“...before the silver cord is snapped, and the golden bowl is broken, and the pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern.”--Eccl 12:6 (NRSV)
The Teacher may be writing out of doors, where almond blossoms and sweet myrtle perfume the air. Yet, he can’t enjoy his garden as before: sight dims, he walks with fear of falling, and he now hesitates to go out after dark. Hearing fails, yet so does restful slumber; the sound of the bird will rouse him from sleep. His beautiful words describe a melancholy reality.
That reality is: death comes to all, man and beast, rich and poor, foolish and wise. The connection between body and spirit will snap; the lights in the brain will go out; “and the Spirit will return to God who gave it.” All activities will cease. The glory of youth, of achievement, will end in dust. In light of this truth, what does anything matter?
In dearest Denny's last summer on earth, my own strong man was bent over, and he could no longer see. “If only I could enjoy food, that was such a great pleasure,” he said, “and work, just a little, in my garden.” Three thousand years after Ecclesiastes, he experienced the universal melancholy.
Yet the weary Teacher had written elsewhere that “to everything there is a season.” In our own last days together, Denny and I took solace from the memories of dancing and embracing, from the love of friends and from the voices of children. Our faith encompassed all life’s seasons.
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