60187

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except as provided for by USA copyright law. Crossway® is a registered trademark in the United States of America.

Cover design: Tim Green, Faceout Studio

First printing 2017

Printed in the United States of America

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Trade paperback ISBN: 978-1-4335-5627-2ePub ISBN: 978-1-4335-5630-2PDF ISBN: 978-1-4335-5628-9Mobipocket ISBN: 978-1-4335-5629-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Gibson, David, 1975- author.

Title: Living life backward : how Ecclesiastes teaches us to live in light of the end / David Gibson.

Description: Wheaton, Illinois : Crossway, [2017] | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Subjects: LCSH: Death—Biblical teaching. | Life—Biblical teaching. | Bible. Ecclesiastes—Criticism, interpretation, etc.

Classification: LCC BS1475.6.D34 G53 2017 (print) | LCC BS1475.6.D34 (ebook) | DDC 220.8/3069—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016049758

Crossway is a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers.

2022-03-02 03:12:35 PM

For Trinity Church, Aberdeen

This is an evil in all that is done under the sun, that the same event happens to all.

Ecclesiastes 9:3

Nothing brings such pure peace and quiet joy at the close

as a well-lived past.

James Russell Miller

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

1 Let’s Pretend

2 Bursting the Bubble

3 Doing Time

4 Living a Life Less Upwardly Mobile

5 Looking Up, Listening In

6 Learning to Love the Limitations of Life

7 From Death to Depth

8 Things to Know When You Don’t Know

9 One Foot in the Grave

10 Getting the Point

Notes

General Index

Scripture Index

Preface

I am going to die. By the time you read these lines, I may even be dead.

It’s not that I have a virulent disease or a terminal illness. A doctor has not pronounced on how I am going to die. I don’t know when I will die. I just know I will. I am going to die, and so are you. But here is why I wrote this book: I am ready to die.

In his beautifully written memoir, Hitch-22, Christopher Hitchens quotes the words of the Scottish poet William Dunbar: “The fear of death distresses me.” Hitchens comments, “I would not trust anyone who had not felt something like it.”1 I know what he means, and you probably do as well. There are certain ways in which we would rather not meet our end. I do find myself worrying about what would happen if my wife were to die, or one of my children, or others closest to me. But I myself am not afraid of dying. There is nothing about my own death, or the state of being dead, that distresses me.

I can understand if you share Hitchens’s distrust and find this way of thinking rather odd, morbid even. But I would like to try to change your mind. I am convinced that only a proper perspective on death provides the true perspective on life. Living in the light of your death will help you to live wisely and freely and generously. It will give you a big heart and open hands, and enable you to relish all the small things of life in deeply profound ways. Death can teach you the meaning of mirth. All this I have learned from Ecclesiastes, and the chapters of this book consist of reflections on that strangest of Old Testament books.

Ecclesiastes has changed my death. But it is an enigma. It has baffled scholars and pundits with its repeated refrain: “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.” In my opinion, part of the brilliance of Ecclesiastes is that it teaches us that life often slips through our fingers and eludes our comprehension by being itself elusive and perplexing. Is there a better way to explain how life can leave you scratching your head than by writing a book that leaves you doing the same? The message of the book is mirrored in the effect of the book.

Yet Ecclesiastes also makes a very simple point: life is complex and messy, sometimes brutally so, but there is a straightforward way to look at the mess. The end will put it all right. The end—when we stand before God as our Creator and Judge—will explain everything.

Left to our own devices, we tend to live life forward. One day follows another, and weeks turn into months and months into years. We do not know the future, but we plan and hope and dream of where we will be, and what we would like to be doing, and whom we might be with. We live forward.

Ecclesiastes teaches us to live life backward. It encourages us to take the one thing in the future that is certain—our death—and work backward from that point into all the details and decisions and heartaches of our lives, and to think about them from the perspective of the end. It is the destination that makes sense of the journey. If we know for sure where we are heading, then we can know for sure what we need to do before we get there. Ecclesiastes invites us to let the end sculpt our priorities and goals, our greatest ambitions and our strongest desires.

I want to persuade you that only if you prepare to die can you really learn how to live.

Acknowledgments

Blaise Pascal said that the more intelligent a man is, the more originality he finds in others. That is my excuse for the number of people I have leaned on in different ways to bring this book to completion. Many of them don’t even know it.

Nathan D. Wilson’s Death by Living (Thomas Nelson, 2013) was published when I was halfway through my writing. I knew before opening his book that it might mean I’d never finish mine. It is an arresting treatment of a viewpoint I’m proud to share, but, with wit and elegance, Wilson shows how time is grace and generations are a gift, and in so doing lights up the landscape of a life well lived. Perhaps my work can trace a more expository line of thought to function as an uninvited companion to his. Certainly I hope all who read me also read him.

I am indebted, in a different way, to Iain Provan’s commentary Ecclesiastes and Song of Songs (Zondervan, 2001). He has produced that most endangered of species, a commentary immediately useful to preachers. Zack Eswine has followed his profound pastoral theology, Sensing Jesus (Crossway, 2012), with a similarly rich and thoughtful treatment of Ecclesiastes, Recovering Eden (P&R, 2014), and both have helped me here. Worthy of special mention as well are Craig Bartholomew’s commentary (Baker, 2009), and the meditations by Douglas Wilson in Joy at the End of the Tether (Canon Press, 1999). Andrew Randall and the blog of Tim Challies introduced me to the writings of James Russell Miller (1840–1912), and the archivists at the Presbyterian Historical Society in Philadelphia helped me track down the source of his essay, which I quote in chapter 9.

Peter Dickson and I preached through Ecclesiastes together at High Church, Hilton, in 2009. For that—and for more things than I can count—I owe him a very great deal. I am thankful for his permission to use some of his ideas in these chapters. I taught Ecclesiastes to Cornhill Scotland students in 2010 and benefited from their interaction and from the kindness of Bob Fyall and Edward Lobb. Some of my material first appeared in The Pastor as Public Theologian: Reclaiming a Lost Vision (Baker Academic, 2015), and I am grateful to both the publisher and to the editors, Owen Strachan and Kevin Vanhoozer, for permission to reproduce it here.

Thanks are due to Ken Morley and to David and Laura Muirhead for the stay at fabulous Downingford in Strathdon, which helped me to finish and provided refreshment. A cadre of friends, postgraduate students, and colleagues read all or parts of the manuscript and helped to improve it substantially; others shouldered my responsibilities while I shirked them to write. I want to express my thanks to Taido Chino, Andrew Errington, John Ferguson, Nicola Fitch, Ian MacCormick, Andrew Randall, Andy and Cara Ritson, Ben Traynor, Drew Tulloch, Martin Westerholm, and Adam Wilson.

I am especially grateful to my fellow elders at Trinity Church, Aberdeen—Simon Barker, Lawrie Fairns, and David Macleod—and the trustees of The Cruden Trust, for their support and care, which enabled writing time to be carved out of otherwise pressured time. It is a great joy to dedicate this book to the wonderful church family I am privileged to serve. Their encouragement, fortitude, vitality, and love for Christ are a rich delight.

Sam Parkinson and Eleanor Trotter at Inter-Varsity Press graciously granted a faraway contract, then patiently accepted further delays and never once said that everything I told them was vanity of vanities.

To my wife, Angela; my sons, Archie and Samuel; and my daughters, Ella and Lily: what can I say? You are the ones who helped me hear the Preacher of Ecclesiastes laughing as he shows how shoulders are meant for abundance and mayhem, not the weight of the world. You’ve always been laughing, and now we’re in on the joke together. I can’t remember not being so tired or ever so happy. I wish we could stay forever this young.

One day we will.

Let’s Pretend

Preach the gospel. Die. Be forgotten.

Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf

The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.

2 Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher,

vanity of vanities! All is vanity.

3 What does man gain by all the toil

at which he toils under the sun?

4 A generation goes, and a generation comes,

but the earth remains forever.

5 The sun rises, and the sun goes down,

and hastens to the place where it rises.

6 The wind blows to the south

and goes around to the north;

around and around goes the wind,

and on its circuits the wind returns.

7 All streams run to the sea,

but the sea is not full;

to the place where the streams flow,

there they flow again.

8 All things are full of weariness;

a man cannot utter it;

the eye is not satisfied with seeing,

nor the ear filled with hearing.

9 What has been is what will be,

and what has been done is what will be done,

and there is nothing new under the sun.

10 Is there a thing of which it is said,

“See, this is new”?

It has been already

in the ages before us.

11 There is no remembrance of former things,

nor will there be any remembrance

of later things yet to be

among those who come after. —Ecclesiastes 1:1–11

The Explosive Gift

The development of imagination is one of the most intriguing things that happens as little toddlers begin to explore their world. Suddenly, in just a matter of weeks, the sitting room or garden in which the toddler plays becomes a zoo, a garage, a farm, a hospital, a palace, a tea party, a battlefield, a sports stadium. A world of “let’s pretend” opens up to inspire and to cultivate real understanding of the world. The toddler is ushered into new relationships and creative language by pretending to be someone he is not. If you manage to eavesdrop, you will hear all sorts of conversations as the toddler scolds and pleads and says “sorry” and “thank you” to a host of imaginary friends.

But learning the difference between the pretend world and the real world can often be a confusing process. In the real shop you can’t just buy whatever you want. In the real hospital people are actually in pain, and the doctors can’t always make everyone better. In the real world making amends is sometimes the hardest thing possible. Real tears take longer to dry.

The book of Ecclesiastes is one of God’s gifts to help us live in the real world. It’s a book in the Bible that gets under the radar of our thinking and acts like an incendiary device to explode our make-believe games and jolt us into realizing that everything is not as clean and tidy as the “let’s-pretend” world suggests.

Ecclesiastes is the words of “the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem,”1 and he begins with shock tactics. The very first thing he wants to tell us is that “all is vanity,” “vanity of vanities.” If you want readers to wake up and stop pretending about what life is like, that’s a pretty good way to get their attention.

The Meaning of “Vanity”

Of course, to commence in such a direct and stark way poses its own problem. What does it mean to say everything is “vanity”?

I want to propose that many well-intended Bible translations have actually led us astray by translating the Hebrew word hebel as “meaningless” in this context. We tend to read this word as if it’s spoken by an undergraduate philosophy student who comes home after his first year of studies and confidently announces that the universe as we know it is pointless and life has no meaning. But that is not the Preacher’s perspective. He will later make statements such as “Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil” (4:6). If one course of action is better than another, then clearly not everything is “meaningless.”

In fact, the Hebrew word hebel is also accurately translated as “breath” or “breeze.” The Preacher is saying that everything is a mist, a vapor, a puff of wind, a bit of smoke. It’s a common biblical idea:

Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths,

and my lifetime is as nothing before you.

Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath [hebel]!

Surely a man goes about as a shadow!

Surely for nothing [hebel] they are in turmoil;

man heaps up wealth and does not know who will gather!

When you discipline a man

with rebukes for sin,

you consume like a moth what is dear to him;

surely all mankind is a mere breath [hebel]. (Ps. 39:5–6, 11)

O Lord, what is man that you regard him,

or the son of man that you think of him?

Man is like a breath [hebel];

his days are like a passing shadow. (Ps. 144:3–4)

The Preacher’s portrayal of life is this: “The merest of breaths . . . the merest of breaths. Everything is a breath.”2 He will take the rest of his book to unpack exactly what he means, but here are some ways to think about it.

Life Is Short

You know what happens when you blow out a candle. How long does the puff of smoke last? You can smell it and see it. It’s very real. But it is also transient, temporary, and vanishes quickly. It comes and goes without a permanent impact or a lasting impression on the world.

You have found yourself saying exactly what you used to hear older people saying all the time: “Time flies the older you get.” Your grandparents say it’s as if they blinked, and now here they are in an old person’s body. We are born, we live, we die, and it all happens so quickly. Nothing seems to last. “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting [hebel]” (Prov. 31:30 NIV). Joan Collins said that the problem with beauty is that it’s like being born rich and then becoming poor.

The book of Ecclesiastes is a meditation on what it means for our lives to be like a whisper spoken in the wind: here one minute and carried away forever the next.

Life Is Elusive

But the smoke in front of your eyes is not just transient; it is also elusive. Try to grab the smoke, put a bit in your pocket, and keep it for later. You can’t get your hands on it. It is a real, physical thing, and yet it dodges your fingers as soon as they get near it; your very attempt to get hold of it blows air at the smoke and speeds its disappearance.

Ecclesiastes is a meditation on how life seems to elude our grasp in terms of lasting significance. If we try to gain control of the world and our lives by what we can understand and by what we can do, we find that the control we seek eludes us.

Consider knowledge and understanding. In some measure we can understand how the world works, but why does it always rain on the days when you don’t bring your umbrella? Why is the line you don’t join in the supermarket always quicker than the one you do? Why do you feel low, even when you can’t really put your finger on a specific cause? Why do people you know and love die young or suffer long-term ill health while the dictator lives in prosperity into his old age?

Or consider what we do with our lives. We can pour our whole life into something, and it might succeed, or it might fail. You might land the big job in the city, and the bank might go bust the next month—you never know. How much control do you really have over whether your job is secure, or how healthy you will be, or what will happen to interest rates and house prices, over whom you will meet and what you will be doing in ten years’ time?

Not long ago I was building sand castles on the beach with my daughter. With some success we built a large castle, dug a moat around it, and surrounded it with smaller castles and turrets decorated with shells. She was proud of her work, and we enjoyed being absorbed in our task. But eventually—and to her great surprise—we had to retreat as the tide encroached and the waves engulfed our handiwork. The foaming water returned our project to a knobbly patch of ordinary beach. How long do sand castles last? And how much control do we have over the castle we have constructed? We build for a short time only, and always subject to forces beyond our control. That is what our lives are like. Instead of sand and sea, the Bible uses grass and wind to make exactly this point:

As for man, his days are like grass;

he flourishes like a flower of the field;

for the wind passes over it, and it is gone,

and its place knows it no more. (Ps. 103:15–16)

These pictures hit home. When we consider the brevity of our lives set against the millennia of the earth, we know that what the Preacher says is true. Except, of course, in everyday life we pretend it isn’t. We imagine we will live forever, or at the very least that someone else will get cancer, not us. We think our lives are built with granite, not sand. We pretend we’re in control. We imagine that we can make a difference in the world and accomplish things of lasting significance. After all, that’s why we go to work each day. It’s also why we have a midlife crisis when we look back and see that who we are and what we’ve done doesn’t seem to amount to very much.

And so Ecclesiastes sets out to demolish our pretense by confronting us with reality. The Preacher begins the process with a question:

Cover

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Endorsements

Title Page

Dedication

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

1 Let’s Pretend

2 Bursting the Bubble

3 Doing Time