c. 1984
He had very little to live for as he stood on the bridge at the outskirts of the city. No one could think of anything in particular to say to discourage him. He had lost his wife to cancer a few years earlier, and their only son had died before the death of his wife. So, he stood there, obviously dejected and depressed, and no one could think of anything to say or do. “Well, maybe we can get Gus to come and talk with him,” they said. Gus was the town policemen. “He knows how to handle situation like this.” So, they sent for Ole Gus, the town’s policeman, and Ole Gus came. He went out on the bridge, and he talked to his old friend, the old man on the bridge. They talked for a couple of hours. Then slowly, Gus put his arm around the old man, and slowly, arm-in-arm, they jumped off the bridge together.
The story sort of sets the stage for what I am going to talk to you about–at least the first part of what I am going to talk to you about.
In seeking for my scripture for today’s lesson, I ran across a small bit of scripture that was interesting to me; and I’m going to try to remember it. It’s not my text for today, but it is one that I will share with you. It comes from Ecclesiastes. It says, “Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefor, the heart of the sons of the men is set fully in them to do evil.” I subscribe to that theory in my court and attempt to eliminate that particular problem.
I’ll come to the text in a few minutes; but before I begin the text, I want to present what is perhaps the dilemma of modern times. If I were required to state the two most prevalent problems that I have encountered as Circuit Judge–the most pervasive, and the ones that seem to have almost daily impact in my court–it would be these two things. The first would be drinking and drugs. I have been totally appalled at the amount of drug and alcohol abuse, and its relationship– not just to the criminal problem–but to everything that comes before my court. When I get around later to writing the several books that I intend someday to write, one of them is going to be entitled “Just a Couple,” because I have heard those words so frequently since becoming a judge. “Just a Couple.”
Speaking of “just a couple,” that leads me to the next problem that I encounter most frequently, and that is that the breakdown of marriages. The breakdown of marriages and the custody of children is a constant and ongoing problem in our society. In today’s talk, I am going to try to look for the common denominator in these problems. You might, at first, when I say I am going to look for the common denominator, think that I am talking about a relationship between the two. I don’t know. It’s sort of a chicken-and-egg proposition. I’ve seen some marriage problems that were caused by drinking, and I’ve seen some drinking problems that were caused by marriage. And I don’t know which causes which more often. I’m not seeking the relationship between the two, but the common denominator that they both share.
A thousand years before Jesus Christ was born, a man who called himself “The Preacher” wrote the book of Ecclesiastes, and I am reading from verses 13 through 24:
“Then I saw that wisdom excelleth folly as far as light excelleth darkness. The wise man’s eyes are in his head but the fool walketh in darkness. I myself perceived also that one event happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth even to me. And why was I then more wise? Then said in my heart that this is also vanity, for there is no remembrance of the wise man more than the fool, forever. Seeing that which now is and the days to come shall all be forgotten. Dieth the wise man, as the fool. Therefore, I hated life because the work that is wrought under the sun is grievous to me. For all is vanity and vexation of spirit. Yea I hated all my labor which I had taken under then sun, because I shall leave it unto the man that shall be after me. And who knoweth whether he shall be a wise man or a fool? Yet shall he have rule over all my labor wherein I have labored and wherein I have showed myself wise under the sun. This is also vanity. Therefore, I went about to cause my heart to despair of all the labor which I took under the sun. For the man whose labor is in wisdom and in knowledge and in equity. Yet to a man that hath not labored therein shall he leave it for his portion. This is also vanity and for great evil. For what hath man of all his labored under the sun? For all his days and sorrows and his travail grief. Yea his heart taketh no rest in the night. this is also vanity. There is nothing better for man than that he should eat and drink, that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labor. This also I saw, that it was from the hand of God.
There is an element of despair in the words of the preacher. That element of despair is common thread that runs through the pursuit of knowledge. It runs through the striving on one’s own and through one’s own labors to achieve that which is good. The problem of existence in the present-day world has been described by one of the great modern philosophers. He says that “the masses of people are living in quiet desperation.”
Life is a series of disillusionment, going from point to point. We are born into the world and we have certain so-called milestones that we accomplish. One of the ones that we all remember is graduation. When I speak of graduation, I’m talking about graduation from high school. We set for ourselves a graduation night and that is a rite of passage in our society. Through twelve years of school, or K through twelve, as they now say–the goal is to achieve graduation. I remember my own graduation, and I’m sure most of you that have graduated from high school remember that event. I remember a sense of emptiness that occurred. Actually, you’d been to graduations before and you know pretty well what was going to be said. You knew that it had all been said before and that it would all be said again; and it had happened to you, sort of like passing a bump in the road, and it was over. And you ask yourself, “Is that all there is?”
And then you have the next event: marriage. I counselled with many people during the time that I was an attorney in private practice. I remember one young lady sharing with me her marital problems. She described how she was of the old school and never engaged in pre-marital sex, and then she was married; and for the first time, she experienced sex, and she said to me that her reaction was, “Is that all there is to it?”
We go on and we get into our life’s vocation, or occupation. And we work hard, and we learn what there is to know about our jobs. And all of a sudden, we look at it one day and there is a feeling of emptiness; and we say to ourselves, “is that all?”
We bring children into the world, and our expectations are high and great for our children. I don’t know why we all think that despite our own inability to be great achievers, we all think that we are going to raise presidents of the United States! But we do! We think it!
We set high aspirations and goals for our children. It really doesn’t make any difference, we say, as long as our children do a little better than we were able to do. Now, if everybody’s children since the beginning of time had done a little bit better than the parents did, we would be living in a glowing society today! But that’s not really the way that it works. Many of our children do well, and they are the happiness of our very lives; but for so many, we see saintly mothers and fathers who have sons and daughters who wind up in trouble of one type or another, either with the law or with their personal affairs. And in despair, we can almost hear them saying, “Is that all?”
Ultimately, the time comes when the big black van arrives and six friends or companions or respectable gentlemen out of the community carry our body to the last place it will ever go on this earth; and as the family leaves, they say to themselves, “Is that all?” We really hide ourselves from death. We cover it over with flowers, and we hesitate to experience it all in one blow. But as that breath is breathed the last, there is a strong element of finality to it. Nevertheless, it is so simple, and we simply are left with the great question, “Is that all?”
When we consider this panorama of events from the cradle to the grave, like a descending staircase with each step having the question written on it, ‘Is that all,’ we can understand the gloomy message of the Preacher–the writer of Ecclesiastes. With him, we are tempted to say, “all is vanity and vexation of the spirit.” With him we are tempted to say “There is nothing better for man than that he should eat and drink and should make his soul enjoy good in his labor.” And as a result of all of this seeming lack of meaning, we experience a terrible emptiness–a despair.
We, along with the masses, live in quiet desperation. This is the common denominator in the breakdown of marriage, and in drinking, and in the many other problems that we face in our society. The emptiness that will not be filled. The emptiness that we have to try to fill in whatever way that we can, because it demands filling. It must be filled. And it is this emptiness that demands filling that leads to the problem. Like a black hole, as described in the science of the universe today, that draws everything, even light, into itself.
Because of the emptiness, we reach for power; we reach for money; we reach experiences with sex; we reach for drugs; we reach for whisky; we reach for anything to eliminate that gnawing emptiness. When that grasp and reach exceeds the bounds acceptable in our society, then we are governed by the law; and the law should take its course. The law is necessary, because there are those who will never be able to satisfy that deep emptiness without the strong arm of the law calling to account acts such as murder, robbery, burglary, rape, incest, and the host of other things that are brought on by the terrible problem of emptiness.
I mentioned that The Preacher shared his wisdom by writing the Book of Ecclesiastes a thousand years before Christ. We’ve all experienced the uneasiness of stormy nights, only to see bright sun rising the following morning, driving away our fear. Like the sunrise after an uneasy, stormy night, Jesus came. He told those who listened that he could not put his new wine into old skins. Or a new patch in an old garment. He gave a new commandment–to love. He turned down all else in order to live in perfect love. He filled the emptiness to overflowing, and showed us the way. He told Nicodemus, a man who knew the law, that following the new commandment would be for Nicodemus, like being born again. And it would have been. To put away the idea that the way to perfection is to obey the law, and to turn instead in a direction of a positive affirmation of life, would certainly be much like being born again–like entering into his mother’s womb for a second time of coming forth with a completely new outlook on life.
Jesus’ ministry reached out and touched another man in biblical history who knew the law. This man, as far as we know, never saw Christ in person. This man was trained at the feet of the high priest. He knew the law. He knew the Law of Moses, and I’m sure that he was well-acquainted with imponderable questions that had been raised by The Preacher–the message that had been delivered in the book of Ecclesiastes. But somehow or someway, while this man was pursuing excellence in his own way, while he was following the law and holding the coats of the people who stoned down one of the early Christians, the message came to him. In a blinding flash, Saul realized that the goal and purpose of life is not mere obedience to the law. That experience gave him a new identity, and afterwards, St. Paul was instrumental in spreading Christ’s message of love throughout the world. Many times, he shows in his writings how Christ had come to fulfill the law and prophecies, and he developed the theme that Christ’s message–that the new wine which Christ brought was the wine of love–and that you could not put it into the old skin of mere obedience to the law.
Writing to the Corinthians, he answered once and for all the gloomy message of The Preacher in Ecclesiastes.
1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels and have not love, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling symbol.
2 And though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries and all knowledge; and though I have all faith so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing.
3 And though I bestow all my good to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing.
4 Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself; is not puffed up,
5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
8 Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease;. whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.
9 For we know in part, and we prophecy in part.
10 But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
There is that which fills the emptiness and it can be found in the message of Christ. So, we don’t have to go about with emptiness, and we don’t have to go without answers. To that graduate, we can say, “There’s more.” To the newly weds, we can say “There’s more.” To that man or woman buried in a vocation, we can say, “Yes, there’s more.” And to the loved ones gathered at the grave, we can say, “Yes, there’s more.”
The poet, William Cullen Bryant, saw the scheme of things in nature and drew the comparison in beautiful words. He walked through the Adirondack Mountains; and in the twilight, he saw a lone water fowl flying into the sunset that inspired him to pen the familiar poem, “Ode to a Water Fowl.” I still remember a few verses from some memory work we did back at Shorter High School.
“Whither, midst falling dew,
while glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths dost they pursue,
thou solitary way?
Seekest thou the plashy brink of reedy lake
or marge of river wide?
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
on the chafed ocean side?
***.
There is a power whose care
teaches thy way along the pathless coast.
The desert and illimitable air,
lone, wandering, but not lost.
He who from zone to zone
guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
in the long way that I must tread alone
will lead by steps aright.”
I thank you for the opportunity to be here.
c. 1984
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