The Loss of Gain - Ecclesiastes 2:18-23

The Preacher’s Quest, Wisdom, Pleasure, and the End of the Chapter

Well, this morning we return to Ecclesiastes chapter 2. We're nearing the end of the chapter. We'll actually conclude it next week with verses 24 through 26. That'll be the first of a series of what we've called the Carpe Diem statements.

That's not my term. That's how commentators and interpreters of Ecclesiastes have summarized these statements about the good that we can find under the sun, the good that God has given to man, and the way that we can find joy and even satisfaction in this life.

But we're not there yet, and even as we pitch toward that, we want to return to some of the points we laid out at the end of last week's message. Over the past several sermons we've looked at the folly of wisdom, the pain of pleasure last week, the hatred of life.

It's been rather gloomy from week to week in terms of this focus. But this is the results of the quest that the preacher has sought, the king over Jerusalem has sought from chapter 1, verse 26 and following.

And as we concluded last week, he hated life. He hated what his life had amounted to as a result of this quest. And we find that repetition beginning in verse 18. He also hates the labor in which he toiled under the sun.

So we see there's a chain connection between where we left off last week and where we're picking up this morning. And this morning we're going to tie last week's message to this focus, which is really the summary of this whole section, which I've titled The Loss of Game, Ecclesiastes 2, beginning in verse 18.

The Loss of the Fruit of Labor

Then I hated all my labor in which I had toiled under the sun, because I must leave it to the man who will come after me. And who knows whether he'll be wise or a fool. Yet he will rule over all my labor in which I toiled and in which I've shown myself wise under the sun.

This also is vanity. Therefore I turned my heart and despaired of all the labor in which I had toiled under the sun. There is a man whose labor is with wisdom, knowledge, and skill, yet he must leave his heritage to a man who has not labored for it.

This also is vanity and a great evil. For what has man for all his labor and for the striving of his heart with which he has toiled under the sun? For all his days are sorrowful and his work burdensome.

Even in the night, his heart takes no rest. This also is vanity. Let's just look at verses 18 and 19. I want you to notice the repetition. We're going to see repetition within these verses and repetition of these verses.

In other words, we're going to see in a moment that there's a parallel going on between verses 18 and 19 as well as 20 and 21. But looking at verse 18, then I hated all my labor. So this is a summary of the result of this inquest that began in verse 26.

He surveyed it all. He sought after wisdom and madness and folly. He pursued pleasure with reckless abandon. He pursued that stoic way of managing his life and ordering everything according to a stringent wisdom in both directions.

He came up short. He came up empty. So this is not just saying then as a successive moment, but then as a summation of this whole quest, the king over Jerusalem has come to see. Then I hated all my labor in which I toiled under the sun because I must leave it to the man who will come after me.

And who knows whether he'll be wise or a fool. But he's going to rule over my labor in which I toiled under the sun. Even when I showed myself wise in it. This is vanity. Now what do you notice by way of repetition?

Just in these two verses. Look at the repetition. And remember in Hebrew, emphasis is made by repetition. I hated all my labor in which I toiled, yet he will rule over all my labor in which I toiled. We're going to see the same thing in the next several verses.

The whole focus is on labor, on toil, on the fact that he must leave it. The term here for toil, the Hebrew amal, it's repeated throughout. The interesting thing is that the labor or the toil is functioning as a metonymy.

It's a fancy way of saying that the focus is not so much on the toil, but rather on the fruit of the toil. That becomes clear when we look at the larger context. It's not I must give my toil to my successor.

No, I must give it. Give what? Give the fruit of my labor. Give the increase, the gain that I had under the sun, the gain with which I built wisely. I must leave it. What's the it? The toil? The work?

No, it's the fruit of the toil, the fruit of the work. I have to give it to someone who didn't work for it. Didn't work for what? Didn't work for the fruit, for the reward, for the gain. So that's the metonymy that's going on here.

In fact, our translation doesn't pick up on this. It's a little more strict, but some translations do. The NASB, I hated all the fruit of my labor for which I had labor. That's an excellent insight. That's what's going on here in this passage.

NIV even gets it right in a way. I hated all the things I had toiled for. I hated the product of my labors here because it goes to someone else who didn't labor. I hate the fruit of my toil because it goes to someone who didn't toil.

I'm not around to enjoy it. I'm not around to protect it. It's simply given over and who knows what will happen to it, whether it will be used wisely or foolishly. We're thinking of Solomon and that historical register.

Rehoboam is a fool. He does not build wisely with what he received. The question is, has Solomon himself built wisely with what he's received from his father's hand? And so, of course, this is the nature.

This is the cyclical rhythm of life that we receive that which we didn't work for, whether a build with or burn down. That's beyond us. We're not able to contain it or secure it. And we see that word leave.

Interestingly, it's also a word translated elsewhere, rest. It's the word nuach. Think of the prophecy that Lamed gave of Noah. Again, nuach. This one will give us rest. The idea is you're leaving or resting something.

You have to leave it. You have to put it to rest. That's the idea here. I have to leave it. I have to drop it. Someone who didn't toil, someone who didn't earn, someone who didn't labor under the sun, they receive it without lifting a finger.

And I can't control that. There's nothing I can do about what will become of the fruit of my labor. And again, as was said, Ecclesiastes is a running commentary on the reality of the fall, the reality of God's judgment on sin working through the power of death.

How there's this corruption and this fatigue and this weariness that all that God intended at creation has been corrupted by the fall and is in need, in dire need, of redemption. We have it in that word leave.

Not a lot of commentators see emphasis here. I think it's a huge emphasis. Why does the king have to leave his work? Mankind wasn't created to not enjoy forever the fruit of their labor. When God planted Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, His intention for humanity, speaking at a surface level, was so that they could labor in His goodness and extend His glory and dominion to the ends of all that He had made.

They were to perennially be around the fruit of their labor, to enjoy God by enjoying all of His goodness reflected and refracted by all that He had done. They were never to leave it. They were never to leave His presence, never to leave His dwelling place.

The fall forced them, expelled them. They were forced to leave. And as a result of death, now we must ever leave the fruit of our labor. We must ever leave the presence, the dwelling place, the place that God has apportioned us.

So leaving is an effect of the fall. Of course, the king enjoyed the fruit of his labor. He says, I built wisely. As we saw last week, that's a virtue. It's better to have wisdom than to walk in folly.

It's better to have eyes in your head than to be in darkness. And he says, I walked in wisdom. I built wisely. I labored wisely. But even still, I could not escape the effects of the fall. I have to leave it all behind.

Despair, Legacy, and the Futility of Significance

Verses 20 and 21, therefore, I turned my heart in despair of all the labor in which I had toiled under the sun. Again, now he's turning and surveying everything we saw from the past chapter. There's a man, now he's speaking somewhat removed, likely indicating himself.

There's a man whose labor is with wisdom. That was certainly the king in Jerusalem. Knowledge and skill. But he has to leave his heritage to a man who has not labored for it. This also is vanity and a great evil.

Again, you notice that repetition. I turned my heart in despair of all the labor in which I toiled. There's a man whose labor is with wisdom. He must leave this heritage to a man who has not labored for it.

Do you see the emphasis again in the repetition of that word leave? He must leave his heritage. There's no rest. There's no fulfillment under this sun as a result of the fall. And look at the despair.

This also is vanity and a great evil. He just is calling a spade a spade. This is not how it was meant to be. This word evil, it won't be the only time we see it in Ecclesiastes. We're getting at the idea of injustice, a grave injustice, a woeful misfortune.

That's the idea. One translation, the New English. This is a utter wrong. It's an utterly wrong. Wasn't supposed to be this way. That's how he's feeling. Everything that he built, everything that he achieved through all of this wise, skillful labor is left for someone else.

As one said, this verse reveals a shift from pleasure-driven despair to legacy-driven disillusionment. That's excellent. This verse reveals a shift from pleasure-driven despair. Remember how he sought pleasure?

There was nothing he restrained himself from. And he despaired as a result of that pursuit. He realized there wasn't ultimate lasting pleasure under this sun. So then he turned, well, if I can't find pleasure under the sun, maybe I can find satisfaction and fulfillment in laying down an inheritance and leaving a legacy.

But he finds there a disillusionment. I can't control it and I won't be around to see it. Now there's going to be a counterbalance to this, as we'll see throughout Ecclesiastes, where he states something and we think we finally understand it and have settled on it.

And then a few chapters later, he's going to throw us off balance again. We're going to see this disillusionment about his legacy is going to have an answer in chapter 4 and again in chapter 9. So we have to be patient with this book.

We want to be settled where he's settled so that we can follow the things that he's surveying and seeing. If you could put it this way, the king in Jerusalem has fully entered his midlife crisis. I wonder if some of you have fully entered your midlife crisis.

I don't know if I have. I don't know if I will. I hope to God I don't. I've seen some of the things that men do when they enter that stage of life. All of a sudden, a cherry red Mustang is in the driveway.

Some foolish decision. I've gone back to stamp collecting. I just sunk our 401k into it. What? This is the thing. This is the thing that will give me meaning. And sociologists that study the phenomenon of midlife crisis recognize this shift where in the first part of a man's life, he's generally bent on pursuing the things that will make him successful.

It doesn't matter what kind of career, what kind of job he's doing. He's looking to have success. He wants to merit. He wants to earn. He wants to establish himself. So the first part of his life is largely driven by a hunger, a need for success.

Having been successful, the second half of a man's life often then shifts to a hunger or a need for significance. And you can see that shift here with this king in Jerusalem. I sought to expand my borders farther than anyone before me.

I built more hanging gardens and pleasure palaces than anyone before me. I had more wisdom and pursued more knowledge than anyone before me. I was more successful than anyone who had ever come before me.

And he realized there wasn't any significance there. Midlife crisis. Now he has a hunger for significance. Where is it all going? What will it all mean? What will my name carved in granite actually accomplish?

He's wondering if under the sun, all that he's amassed, all that it's amounted to has essentially been a waste. Again, it's not the full answer. That's where he is right now. I remember this scene. It's nothing edifying to watch here, but it just sticks out to me.

I remember in high school this episode of The Simpsons where you have comic book guy. He's like this, you know, grown adult and he just collects comic books. His whole life is in the lore of comic fandom.

And in the episode, there was something like a missile got launched and was heading to Springfield and it was going to blow up the town. And he's walking down the sidewalk and he's reading his comic. His whole life has been in comic books.

And he goes, no, Aquaman, you can't marry a woman without gills. You're in two different worlds. And he looks up and he sees the rocket coming and he goes, oh, I've wasted my life. Just love that scene.

Instant recognition. Oh, this was not worth it. And that's this king in Jerusalem. He's surveying everything around him. And now he's laser focused on the reality of his mortality and he goes, have I wasted my life?

Success? Significance? Verses 18 and 19 are parallel to verses 20 and 21. Let me just show you some of that structure. They both begin, look at verse 18 and then at verse 20 with a lament, with a sort of fatigued sigh.

I hated all my labor in which I toiled under the sun. That's verse 18. I despaired of all the labor in which I toiled under the sun. That's verse 20. So you have that repetition. Then the reason for that.

Because I must leave it to the man who will come after me. Verse 18. He must leave his heritage to a man who has not labored for it. Verse 21. And then the conclusion. This is vanity. This is vanity again and a great evil.

So you see this mirrored repetition between 18, 19 and 20 and 21. And then verse 22 comes as a summary of the whole quest that began from chapter 1, verse 26 till now. What has man for all of his labor, for the striving of his heart with which he's toiled under the sun?

What does that sound like? That sounds like already a foray that began at the very beginning of this book. Verse 3 of chapter 1. What prophet has a man from all of his labor in which he toils under the sun?

Now we're at the end of the second chapter and he's back at the beginning question. What prophet is it? What has all my labor under the sun amounted to? What does a man have from all of his labor? My heart was striving after it.

What can I show? What can I gain? What can I hold from it? And you see where this leads him as we head to verse 23. This striving, this toil that didn't just consume his day, but it even takes up his night.

He says all his days are sorrowful, his work burdensome. Even in the night his heart has no rest. This also is vanity. So even when he's not working, he can't find rest. He can't find replenishment. He perhaps is up at night with worry.

What's my work going to mean tomorrow? What do I have to do? What do I need? What do I have to get done? How is that going to get done? His heart has no rest. It's literal in the Hebrew. His heart finds no rest.

So he has to leave. He feels, as we said last week, that pressure of mortality. He's done a lot to outpace it, a lot to numb himself to it, a lot to be distracted from it. But the reality is it's now crept up unawares in his life.

He thought he was out far ahead, more wisdom, more knowledge, more gain, more royal prowess, more potential, more wealth, more splendor. He thought he could outpace it. He thought he could find that secret to the center of the universe, that fulfillment in life under the sun.

He thought he had enough of a gap there, but it just kept pacing and pacing and pacing. Death is like the New York Knicks in the fourth quarter. You think you're out far enough, and it doesn't matter.

They just catch up and overrun at the end. That's death. Frankly, the king cannot believe he spent so many years of his life working for something that will fall out of his hands instantly into someone else's, who didn't even spend a day working for.

He says, what's the justice in that? Eric Ortlund summarizes it so well. In these three searches, he seems to be putting infinite demands on finite things. I want something steady, something sure, something solid.

I want something so satisfying. And he looked in every way, in every direction in life under the sun, and he could not find it. He was putting infinite demands on finite things, asking them to satisfy him in ways that they were never intended to.

Isn't that what we do, brothers and sisters? We put infinite demands on finite things in life. I need this to be solid. I need this to be true, solid gain. I need this to be soul-satisfying. And whether we never arrive or achieve, or even if we do arrive and achieve, we're bitterly disappointed.

The whole conclusion of chapter 2 up to verse 23 is bitter disappointment. As Jack Elol put it, in order to be prepared to hope in what does not deceive us, we must first lose hope in everything that does deceive us.

That's the encouragement of where Ecclesiastes is going. He's spreading that black velvet that he's going to put gemstones on because he wants to lose hope in everything that would deceive us or distract us from what is actually hopeful, what is actually glorious.

He reminds us the thrust of last week's message, despairing the effects of the fall upon life under the sun, the way that the fall, the way that human sin and rebellion corrupted God's good design, God's good intention for humanity, the power of death working through sin that has cursed our labor, cursed our rest from labor, cursed our blessedness, cursed the entirety of life under the sun.

Or as I had mentioned this some weeks ago, this conclusion by Zach Eswine, the preacher wants us to see how far from Eden we have come. Once it was enough for a man and a woman to have God and the good gifts that God gave, even if it meant there was a tree and fruit that existed but not for them.

Now even though we're surrounded by opportunities to laugh and drink, work, make money, none of it's enough, we're not satisfied and then death comes and stomps over all of it. Eswine says, death did this to us.

We did this to us. And God let it be. He will have to take care of death and all that has flown from death. And in time he will, in time a promised one will come, a cross will stand, a tomb will empty, and death itself will die.

Christ the Answer to Weariness and Restlessness

So we've laid out the despair of chapter 1 and chapter 2 and in some ways now we come to where I closed last week, that contrast between the dying thoughts of an atheist and someone like Ben Sasse, a run-of-the-mill Christian who has understood the reality of Christian hope as a result of looking death squarely in the face.

It's only then that we can even begin to understand the way that this tireless fatigue of toil and labor and anxiety of having no rest by day or by night is answered fully and finally by the Lord Jesus Christ.

We might have it on a fridge magnet, we might have it on a postcard or even a desktop screensaver, but we haven't quite grasped the beauty and the truth, the gritty truth of Jesus' words, come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.

If that's a passage you can yawn at, you're not where the King in Jerusalem is. That is music, that is gospel music. For someone whose days are consumed by despair and fatigue, whose nights are driven by anxiety and worry, who feels that there's nothing solid or soul satisfying in this life, there's just the weariness, the labor, the heavy laden sense of fatigue and exasperation, and against that Jesus says, come to me.

Don't keep going out there in those directions, don't keep those quests going that occupy this man for so long, come to me. If you're laboring and toiling under the sun, if you're heavy laden, if you're despairing and feeling there's no peace, no rest, no comfort, I will give you rest.

He spells it out again, take my yoke, learn from me. I'm gentle, lowly in heart, you will find rest. Jesus assumes that the one who comes to him is the one who's been searching for that kind of rest for their souls.

And he's saying you're looking in all the wrong places if you're not looking to me, if you're not coming to me. Come to me if you want that rest. Come to me if you would find something to satisfy your soul.

Don't keep searching elsewhere in other things. It's only Christ that can give us something to satisfy our souls, to give us respite along the way of a weary world. He himself had to live by faith in his Father's will in that very way.

In the midst of that kind of heavy fatigue and despair and sense of hopelessness, of hating his life as it were, compared to his love for his Father, of being able to take up his cross and die to himself every day.

And in that communion with his Father, finding rest and encouragement, even joy for his soul, so that though he was a man of sorrows, well acquainted with grief, he could also say in prayer his great desire was to share the joy he had with his Father to his own.

To make that joy complete. So we recognize that the glorious hope of the Gospel is that Jesus is the one who endured the hostile powers of death, endured the corruption and decay and rebellion of the fall in his own body, and ultimately paid the price for it on the tree.

And as a result of that, he abolished death, as 2 Timothy says, and brought light and life. So we asked the question last week, and I cautioned, please do not answer too quickly because as Christians, one of our big problems is we answer too quickly.

We've almost been catechized too well. One of my great encouragements and hopes is that as our society is becoming increasingly biblically illiterate, they don't understand the Bible, they haven't heard the famous passages, they don't understand some of the most basic assumptions of previous generations, that's actually an encouragement to me.

Because they won't have preformed answers, they won't have hasty conclusions. It'll actually strike them in the way it ought to strike us. Paul says, for me to live is, and we said, blank, fill in that blank.

Well, let's dive into that. That's from Philippians 1, of course. The context of Philippians 1 is he's writing this letter, and quite literally he's awaiting a verdict of impending death or of restoration.

He doesn't know which way it will go. He says in verse 20 of chapter 1, According to my earnest expectation and hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but with all boldness as always, so now also, Christ will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death.

Those are the straits that he's in. I don't know if I'm going to continue to live or if the Roman sword will take my life. Whether by life or by death, what my life has been about will continue. Christ will be magnified.

That was his driving concern. He was driven by the reality that there was this upward call, this hope of glory, that existed as a result of him knowing and walking in the light of Christ. So his whole view of death, his whole view of life, has been transformed as a result of that.

Death itself and the prospect of all that he had suffered, he likens to a light, momentary affliction. Why? He's holding it against a scale of eternity. He knows that the decisive victory has taken place at the resurrection.

Death no longer can hold me down because Christ rose victorious. So he recognizes that's the first fruits of my hope. What he is, I too will be, and I will be like him when I see him. We come to the great statement of verse 21.

For to me, he says, to live is Christ, and therefore to die is gain. If we back up to the very beginning of the letter, Paul has viewed himself as a slave of Christ, meaning I belong completely to him.

My whole body is subject to his will. My whole life is in his hands. What he desires, what he commands, I do. I belong to him. I'm his, completely. That's not simply a sentiment. Christ is not an accessory to Paul's life.

It is Paul's life to be a Christian, to commune with Christ. In fact, we have to spell out the translation. Literally, it's just to live, Christ, to die, gain. As so often in the Greek, you're supplying verbs, verbs that are implied.

To live, to have a life, Christ. So then what's death? If Christ is life, what's death in this view, in this perspective? Gain. Because the one thing that's holding me back from enjoying that undiminished presence of him who is my life is the fact that I'm still in this body under this sun.

So death to me is gain. What's the one thing that the king in Jerusalem has been searching for in chapters 1 and 2? Gain. What is there to gain? What kind of gain is there? Is there anything in life under the sun that I can call gain?

Where is Paul as he's writing this letter to Philippi? You want gain? You won't find it in life under the sun. The gain is dying in order to be with Christ. That's gain. The totality of what was driving Paul, of how Paul understood himself and everything around him, In other words, the totality that's embedded in this word life is simply summarized for Paul as Christ.

What's the meaning of it all? Christ. What's the purpose of it all? Christ. Where's it all going? Christ. Why is it? Christ. Lots of other things matter and flow downstream from that, of course. Paul recognizes the source, recognizes the summit.

Whatever else might be needed, as he says in a few verses later, the Philippians have needs. It's needful for them that Paul stays. But Paul has such an exalted view of Christ, he knows the sum total of life itself is Christ.

People wonder what the point is today. What's the purpose of life? What are we here for? What is life? What kind of answer do you think they're picking up from our lives? It's one thing to have as a blank for me to live is, and just assume.

I'm a member at GRBC, of course. Christ. Just assume. Do the people around us, the people in our neighborhood, people in our workplace, the children in our home, would they fill in that blank as easily, as readily?

Oh, without hesitation, for them to live is Christ. Or would they actually have some other potential answers? Well, Christ is certainly a part, Christ is present, but Christ the all, Christ the whole?

Christ the burning center, Christ the driving force? Christ the before and the after, the beginning and the end, or is there something else in between? Perhaps we're blinded to, but others who know us well can see there's some other need, some other drive, some other distraction that fills in that blank far more honestly than we do.

We're surrounded by people who are questioning what the purpose of life is. I've been failing, perhaps, but attempting to minister to a young man whose testimony and walk I can only describe as a roller coaster of a step forward and two steps back.

And I've been praying for him, excited, hopeful. I've been seeing a lot of myself in ways that I'm not able to communicate or give the things that I so desperately want to. But he reached out to me yesterday and he said, after a long delay of communication, this just isn't for me, you know, it's just not for me.

This Christian life, Christianity, it's not for me. And in that moment, I can't help but think, you are around people and aware of enough to have some semblance of what Christianity is. You think you understand it.

You could almost be described as the Jews. You search the Scriptures because you think in them you've found life. But what's the thing you haven't known? More importantly, who is the relationship that you're lacking?

Jesus says in that passage, you won't come to me. The Scriptures testify of me. I am life. And you can realize very quickly that Christianity becomes an accessory, a potential opportunity, a new direction, a needed change, something to try.

Yeah, it seems really sensible. A lot of the people that I know, they seem to have their lives put together well. They're Christians. But there's a missing dimension. There's something absolutely void at the center of it all that could never be said of Paul.

Paul could not allow others around him to see that Christianity was something that could neatly compartmentalize into your life, to be one of many other pursuits and ambitions and drives. For me, life is Christ, Paul says.

In fact, I'm only here to do His will as His slave. I actually just want to die and be with Him. Death is gain to me. That's how much I love Him. How much I long to be with Him. How much the sting of death has been removed from me.

What's our answer to that, brothers and sisters? What is life? What is life? What is living? What does it mean to us? What is it all about? Paul has stood face to face with the same question of the king in Jerusalem in Ecclesiastes 2.

And he's found the real gain. And the real gain is not in any drive or directive. It's in a person. It's in a communion with this person. It's in the glorious hope that comes as a result of this person.

It's, in short, Christ. The Christian knows the answer to these questions. There's a purpose to life. That purpose is that Christ will be magnified. That Christ will be glorified. Now, I do not want that to come across as some baton that I'm beating you with.

Which is often how I read it and apply it to myself. Is Christ my life? No, it's not. Well, you wicked sinner. Christ isn't your life. You're not like Paul. Get ready for another beating. And then I just, okay, I'll try better.

And I try to manufacture Christ being the center of my life. I try to put it on. Yes, I just need a little bit more effort, a little bit more zeal. I can put these things into place and really prove and show to others, if not myself, that Christ is the center.

Do you see that Paul doesn't have to manufacture that? This isn't a baton to be beaten with, brothers and sisters. This is just a mirror held up to us to say, have we really understood who Jesus is? When you've known Jesus in this way, when you're pursuing Jesus in this way, Paul's reaction is the natural outflow.

Have you not found that to be true in your life as a Christian? That when other things clear away and you find yourself in His presence, any desires for the world or the flesh, the lust of the eyes, the pride of life, it becomes loathing to you, loathsome to you.

It pales away. You feel that heartbeat of Paul. Christ is glorious. Christ is my life. It's this upward call. If you could put it this way, it's a natural response. And so it's more of a burning question.

Why would I live for anything else? Why would my life be characterized by anything else? Why would I pretend life exists in anything when I've already known the source of it is Christ? All that emanates that's good from God is a result of Him, and everything that's good is made for Him.

Everything that is is through Him. Why would I chase rivals, competitors? At the church retreat, we spent a lot of time looking at idols of the heart. Haven't you found it true when you return to your first love, have all other loves become hates?

You're like, Peter, I spent enough time running in the lust of the Gentiles. It's like, I'm not going in that direction anymore. I'm not trying to straddle that direction. You end up realizing these people that straddle love for other things and try to fit and accommodate Christ into that, to justify that, to validate that, have not understood Christ, have not known Christ.

And I can tell you this, it's the most wearying, exhausting thing in the world to try to straddle Christ. He doesn't admit rivals to His throne. He doesn't have a wide enough seat for other loves. And so the spirit is Ichabod, it's departed, and people go on for some time in their natural strength, whether through peer pressure or whatever, to hold these things together, to try to maintain this straddled affection between the semblance of Christianity and their actual love, their actual drive for the world.

It always becomes so fatiguing, you don't care what the cost is, it must have out. Think of how Ecclesiastes-like Paul's meditation is. He's found the real gain, which is Christ Himself, which is the meaning of life, the purpose of life, the goal of life, the fullness of life, the splendor of life, the source of life.

It's life Himself. I am the life, he tells Martha. We go on to the next verse. Paul says, if I live on in the flesh, this will mean fruit from my labor. That's another vexing question for the preacher in Ecclesiastes, isn't it?

What fruit is there that I can enjoy from my labor? For Paul, there's all sorts of fruit from his labor that he can enjoy. Anything done unto Christ is a lasting fruit that brings a lasting reward. Paul recognizes, though death will separate him from his fruit, though his labor will be, at some point, stood still, the fruit will remain, and it won't be lost because of him who lives forever.

So Paul recognizes, because of this relationship for Christ, because of this supremacy of Christ, there really is fruit to my labor, just like there really is gain. So he doesn't view death as the end.

He says, whether I live on in the flesh or if I live on in a different way, there's going to be fruit from my labor. He has a sense of resolve, not just peace, but resolve about dying. He says, in fact, I don't know what I would choose.