Ecclesiastes: Vanishing Vanity
Ecclesiastes pulls back the curtain on our illusions of control and success. From Abel’s fleeting life to James calling us a mist, Scripture reminds us everything under the sun is temporary. But in Christ, we find the only purpose that doesn’t vanish. Discover how to stop chasing the wind and start building what lasts forever.
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Reader's Version
Ecclesiastes: Vanishing Vanity Sermon by Gene Simco Reader’s Version
We here in Naples, Florida, live in an affluent and remarkably wealthy area. Recent surveys and studies have confirmed what many already suspect: when it comes to millionaires and billionaires per capita, Naples ranks second in the entire state—just behind Palm Beach County, but ahead of places like Miami-Dade and Coral Gables. In fact, Naples holds the third position in the United States overall, according to data from Phoenix Marketing International, trailing only Los Alamos, New Mexico, and one other top-tier city. It’s often called a millionaire’s paradise. Local reports have noted that Naples boasts more millionaires per capita than any other city in Florida.
But how rich is “rich,” really? According to a 2023 Charles Schwab survey, the average American believes you need a net worth of 2.2 million dollars to qualify as wealthy. Yet here’s the paradox: among those who actually possess between two and five million dollars in assets, almost half still don’t consider themselves rich at all. No matter how much people accumulate, it somehow never feels like enough.
In our last section, we looked closely at the book of Proverbs, a book that showed us how to live wisely, fear God, and build lives of integrity. Proverbs paints a clear picture: if you walk in wisdom, you will flourish. If you reject it, you will fail.
But what happens when life refuses to follow the formula? What happens when the righteous suffer, the wicked prosper, and no amount of wisdom seems to fix the mess? That’s where Ecclesiastes steps in.
Traditionally attributed to Solomon, Ecclesiastes is the raw journal of a man who had it all—wisdom, wealth, success—and still found everything under the sun to be empty, fleeting, and frustrating. If Proverbs is the bright instruction manual for living well, Ecclesiastes is the stark reality check.
The word Ecclesiastes means “Preacher,” or more literally, “Assembler,” the one who addresses the assembly. It comes from the same root word as ekklesia, which in Greek means “church.” We simply pronounce them differently. Once again, here is another Old Testament book carrying a Greek name rather than a Hebrew one, because the Bible of the early church was written primarily in Greek, not Hebrew.
Today, we’ll see how Ecclesiastes strips away our illusions. It exposes our vanity—our obsession with ourselves—and calls us to let it vanish. Because when you finally stop chasing the wind, you can begin to discover the only meaning that won’t disappear.
And speaking of paradoxes, it is often said that Ecclesiastes is the book of the Bible that teaches us how to read the Bible itself. Scripture is filled with paradoxes. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, a paradox is simply two things that appear to contradict each other, but when viewed in the right context, they actually complement one another—like two sides of the same coin. If you’ve only ever seen one side, and someone flips it over while your eyes are closed, you might think you’re looking at a completely different coin. But it’s still the same piece of metal—just another angle of the same reality.
Ecclesiastes teaches us to keep reading, to look at the whole picture rather than cherry-picking verses in isolation. We must read all of the text in full.
This book can be broken into movements. It’s worth remembering that in the original manuscripts, there were no chapter breaks, so you often have to read continuously to grasp the argument. In chapters one through two, we encounter what amounts to Solomon’s mission statement—what some have called “The Great Experiment.”
Ecclesiastes opens with these words: “These are the words of the Teacher, King David’s son, who ruled in Jerusalem. ‘Everything is meaningless,’ says the Teacher. ‘Completely meaningless!’”
When we look more closely at the original Hebrew and Greek terms, we find the word hebel, and it’s a fascinating word. Hebel means vapor or mist—something that appears substantial but vanishes the moment you try to grasp it. And if you’re familiar with your Bible, you’ll recognize that Abel’s name is derived from this word. Abel’s life was literally cut short, a fleeting existence like vapor dissipating in the air. There’s a profound lesson in that connection: the brevity of Abel’s life echoes the same reality Solomon describes.
In this way, vapor or smoke becomes the perfect metaphorical paradox. It looks solid to our eyes, but the moment we try to hold it, it disappears.
Solomon describes his attempts to find meaning in every earthly pursuit—work, pleasure, wealth—and his repeated verdict is always the same: it’s all meaningless, all chasing after the wind. “I observed everything going on under the sun, and really, it is all meaningless—like chasing the wind.” (Ecclesiastes 1:14)
In chapters three and four, Solomon reflects on the seasons of life: “For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Life has rhythms: birth, death, planting, harvesting. But humanity cannot control the appointed times—what Scripture calls kairos, those moments God alone governs. We’ve talked about kairos before: the set times in which God moves according to His purposes. Even these seasons, Solomon suggests, point forward to fulfillment in Jesus. While Ecclesiastes acknowledges a time for war and a time for peace, Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount calls us to be peacemakers. He doesn’t simply affirm the seasons; He redefines them and ultimately fulfills them.
In chapters four through six, Solomon turns his attention to wealth, work, and the lonely climb: “Those who love money will never have enough. How meaningless to think that wealth brings true happiness.” (Ecclesiastes 5:10)
Without God, success feels hollow. Riches cannot stop death or guarantee joy.
In chapters seven and eight, we encounter wisdom in a place most people avoid—the funeral home: “Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. After all, everyone dies—so the living should take this to heart.” (Ecclesiastes 7:2)
Facing death teaches us more than endless parties ever could, reminding us that wisdom begins when we remember life’s brevity.
Chapters nine through ten underscore the universality of death: “The same destiny ultimately awaits everyone.” (Ecclesiastes 9:3)
Without hope beyond this life, death is the great equalizer.
Finally, in chapters eleven and twelve, Solomon urges us to remember our Creator before it’s too late: “Remember your Creator now while you are young, before the silver cord of life snaps.” (Ecclesiastes 12:6)
Enjoy life, but never forget that judgment comes. Ecclesiastes ends with these final words: “That’s the whole story. Here now is my final conclusion: Fear God and obey his commands, for this is everyone’s duty. God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13–14)
Just like Proverbs, Ecclesiastes affirms that the fear of the Lord is the key to life, the foundation of wisdom itself.
The Book of Ecclesiastes is not without its New Testament connections. Its themes echo throughout the writings of the apostles. Paul, in Romans, ties directly to Solomon’s concluding thought about judgment: “And this is the message I proclaim—that the day is coming when God, through Christ Jesus, will judge everyone’s secret life.” (Romans 2:16)
This is actually a common theme throughout the New Testament. Peter tells us that judgment begins with God’s own household. Paul reminds the Corinthians that Christ Himself will judge humanity.
We also see this pattern in other passages: “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14) “Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay.” (Romans 8:20–21) “If there is no resurrection, ‘Let’s feast and drink, for tomorrow we die!’” (1 Corinthians 15:32) “Don’t store up treasures here on earth… Store your treasures in heaven…” (Matthew 6:19–20) “Everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3:8)
Ecclesiastes exposes the truth that life is hebel—a vapor. It leaves us longing for a solution beyond the sun. Enter Jesus, who steps into the futility, offering life beyond the vapor. Where Solomon saw meaningless cycles, Christ offers eternal purpose.
Indeed, life is a vapor. Ecclesiastes opens with the refrain: “Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)
And James brings this image forward: “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14)
The word hebel means vapor or breath, the same word behind Abel’s name in Genesis 4, whose life was cut short. From Abel’s fleeting existence to Solomon’s lament to James reminding us of our frailty, Scripture consistently humbles us with the truth of how short life is.
But Christ does not leave us merely aware of that frailty—He redeems it. Life becomes more than a moment; it becomes eternal. From Abel to Solomon to James, the Bible confronts us with the brevity of existence, but Christ transforms this awareness from despair to purpose, inviting us to invest our vapor in eternity.
Shape
Alpha & Omega – Life Is a Vapor
Ἄλφα (Alpha) – Old Testament Reality: “Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)
Ὦμέγα (Omega) – New Testament Fulfillment: “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14)
Explanation: From Abel’s brief life to Solomon’s cry of hebel to James’s reminder that we are atmis (Greek: ἀτμίς), Scripture consistently humbles us with the truth of life’s brevity. But in Christ, our vapor is redeemed into something eternal.
Shape
Alpha & Omega – Futility Under the Sun
Ἄλφα (Alpha): “I observed everything going on under the sun, and really, it is all meaningless—like chasing the wind.” (Ecclesiastes 1:14)
Ὦμέγα (Omega): “Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay.” (Romans 8:20–21)
Explanation: Paul echoes Solomon’s lament but points beyond it: futility isn’t the end. All creation groans for redemption in Christ—the One who ends the curse.
Shape
Alpha & Omega – The Judgment to Come
Ἄλφα (Alpha): “God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad.” (Ecclesiastes 12:14)
Ὦμέγα (Omega): “And this is the message I proclaim—that the day is coming when God, through Christ Jesus, will judge everyone’s secret life.” (Romans 2:16) “For we must all stand before Christ to be judged.” (2 Corinthians 5:10)
Explanation: Solomon’s final conclusion—judgment is certain—is fulfilled in Christ. He will judge every hidden thing. For those in Him, judgment becomes not a threat but an invitation to grace.
Ecclesiastes declares that there is nothing new under the sun. Let’s take another look at this idea.
“History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9)
This ancient observation calls us to sanity in a world drunk on novelty. Modern media has perfected the art of hyping every crisis as the end of days and every trend as something revolutionary. But Solomon reminds us: none of it is really new.
Do we see that today? Absolutely. Every time you turn on the TV, there is a ticker bar flashing “Breaking News,” as if each small event were the ultimate turning point in human history.
It is all designed to incite fear and get us addicted to outrage, anxiety, and the kind of unhealthy fear that consumes us. Last week, we talked about the distinction between good fear—a reverence and humility before God—and bad fear, which is panic, anger, and the illusion that we can control what is uncontrollable. This constant stream of so-called “news” conditions us to believe that each headline is something utterly unprecedented, when in reality, it is just another version of what humanity has faced countless times before.
Consider the COVID-19 pandemic. When it emerged, the media quickly framed it as the worst health crisis the world had ever seen. It did devastate lives and economies, killing over 7 million people worldwide—a staggering loss. But if we step back and look at history, perspective returns.
In 1918, the world experienced what became known as the 1918 flu or the Spanish flu. An estimated 50 million people died globally, including about 675,000 deaths in the United States alone. Statistically, that pandemic was far more deadly by every measure.
On the other side of the argument, many people became enraged over mask mandates, insisting they were an unprecedented assault on personal freedoms. But again, history shows we’ve been here before. During the 1918 pandemic, many U.S. cities—including San Francisco, Seattle, and Detroit—passed strict mask ordinances. In Michigan and numerous other states, masks were required in all public spaces. Citizens were fined or even jailed for refusing to comply. And yes, there were resisters then, too. They organized under the name “The Anti-Mask League.”
Our perspective today should be informed by these reminders. For those who felt COVID restrictions were something wholly new, history demonstrates that we have faced similar measures. For those convinced the pandemic was the worst humanity has ever endured, the record shows the 1918 flu was far deadlier by sheer numbers.
And if we keep going further back, the scale becomes even more sobering. Between 1347 and 1351, Europe was ravaged by the Black Death, a pandemic that killed nearly half the continent. Historians estimate it claimed between 75 and 200 million lives worldwide. In Europe alone, it wiped out about one-third to one-half of the entire population.
Nothing under the sun is truly new. Panic and pride, disease and division—these cycles have been repeating since the beginning. Ecclesiastes calls us not to despair but to humility, recognizing that in every era, God remains unshaken.
What about wars? We see conflicts and violence erupting all over the world, and some people quickly conclude that it must mean we are in the end times—that it has never been this bad before. But even though Jesus explicitly told us that no one knows the time, people still point to wars as proof that the end is imminent.
Jesus warned clearly about both the uncertainty of the timing and the danger of believing those who claim special knowledge. In Matthew 24:36, He said:
“However, no one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself. Only the Father knows.”
He went on to warn about those who would try to exploit fear:
“Then if anyone tells you, ‘Look, here is the Messiah,’ or ‘There he is,’ don’t believe it. For false messiahs and false prophets will rise up and perform great signs and wonders so as to deceive, if possible, even God’s chosen ones.” (Matthew 24:23–24)
And just before His ascension, the disciples asked Jesus if He was about to restore the kingdom to Israel. In Acts 1:7, He answered plainly:
“The Father alone has the authority to set those dates and times, and they are not for you to know.”
This is the heart of biblical faith: to trust Jesus and be prepared at all times, without obsessing over speculation or predictions. That is exactly what the parables surrounding the Olivet Discourse are about—being ready, watchful, and faithful precisely because the timing is unknown.
Yet despite these clear words, we still have faithless, false prophets today, going around telling people they know when the end will come. The arrogance of such claims is astonishing, especially when Jesus Himself said He did not know the hour.
When we step back and look at history, we see that war is not new, and neither is human fear. In fact, the claim that things are worse now than ever before simply doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.
Consider the twentieth century alone:
World War I (1914–1918): Approximately 20 million deaths.
World War II (1939–1945): An estimated 70–85 million deaths, the deadliest conflict in human history.
Korean War (1950–1953): Around 3 million deaths.
Vietnam War (1955–1975): Between 2 and 3 million deaths.
By comparison, in more recent conflicts from 2000 to the present:
The Iraq War: About 200,000 deaths.
Despite the headlines, the modern era has seen fewer truly global-scale wars and a fraction of the casualties of the last century.
If we look even further back in time, Scripture gives us examples of staggering loss. In 2 Chronicles 13, during the war between Judah under King Abijah and Israel under King Jeroboam, the Bible records:
“So Judah defeated Israel on that occasion because they trusted in the Lord, the God of their ancestors. Abijah and his army pursued Jeroboam’s troops and captured some of his towns… 500,000 of Israel’s elite troops were killed that day.” (2 Chronicles 13:18–19)
This was one of the largest single-battle death tolls recorded in Scripture—and it happened thousands of years ago.
History shows us that death, suffering, and loss are not new. We do not live in the worst time—just the loudest time. God’s sovereignty has never been threatened by human chaos. The world has always been broken, but the Lord has always remained unshaken.
People will then turn and say, “Well, what about the world being more crazy and sinful than ever?” But if you look back at history, you quickly see that the Roman Empire was worse than today’s headlines in more ways than one.
Widespread sexual practices were openly accepted in Roman society. Homosexuality and bisexual relationships were common, especially among the Roman elites. Emperors themselves set the example. Nero, for instance, took young boys as public partners and even married a man named Sporus in a ceremony witnessed by the imperial court. Another emperor, Hadrian, had a male lover named Antinous. After Antinous died, Hadrian declared him a god, and people across the empire were commanded to worship his image.
Alongside these practices, pagan worship often involved exploitation and temple prostitution. Both women and boys were prostituted in religious rituals, considered ordinary parts of Roman spiritual life. Infanticide and the abandonment of unwanted babies were socially accepted and rarely questioned.
And yet, humanity endured. God remained sovereign then just as He does now.
Paul addresses this very point in Romans, painting a picture of a society spiraling into moral collapse. In the opening chapters, he writes almost like a prosecuting attorney in a courtroom. First, he lays out the charges against the Gentiles in Romans 1, before turning to the Jews in Romans 2, and then finally declaring in Romans 3 that everyone has sinned and fallen short of God’s glory.
In Romans 1, Paul describes the same sexual practices and moral decline that were rampant around him. He writes:
“They traded the truth about God for a lie. So they worshiped and served the things God created instead of the Creator himself… That is why God abandoned them to their shameful desires. Even the women turned against the natural way to have sex and instead indulged in sex with each other. And the men, instead of having normal sexual relations with women, burned with lust for each other.” (Romans 1:25–27)
Then he adds something striking:
“They know God’s justice requires that those who do these things deserve to die, yet they do them anyway. Worse yet, they encourage others to do them, too.” (Romans 1:32)
Reading these verses, it almost sounds as if Paul is describing our own cultural moment. Yet this was a man writing nearly 2,000 years ago about events that had been happening long before his lifetime—practices that were already ancient history even in his day.
It has all come and gone before. The sins, the scandals, the decadence—it’s all vapor. In the end, it’s nothing but hype, smoke, and mirrors.
Solomon, once the wealthiest and wisest man alive, arrived at a sobering conclusion: everything is vanity, and everything is vanishing. Today, we still think money will solve all our problems, but it rarely does. In Solomon’s case, wealth didn’t just fail to help—it created new disasters. His endless projects, political alliances, and marriages to hundreds of women only multiplied his troubles.
Remember this: more stuff usually means more stress.
Paul puts it bluntly in his first letter to the Corinthians:
“But those who marry will have troubles in this life, and I am trying to spare you those problems.” (1 Corinthians 7:28)
Here’s where I have to be very careful about the types of jokes I make—especially as a married man. Paul’s point in 1 Corinthians 7, as he discusses marriage, divorce, and remarriage, is that he wanted everyone to be fully devoted to the Lord. Sometimes relationships can distract us or weigh us down with anxieties that pull our hearts away from God.
They certainly did for Solomon. The family influences of his many wives led him into idolatry, and eventually to widespread pagan worship throughout Israel. Because Solomon participated in the worship of Molech, it’s very likely he promoted the killing of children—since that was how Molech was honored.
But do we do the same kinds of things today? Do we sometimes marry or get involved with people who influence us negatively? Do their families and their problems become our problems?
Perhaps that, too, is vanity.
Sometimes seeking approval—wanting to be liked or accepted—pulls us into situations we never should have entered. We do this in relationships, but we also do it with possessions. How many bad relationships have we stayed in simply because we were driven by vanity?
And vanity extends far beyond romantic pursuits. Guys, we often chase other things out of the same hollow motives. Maybe you bought a house that was too big, trying to prove something to someone who probably never noticed. Maybe you signed up for car payments you couldn’t really afford. I can’t be the only one in the room who, at some point, pursued so much vanity that I buried myself under a mountain of debt. When I was younger, I tried to prove myself by the things I owned, and I found myself buried in piles of bills.
Here in Naples, Florida, it’s easy to be fooled by the illusion of wealth. That Ferrari or Lamborghini might look like success, but many of the people driving them are in serious debt. They’re trying to impress each other with their homes, but they’re mortgaged to the hilt.
And here’s the reality: if you have a car payment or a mortgage, it’s not really yours. It’s an illusion of ownership. The moment you stop making the payments, it can all be taken away. That’s where vanity vanishes.
Sometimes we create problems for ourselves through our vanity—through our possessions, our mouths, or even our fingers. Think about social media. Have you ever posted something out of pride or frustration that caused harm, only to regret it later?
Vanity often hides behind our screens. We try to present ourselves as someone we’re really not. We craft an image, an illusion, hoping to convince everyone else—and maybe even ourselves—that we are important or successful or right.
I think of the word narcissism, which comes from the ancient story of Narcissus. He became so obsessed with his own reflection that he wasted away, unable to look away from himself.
Do we do the same thing in the comment section? We feel the urge to impose our arguments, to prove our point, but in the end, those arguments only create more problems. We become slaves to the notifications, checking again and again and again, often regretting that we ever posted in the first place. The comment section fuels our pride, our anger, our self-importance.
Through social media, we get in our own heads. We let other people rent space there. We hand over our peace to strangers and become slaves to their opinions. All is vanity.
But what if we made the vanity vanish? What if we deleted the comment? What if we took down the post? What if we deleted the entire account? Are these platforms something we are idolizing? You might think it’s permanent or that it has some lasting effect, but let me remind you of the fleeting nature of it all—of the chasing after the wind that is social media.
If you don’t believe it, remember one word: MySpace.
We create so many problems for ourselves with our vanity, and perhaps some of them need to disappear.
Now, let’s be clear—it’s okay to have nice things. That isn’t the issue. The problem is when those things become idols. When they become vanities, obsessions, or unhealthy distractions from the Lord. We have to be able to recognize when they cross the line, and have the courage to make them vanish.
Ecclesiastes teaches us to do exactly that—to let go of what cannot last. Why cling to what will inevitably fade away?
James begins his letter with this same truth, echoing Ecclesiastes:
“And those who are rich should boast that God has humbled them. They will fade away like a little flower in the field. The hot sun rises and the grass withers; the little flower droops and falls, and its beauty fades away. In the same way, the rich will fade away with all of their achievements.” (James 1:10–11)
Later, James writes:
“Look here, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we are going to a certain town and will stay there a year. We will do business there and make a profit.’ How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning mist—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.” (James 4:13–14)
Peter echoes this same theme in his letter:
“As the Scriptures say, ‘People are like grass; their beauty is like a flower in the field. The grass withers and the flower fades. But the word of the Lord remains forever.’” (1 Peter 1:24–25)
This isn’t a call to despair—it’s a call to live with eternal urgency. To stop chasing the wind and start walking in God’s will today.
Jesus Himself told us where our treasures belong:
“Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal.” (Matthew 6:19–20)
And it’s not just our possessions that vanish—it’s our so-called problems, too.
I can remember my daughter walking around with her tablet. Despite plenty of warnings, she would continue carrying it everywhere, treating it somewhat carelessly. One day, as she walked out the door, I was inside and heard a loud crack. She had dropped it and shattered the screen. To her, it seemed like the end of the world—utterly devastating. But as her father, I could see the big picture. I knew it could be replaced.
Have you ever felt that way? A breakup, a lost job, a financial setback—what felt like the end of the world was really just another moment in the story.
We’ve all been there. We’ve all believed that a certain situation was final, that nothing good could ever come after it. Maybe it was in high school when you were convinced your high school sweetheart was the person you’d spend the rest of your life with. Now, some people do end up marrying that first love, but for most of us, it didn’t work out that way. Or maybe you lost a job—the only job you thought you’d ever find—and then, eventually, you found another.
As adults, we do the same thing. We cling to temporary things, and when they break or disappear, we panic. But Ecclesiastes invites us to zoom out. If our possessions are fleeting, so are our troubles.
Just like my daughter’s tablet falling off her bike, a good father allows these things to happen, not because he doesn’t care, but because he sees from a higher perspective. In the same way, Scripture gives us a glimpse of our Father’s eternal, heavenly perspective.
Paul writes in 2 Corinthians:
“For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18)
This is what it means to see life through an eternal lens. Paul continues in chapter five with the imagery of the human body as a temporary dwelling:
“For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands.” (2 Corinthians 5:1)
And he goes on:
“So we are always confident, even though we know that as long as we live in these bodies we are not at home with the Lord. For we live by believing and not by seeing.” (2 Corinthians 5:6–7)
Then he says:
“Yes, we are fully confident, and we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 5:8)
Paul knew that his body—his entire earthly life—was temporary, like a tent. It was something he would eventually pack up, fold away, and leave behind. It was temporary. It was hebel—vanity. It was vanishing.
So let me ask you: What vanities have you clung to that only multiplied your problems? What worries are you treating like the end of the world, when God says they are just a passing vapor?
Again, perhaps we have created them ourselves, just as Solomon did.
Solomon knew that one day this world would end. But for followers of Jesus, that isn’t the end of the story—it’s the beginning of a world with no more death, no more crying, and no more regret.
Revelation gives us this promise:
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” (Revelation 21:4)
That is why we vanish our vanity—because everything that isn’t rooted in Christ will fade, and everything that is will last.
So how do we stop chasing the wind? How do we start centering our lives on what never vanishes?
We begin each day grounded. Pray for clear eyes and a steady heart, like the psalmist did:
“Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12)
We need to reprioritize what is truly important and examine what is consuming too much of our time and attention. Proverbs gives us this wise perspective:
“O God, I beg two favors from you; let me have them before I die. First, help me never to tell a lie. Second, give me neither poverty nor riches! Give me just enough to satisfy my needs. For if I grow rich, I may deny you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ And if I am too poor, I may steal and thus insult God’s holy name.” (Proverbs 30:7–9)
We should seek that same balance in our lives.
We also need to acknowledge the vapor:
“Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. After all, everyone dies—so the living should take this to heart.” (Ecclesiastes 7:2)
Every morning, remind yourself: My life is short, but meaningful in Christ.
Limit the noise. News is a tool, not your master. Choose truth over clickbait and remember—there is nothing new under the sun.
Measure value by eternity. Ask yourself daily: Will this matter in 100 years—or forever?
Align your plans with God’s will. As James reminds us, before you declare what you’ll do next, pause and say, “If the Lord wills.” Just as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer: “Your will be done.”
Plan for the future, but live in the present. As James 4 teaches us:
Make your plans, but hold them loosely—because tomorrow is a mist, and only today is in your hands.
Invest in what doesn’t vanish. Pour your energy into what lasts: relationships, discipleship, serving others, and loving God. As Jesus said:
“Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy and thieves do not break in and steal.” (Matthew 6:20)
Practice gratitude. Contentment is the antidote to chasing more. Enjoy God’s gifts—food, family, simple pleasures—but hold them loosely.
Paul writes:
“Yet true godliness with contentment is itself great wealth.” (1 Timothy 6:6)
Press forward, not backward. Don’t let regret or fear paralyze you. Fix your eyes on what lies ahead. As Paul said:
“I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead.” (Philippians 3:13)
He pressed toward Christ and the heavenly prize.
Stay centered on that truth: everything else is vapor, but He alone is forever. Paul put it this way:
“Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3:8)
Life under the sun will never be enough. Your career will never be enough. Your relationships will never be enough. Your wisdom, your wealth, your success—none of it will last. It is all vapor.
But Jesus is not under the sun. He is above it. He stepped into this world of dust and disappointment, wrapped Himself in our futility, and conquered it. He didn’t just come to point out the meaninglessness—He came to fill it with purpose that death can never erase.
So when you feel like everything is slipping through your fingers, remember this: you were never meant to build your hope on things that fade. You were meant to build your hope on the One who conquered the grave.
If you are in Christ, your vapor becomes victory, your breath becomes blessing, and your fleeting life becomes an eternal testimony to His faithfulness. ________________________________________ ©️ Copyright 2025 Gene Simco Most Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Scriptures in brackets reflect the original Biblical languages.
We here in Naples, Florida, live in an affluent and remarkably wealthy area. Recent surveys and studies have confirmed what many already suspect: when it comes to millionaires and billionaires per capita, Naples ranks second in the entire state—just behind Palm Beach County, but ahead of places like Miami-Dade and Coral Gables. In fact, Naples holds the third position in the United States overall, according to data from Phoenix Marketing International, trailing only Los Alamos, New Mexico, and one other top-tier city. It’s often called a millionaire’s paradise. Local reports have noted that Naples boasts more millionaires per capita than any other city in Florida.
But how rich is “rich,” really? According to a 2023 Charles Schwab survey, the average American believes you need a net worth of 2.2 million dollars to qualify as wealthy. Yet here’s the paradox: among those who actually possess between two and five million dollars in assets, almost half still don’t consider themselves rich at all. No matter how much people accumulate, it somehow never feels like enough.
In our last section, we looked closely at the book of Proverbs, a book that showed us how to live wisely, fear God, and build lives of integrity. Proverbs paints a clear picture: if you walk in wisdom, you will flourish. If you reject it, you will fail.
But what happens when life refuses to follow the formula? What happens when the righteous suffer, the wicked prosper, and no amount of wisdom seems to fix the mess? That’s where Ecclesiastes steps in.
Traditionally attributed to Solomon, Ecclesiastes is the raw journal of a man who had it all—wisdom, wealth, success—and still found everything under the sun to be empty, fleeting, and frustrating. If Proverbs is the bright instruction manual for living well, Ecclesiastes is the stark reality check.
The word Ecclesiastes means “Preacher,” or more literally, “Assembler,” the one who addresses the assembly. It comes from the same root word as ekklesia, which in Greek means “church.” We simply pronounce them differently. Once again, here is another Old Testament book carrying a Greek name rather than a Hebrew one, because the Bible of the early church was written primarily in Greek, not Hebrew.
Today, we’ll see how Ecclesiastes strips away our illusions. It exposes our vanity—our obsession with ourselves—and calls us to let it vanish. Because when you finally stop chasing the wind, you can begin to discover the only meaning that won’t disappear.
And speaking of paradoxes, it is often said that Ecclesiastes is the book of the Bible that teaches us how to read the Bible itself. Scripture is filled with paradoxes. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, a paradox is simply two things that appear to contradict each other, but when viewed in the right context, they actually complement one another—like two sides of the same coin. If you’ve only ever seen one side, and someone flips it over while your eyes are closed, you might think you’re looking at a completely different coin. But it’s still the same piece of metal—just another angle of the same reality.
Ecclesiastes teaches us to keep reading, to look at the whole picture rather than cherry-picking verses in isolation. We must read all of the text in full.
This book can be broken into movements. It’s worth remembering that in the original manuscripts, there were no chapter breaks, so you often have to read continuously to grasp the argument. In chapters one through two, we encounter what amounts to Solomon’s mission statement—what some have called “The Great Experiment.”
Ecclesiastes opens with these words: “These are the words of the Teacher, King David’s son, who ruled in Jerusalem. ‘Everything is meaningless,’ says the Teacher. ‘Completely meaningless!’”
When we look more closely at the original Hebrew and Greek terms, we find the word hebel, and it’s a fascinating word. Hebel means vapor or mist—something that appears substantial but vanishes the moment you try to grasp it. And if you’re familiar with your Bible, you’ll recognize that Abel’s name is derived from this word. Abel’s life was literally cut short, a fleeting existence like vapor dissipating in the air. There’s a profound lesson in that connection: the brevity of Abel’s life echoes the same reality Solomon describes.
In this way, vapor or smoke becomes the perfect metaphorical paradox. It looks solid to our eyes, but the moment we try to hold it, it disappears.
Solomon describes his attempts to find meaning in every earthly pursuit—work, pleasure, wealth—and his repeated verdict is always the same: it’s all meaningless, all chasing after the wind. “I observed everything going on under the sun, and really, it is all meaningless—like chasing the wind.” (Ecclesiastes 1:14)
In chapters three and four, Solomon reflects on the seasons of life: “For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Life has rhythms: birth, death, planting, harvesting. But humanity cannot control the appointed times—what Scripture calls kairos, those moments God alone governs. We’ve talked about kairos before: the set times in which God moves according to His purposes. Even these seasons, Solomon suggests, point forward to fulfillment in Jesus. While Ecclesiastes acknowledges a time for war and a time for peace, Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount calls us to be peacemakers. He doesn’t simply affirm the seasons; He redefines them and ultimately fulfills them.
In chapters four through six, Solomon turns his attention to wealth, work, and the lonely climb: “Those who love money will never have enough. How meaningless to think that wealth brings true happiness.” (Ecclesiastes 5:10)
Without God, success feels hollow. Riches cannot stop death or guarantee joy.
In chapters seven and eight, we encounter wisdom in a place most people avoid—the funeral home: “Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. After all, everyone dies—so the living should take this to heart.” (Ecclesiastes 7:2)
Facing death teaches us more than endless parties ever could, reminding us that wisdom begins when we remember life’s brevity.
Chapters nine through ten underscore the universality of death: “The same destiny ultimately awaits everyone.” (Ecclesiastes 9:3)
Without hope beyond this life, death is the great equalizer.
Finally, in chapters eleven and twelve, Solomon urges us to remember our Creator before it’s too late: “Remember your Creator now while you are young, before the silver cord of life snaps.” (Ecclesiastes 12:6)
Enjoy life, but never forget that judgment comes. Ecclesiastes ends with these final words: “That’s the whole story. Here now is my final conclusion: Fear God and obey his commands, for this is everyone’s duty. God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13–14)
Just like Proverbs, Ecclesiastes affirms that the fear of the Lord is the key to life, the foundation of wisdom itself.
The Book of Ecclesiastes is not without its New Testament connections. Its themes echo throughout the writings of the apostles. Paul, in Romans, ties directly to Solomon’s concluding thought about judgment: “And this is the message I proclaim—that the day is coming when God, through Christ Jesus, will judge everyone’s secret life.” (Romans 2:16)
This is actually a common theme throughout the New Testament. Peter tells us that judgment begins with God’s own household. Paul reminds the Corinthians that Christ Himself will judge humanity.
We also see this pattern in other passages: “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14) “Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay.” (Romans 8:20–21) “If there is no resurrection, ‘Let’s feast and drink, for tomorrow we die!’” (1 Corinthians 15:32) “Don’t store up treasures here on earth… Store your treasures in heaven…” (Matthew 6:19–20) “Everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3:8)
Ecclesiastes exposes the truth that life is hebel—a vapor. It leaves us longing for a solution beyond the sun. Enter Jesus, who steps into the futility, offering life beyond the vapor. Where Solomon saw meaningless cycles, Christ offers eternal purpose.
Indeed, life is a vapor. Ecclesiastes opens with the refrain: “Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)
And James brings this image forward: “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14)
The word hebel means vapor or breath, the same word behind Abel’s name in Genesis 4, whose life was cut short. From Abel’s fleeting existence to Solomon’s lament to James reminding us of our frailty, Scripture consistently humbles us with the truth of how short life is.
But Christ does not leave us merely aware of that frailty—He redeems it. Life becomes more than a moment; it becomes eternal. From Abel to Solomon to James, the Bible confronts us with the brevity of existence, but Christ transforms this awareness from despair to purpose, inviting us to invest our vapor in eternity.
Shape
Alpha & Omega – Life Is a Vapor
Ἄλφα (Alpha) – Old Testament Reality: “Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)
Ὦμέγα (Omega) – New Testament Fulfillment: “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14)
Explanation: From Abel’s brief life to Solomon’s cry of hebel to James’s reminder that we are atmis (Greek: ἀτμίς), Scripture consistently humbles us with the truth of life’s brevity. But in Christ, our vapor is redeemed into something eternal.
Shape
Alpha & Omega – Futility Under the Sun
Ἄλφα (Alpha): “I observed everything going on under the sun, and really, it is all meaningless—like chasing the wind.” (Ecclesiastes 1:14)
Ὦμέγα (Omega): “Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay.” (Romans 8:20–21)
Explanation: Paul echoes Solomon’s lament but points beyond it: futility isn’t the end. All creation groans for redemption in Christ—the One who ends the curse.
Shape
Alpha & Omega – The Judgment to Come
Ἄλφα (Alpha): “God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad.” (Ecclesiastes 12:14)
Ὦμέγα (Omega): “And this is the message I proclaim—that the day is coming when God, through Christ Jesus, will judge everyone’s secret life.” (Romans 2:16) “For we must all stand before Christ to be judged.” (2 Corinthians 5:10)
Explanation: Solomon’s final conclusion—judgment is certain—is fulfilled in Christ. He will judge every hidden thing. For those in Him, judgment becomes not a threat but an invitation to grace.
Ecclesiastes declares that there is nothing new under the sun. Let’s take another look at this idea.
“History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9)
This ancient observation calls us to sanity in a world drunk on novelty. Modern media has perfected the art of hyping every crisis as the end of days and every trend as something revolutionary. But Solomon reminds us: none of it is really new.
Do we see that today? Absolutely. Every time you turn on the TV, there is a ticker bar flashing “Breaking News,” as if each small event were the ultimate turning point in human history.
It is all designed to incite fear and get us addicted to outrage, anxiety, and the kind of unhealthy fear that consumes us. Last week, we talked about the distinction between good fear—a reverence and humility before God—and bad fear, which is panic, anger, and the illusion that we can control what is uncontrollable. This constant stream of so-called “news” conditions us to believe that each headline is something utterly unprecedented, when in reality, it is just another version of what humanity has faced countless times before.
Consider the COVID-19 pandemic. When it emerged, the media quickly framed it as the worst health crisis the world had ever seen. It did devastate lives and economies, killing over 7 million people worldwide—a staggering loss. But if we step back and look at history, perspective returns.
In 1918, the world experienced what became known as the 1918 flu or the Spanish flu. An estimated 50 million people died globally, including about 675,000 deaths in the United States alone. Statistically, that pandemic was far more deadly by every measure.
On the other side of the argument, many people became enraged over mask mandates, insisting they were an unprecedented assault on personal freedoms. But again, history shows we’ve been here before. During the 1918 pandemic, many U.S. cities—including San Francisco, Seattle, and Detroit—passed strict mask ordinances. In Michigan and numerous other states, masks were required in all public spaces. Citizens were fined or even jailed for refusing to comply. And yes, there were resisters then, too. They organized under the name “The Anti-Mask League.”
Our perspective today should be informed by these reminders. For those who felt COVID restrictions were something wholly new, history demonstrates that we have faced similar measures. For those convinced the pandemic was the worst humanity has ever endured, the record shows the 1918 flu was far deadlier by sheer numbers.
And if we keep going further back, the scale becomes even more sobering. Between 1347 and 1351, Europe was ravaged by the Black Death, a pandemic that killed nearly half the continent. Historians estimate it claimed between 75 and 200 million lives worldwide. In Europe alone, it wiped out about one-third to one-half of the entire population.
Nothing under the sun is truly new. Panic and pride, disease and division—these cycles have been repeating since the beginning. Ecclesiastes calls us not to despair but to humility, recognizing that in every era, God remains unshaken.
What about wars? We see conflicts and violence erupting all over the world, and some people quickly conclude that it must mean we are in the end times—that it has never been this bad before. But even though Jesus explicitly told us that no one knows the time, people still point to wars as proof that the end is imminent.
Jesus warned clearly about both the uncertainty of the timing and the danger of believing those who claim special knowledge. In Matthew 24:36, He said:
“However, no one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself. Only the Father knows.”
He went on to warn about those who would try to exploit fear:
“Then if anyone tells you, ‘Look, here is the Messiah,’ or ‘There he is,’ don’t believe it. For false messiahs and false prophets will rise up and perform great signs and wonders so as to deceive, if possible, even God’s chosen ones.” (Matthew 24:23–24)
And just before His ascension, the disciples asked Jesus if He was about to restore the kingdom to Israel. In Acts 1:7, He answered plainly:
“The Father alone has the authority to set those dates and times, and they are not for you to know.”
This is the heart of biblical faith: to trust Jesus and be prepared at all times, without obsessing over speculation or predictions. That is exactly what the parables surrounding the Olivet Discourse are about—being ready, watchful, and faithful precisely because the timing is unknown.
Yet despite these clear words, we still have faithless, false prophets today, going around telling people they know when the end will come. The arrogance of such claims is astonishing, especially when Jesus Himself said He did not know the hour.
When we step back and look at history, we see that war is not new, and neither is human fear. In fact, the claim that things are worse now than ever before simply doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.
Consider the twentieth century alone:
World War I (1914–1918): Approximately 20 million deaths.
World War II (1939–1945): An estimated 70–85 million deaths, the deadliest conflict in human history.
Korean War (1950–1953): Around 3 million deaths.
Vietnam War (1955–1975): Between 2 and 3 million deaths.
By comparison, in more recent conflicts from 2000 to the present:
The Iraq War: About 200,000 deaths.
Despite the headlines, the modern era has seen fewer truly global-scale wars and a fraction of the casualties of the last century.
If we look even further back in time, Scripture gives us examples of staggering loss. In 2 Chronicles 13, during the war between Judah under King Abijah and Israel under King Jeroboam, the Bible records:
“So Judah defeated Israel on that occasion because they trusted in the Lord, the God of their ancestors. Abijah and his army pursued Jeroboam’s troops and captured some of his towns… 500,000 of Israel’s elite troops were killed that day.” (2 Chronicles 13:18–19)
This was one of the largest single-battle death tolls recorded in Scripture—and it happened thousands of years ago.
History shows us that death, suffering, and loss are not new. We do not live in the worst time—just the loudest time. God’s sovereignty has never been threatened by human chaos. The world has always been broken, but the Lord has always remained unshaken.
People will then turn and say, “Well, what about the world being more crazy and sinful than ever?” But if you look back at history, you quickly see that the Roman Empire was worse than today’s headlines in more ways than one.
Widespread sexual practices were openly accepted in Roman society. Homosexuality and bisexual relationships were common, especially among the Roman elites. Emperors themselves set the example. Nero, for instance, took young boys as public partners and even married a man named Sporus in a ceremony witnessed by the imperial court. Another emperor, Hadrian, had a male lover named Antinous. After Antinous died, Hadrian declared him a god, and people across the empire were commanded to worship his image.
Alongside these practices, pagan worship often involved exploitation and temple prostitution. Both women and boys were prostituted in religious rituals, considered ordinary parts of Roman spiritual life. Infanticide and the abandonment of unwanted babies were socially accepted and rarely questioned.
And yet, humanity endured. God remained sovereign then just as He does now.
Paul addresses this very point in Romans, painting a picture of a society spiraling into moral collapse. In the opening chapters, he writes almost like a prosecuting attorney in a courtroom. First, he lays out the charges against the Gentiles in Romans 1, before turning to the Jews in Romans 2, and then finally declaring in Romans 3 that everyone has sinned and fallen short of God’s glory.
In Romans 1, Paul describes the same sexual practices and moral decline that were rampant around him. He writes:
“They traded the truth about God for a lie. So they worshiped and served the things God created instead of the Creator himself… That is why God abandoned them to their shameful desires. Even the women turned against the natural way to have sex and instead indulged in sex with each other. And the men, instead of having normal sexual relations with women, burned with lust for each other.” (Romans 1:25–27)
Then he adds something striking:
“They know God’s justice requires that those who do these things deserve to die, yet they do them anyway. Worse yet, they encourage others to do them, too.” (Romans 1:32)
Reading these verses, it almost sounds as if Paul is describing our own cultural moment. Yet this was a man writing nearly 2,000 years ago about events that had been happening long before his lifetime—practices that were already ancient history even in his day.
It has all come and gone before. The sins, the scandals, the decadence—it’s all vapor. In the end, it’s nothing but hype, smoke, and mirrors.
Solomon, once the wealthiest and wisest man alive, arrived at a sobering conclusion: everything is vanity, and everything is vanishing. Today, we still think money will solve all our problems, but it rarely does. In Solomon’s case, wealth didn’t just fail to help—it created new disasters. His endless projects, political alliances, and marriages to hundreds of women only multiplied his troubles.
Remember this: more stuff usually means more stress.
Paul puts it bluntly in his first letter to the Corinthians:
“But those who marry will have troubles in this life, and I am trying to spare you those problems.” (1 Corinthians 7:28)
Here’s where I have to be very careful about the types of jokes I make—especially as a married man. Paul’s point in 1 Corinthians 7, as he discusses marriage, divorce, and remarriage, is that he wanted everyone to be fully devoted to the Lord. Sometimes relationships can distract us or weigh us down with anxieties that pull our hearts away from God.
They certainly did for Solomon. The family influences of his many wives led him into idolatry, and eventually to widespread pagan worship throughout Israel. Because Solomon participated in the worship of Molech, it’s very likely he promoted the killing of children—since that was how Molech was honored.
But do we do the same kinds of things today? Do we sometimes marry or get involved with people who influence us negatively? Do their families and their problems become our problems?
Perhaps that, too, is vanity.
Sometimes seeking approval—wanting to be liked or accepted—pulls us into situations we never should have entered. We do this in relationships, but we also do it with possessions. How many bad relationships have we stayed in simply because we were driven by vanity?
And vanity extends far beyond romantic pursuits. Guys, we often chase other things out of the same hollow motives. Maybe you bought a house that was too big, trying to prove something to someone who probably never noticed. Maybe you signed up for car payments you couldn’t really afford. I can’t be the only one in the room who, at some point, pursued so much vanity that I buried myself under a mountain of debt. When I was younger, I tried to prove myself by the things I owned, and I found myself buried in piles of bills.
Here in Naples, Florida, it’s easy to be fooled by the illusion of wealth. That Ferrari or Lamborghini might look like success, but many of the people driving them are in serious debt. They’re trying to impress each other with their homes, but they’re mortgaged to the hilt.
And here’s the reality: if you have a car payment or a mortgage, it’s not really yours. It’s an illusion of ownership. The moment you stop making the payments, it can all be taken away. That’s where vanity vanishes.
Sometimes we create problems for ourselves through our vanity—through our possessions, our mouths, or even our fingers. Think about social media. Have you ever posted something out of pride or frustration that caused harm, only to regret it later?
Vanity often hides behind our screens. We try to present ourselves as someone we’re really not. We craft an image, an illusion, hoping to convince everyone else—and maybe even ourselves—that we are important or successful or right.
I think of the word narcissism, which comes from the ancient story of Narcissus. He became so obsessed with his own reflection that he wasted away, unable to look away from himself.
Do we do the same thing in the comment section? We feel the urge to impose our arguments, to prove our point, but in the end, those arguments only create more problems. We become slaves to the notifications, checking again and again and again, often regretting that we ever posted in the first place. The comment section fuels our pride, our anger, our self-importance.
Through social media, we get in our own heads. We let other people rent space there. We hand over our peace to strangers and become slaves to their opinions. All is vanity.
But what if we made the vanity vanish? What if we deleted the comment? What if we took down the post? What if we deleted the entire account? Are these platforms something we are idolizing? You might think it’s permanent or that it has some lasting effect, but let me remind you of the fleeting nature of it all—of the chasing after the wind that is social media.
If you don’t believe it, remember one word: MySpace.
We create so many problems for ourselves with our vanity, and perhaps some of them need to disappear.
Now, let’s be clear—it’s okay to have nice things. That isn’t the issue. The problem is when those things become idols. When they become vanities, obsessions, or unhealthy distractions from the Lord. We have to be able to recognize when they cross the line, and have the courage to make them vanish.
Ecclesiastes teaches us to do exactly that—to let go of what cannot last. Why cling to what will inevitably fade away?
James begins his letter with this same truth, echoing Ecclesiastes:
“And those who are rich should boast that God has humbled them. They will fade away like a little flower in the field. The hot sun rises and the grass withers; the little flower droops and falls, and its beauty fades away. In the same way, the rich will fade away with all of their achievements.” (James 1:10–11)
Later, James writes:
“Look here, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we are going to a certain town and will stay there a year. We will do business there and make a profit.’ How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning mist—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.” (James 4:13–14)
Peter echoes this same theme in his letter:
“As the Scriptures say, ‘People are like grass; their beauty is like a flower in the field. The grass withers and the flower fades. But the word of the Lord remains forever.’” (1 Peter 1:24–25)
This isn’t a call to despair—it’s a call to live with eternal urgency. To stop chasing the wind and start walking in God’s will today.
Jesus Himself told us where our treasures belong:
“Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal.” (Matthew 6:19–20)
And it’s not just our possessions that vanish—it’s our so-called problems, too.
I can remember my daughter walking around with her tablet. Despite plenty of warnings, she would continue carrying it everywhere, treating it somewhat carelessly. One day, as she walked out the door, I was inside and heard a loud crack. She had dropped it and shattered the screen. To her, it seemed like the end of the world—utterly devastating. But as her father, I could see the big picture. I knew it could be replaced.
Have you ever felt that way? A breakup, a lost job, a financial setback—what felt like the end of the world was really just another moment in the story.
We’ve all been there. We’ve all believed that a certain situation was final, that nothing good could ever come after it. Maybe it was in high school when you were convinced your high school sweetheart was the person you’d spend the rest of your life with. Now, some people do end up marrying that first love, but for most of us, it didn’t work out that way. Or maybe you lost a job—the only job you thought you’d ever find—and then, eventually, you found another.
As adults, we do the same thing. We cling to temporary things, and when they break or disappear, we panic. But Ecclesiastes invites us to zoom out. If our possessions are fleeting, so are our troubles.
Just like my daughter’s tablet falling off her bike, a good father allows these things to happen, not because he doesn’t care, but because he sees from a higher perspective. In the same way, Scripture gives us a glimpse of our Father’s eternal, heavenly perspective.
Paul writes in 2 Corinthians:
“For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18)
This is what it means to see life through an eternal lens. Paul continues in chapter five with the imagery of the human body as a temporary dwelling:
“For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands.” (2 Corinthians 5:1)
And he goes on:
“So we are always confident, even though we know that as long as we live in these bodies we are not at home with the Lord. For we live by believing and not by seeing.” (2 Corinthians 5:6–7)
Then he says:
“Yes, we are fully confident, and we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 5:8)
Paul knew that his body—his entire earthly life—was temporary, like a tent. It was something he would eventually pack up, fold away, and leave behind. It was temporary. It was hebel—vanity. It was vanishing.
So let me ask you: What vanities have you clung to that only multiplied your problems? What worries are you treating like the end of the world, when God says they are just a passing vapor?
Again, perhaps we have created them ourselves, just as Solomon did.
Solomon knew that one day this world would end. But for followers of Jesus, that isn’t the end of the story—it’s the beginning of a world with no more death, no more crying, and no more regret.
Revelation gives us this promise:
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” (Revelation 21:4)
That is why we vanish our vanity—because everything that isn’t rooted in Christ will fade, and everything that is will last.
So how do we stop chasing the wind? How do we start centering our lives on what never vanishes?
We begin each day grounded. Pray for clear eyes and a steady heart, like the psalmist did:
“Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12)
We need to reprioritize what is truly important and examine what is consuming too much of our time and attention. Proverbs gives us this wise perspective:
“O God, I beg two favors from you; let me have them before I die. First, help me never to tell a lie. Second, give me neither poverty nor riches! Give me just enough to satisfy my needs. For if I grow rich, I may deny you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ And if I am too poor, I may steal and thus insult God’s holy name.” (Proverbs 30:7–9)
We should seek that same balance in our lives.
We also need to acknowledge the vapor:
“Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. After all, everyone dies—so the living should take this to heart.” (Ecclesiastes 7:2)
Every morning, remind yourself: My life is short, but meaningful in Christ.
Limit the noise. News is a tool, not your master. Choose truth over clickbait and remember—there is nothing new under the sun.
Measure value by eternity. Ask yourself daily: Will this matter in 100 years—or forever?
Align your plans with God’s will. As James reminds us, before you declare what you’ll do next, pause and say, “If the Lord wills.” Just as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer: “Your will be done.”
Plan for the future, but live in the present. As James 4 teaches us:
Make your plans, but hold them loosely—because tomorrow is a mist, and only today is in your hands.
Invest in what doesn’t vanish. Pour your energy into what lasts: relationships, discipleship, serving others, and loving God. As Jesus said:
“Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy and thieves do not break in and steal.” (Matthew 6:20)
Practice gratitude. Contentment is the antidote to chasing more. Enjoy God’s gifts—food, family, simple pleasures—but hold them loosely.
Paul writes:
“Yet true godliness with contentment is itself great wealth.” (1 Timothy 6:6)
Press forward, not backward. Don’t let regret or fear paralyze you. Fix your eyes on what lies ahead. As Paul said:
“I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead.” (Philippians 3:13)
He pressed toward Christ and the heavenly prize.
Stay centered on that truth: everything else is vapor, but He alone is forever. Paul put it this way:
“Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3:8)
Life under the sun will never be enough. Your career will never be enough. Your relationships will never be enough. Your wisdom, your wealth, your success—none of it will last. It is all vapor.
But Jesus is not under the sun. He is above it. He stepped into this world of dust and disappointment, wrapped Himself in our futility, and conquered it. He didn’t just come to point out the meaninglessness—He came to fill it with purpose that death can never erase.
So when you feel like everything is slipping through your fingers, remember this: you were never meant to build your hope on things that fade. You were meant to build your hope on the One who conquered the grave.
If you are in Christ, your vapor becomes victory, your breath becomes blessing, and your fleeting life becomes an eternal testimony to His faithfulness. ________________________________________ ©️ Copyright 2025 Gene Simco Most Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Scriptures in brackets reflect the original Biblical languages.