Introduction

Good morning, dear friends. I’m so glad you’re here. Some of us came in with a full schedule and an empty tank. Some of us came with a smile that covers a heart that’s sore. And some of us came with questions we aren’t sure we’re allowed to ask in church. If that’s you, you’re in good company. Ecclesiastes is a book for honest hearts. It brings the whispers of our inner life out into the open and speaks with a voice wise enough to help us breathe again.

Tell me if this sounds familiar: you finally reach a financial goal, and the confetti in your heart falls for a moment—and then you notice there’s a new number to chase. Your account goes up, but so does anxiety. Your closet fills, and so does the calendar. The thrill seems to evaporate like morning mist, and you’re left with receipts and restlessness. We’ve all tasted that—new car smell that doesn’t last, new phone glow that fades by Tuesday, new raise swallowed by new worries. We whisper, “Why do I still feel empty?” Ecclesiastes dares to say out loud what we feel in quiet moments.

Francis Chan once said, “Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don’t really matter.” That line lands, doesn’t it? It helps us ask: What am I chasing? Why am I weary? And where does real joy actually live?

Today, we’re listening to the Teacher who tried it all—wealth, work, wine, achievements, applause—and then wrote us a letter so we don’t have to skin our souls on the same sharp edges. He tells us three honest things our hearts already suspect: - Wealth cannot fulfill the heart. - Possessions multiply worry and harm rest. - Lasting joy rises when we seek God and treasure people.

This isn’t a scolding; it’s a shepherding. God is not wagging a finger; He’s offering a hand. He wants to trade our frantic pace for quiet peace, our sleepless nights for settled trust, our clenched fists for open hands. He wants to teach us the art of contentment, the grace of gratitude, and the treasure of relationships. He wants to give us, as the Psalmist says, “a spacious place” within.

So breathe. Let the Word meet you where you live—at the kitchen table with bills, at the office with deadlines, at midnight when the mind won’t quit. Let the Spirit shape in us a new way to hold money, and an old way to find joy: with God at the center and people in our arms.

Scripture Reading — Ecclesiastes 5:10-17 (ESV) 10 He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves wealth with his income; this also is vanity. 11 When goods increase, they increase who eat them, and what advantage has their owner but to see them with his eyes? 12 Sweet is the sleep of a laborer, whether he eats little or much, but the full stomach of the rich will not let him sleep. 13 There is a grievous evil that I have seen under the sun: riches were kept by their owner to his hurt, 14 and those riches were lost in a bad venture. And he is father of a son, but he has nothing in his hand. 15 As he came from his mother’s womb he shall go again, naked as he came, and shall take nothing for his toil that he may carry away in his hand. 16 This also is a grievous evil: just as he came, so shall he go, and what gain is there to him who toils for the wind? 17 Moreover, all his days he eats in darkness in much vexation and sickness and anger.

Quotation “Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don’t really matter.” — Francis Chan, Crazy Love

Opening Prayer Father, we come to You with full carts and thin souls. You see our striving, our sleeplessness, our secret fears. Speak through Your Word today. Loosen our grip on what cannot satisfy and plant our hearts in Your faithful love. Teach us contentment. Restore our rest. Reorder our desires so that we treasure You and the people You’ve placed around us. Holy Spirit, quiet the noise within and awaken joy that no circumstance can steal. Lord Jesus, be our wealth, be our wisdom, be our peace. We ask this in Your strong and gentle name. Amen.

Wealth cannot fulfill the heart

The Teacher speaks like a doctor who knows our symptoms. He names the ache that sits under many goals. He says a love for money never meets its own demand. The appetite grows. The craving widens. The thrill fades. The heart still reaches for more.

Think of how this works. A raise lands. A number changes. A plan gets bigger. A new aim appears. The line moves forward again. Joy feels close and then drifts. The text paints it plain. Love for money keeps the meter running. Income rises and hunger does not stop. It is a thirst that keeps asking. The soul was made for more than a balance sheet. Dollars can buy useful things. They cannot give a name. They cannot tell you who you are. They cannot settle fear in the night. They cannot answer the question of why you are here. The heart seeks weight and worth and a place to rest. That need reaches past coins and cards and screens.

So the Teacher is kind to warn us. He does not shame honest work. He warns the love that turns money into a master. A tool makes a fine servant. A poor ruler makes harsh demands. When we serve the tool, our wants get loud. Our peace shrinks. The thrill is brief. Then anxiety steps in and asks for more. Contentment grows in a different soil. It grows where trust in God stands first. It grows where gratitude has room to breathe. It grows where our lives make room to receive small gifts and call them enough.

The text also shows what happens when stuff piles up. When goods increase, more people and more costs gather around them. More to manage. More to insure. More to repair. More to tax. More to watch. Many hands reach for the same pile. The owner often stands and only looks. He sees it come and go. He watches streams move past his eyes. His time fills with charts and calls and locks and passwords. He sees more, and he lives less.

This is not only about other people who want a piece. It is also about the weight of upkeep. A larger home needs care in every season. A bigger account needs more guards and rules. A wider reach invites more opinions and requests. Expectations rise. The mind runs long laps. Control becomes a full-time task. The gain is not as solid as it seemed. The advantage shrinks to a view. You look at your goods. You count them. You track them. You seldom taste them with calm.

There is another thread here. The more we hold, the more we fear loss. The circle grows. The risk grows. Defensiveness grows. We start to treat people as variables in a plan. We become watchers instead of neighbors. Generosity breaks that spell. Open hands turn things into tools again. Sharing turns goods into grace. We remember that provision is given to bless lives, not to build a shrine to the self.

The Teacher speaks about sleep. He says the sleep of a worker is sweet. Honest labor brings a kind of peace to the pillow. Simplicity helps the body and mind settle. The day had a shape. The tasks had a start and an end. The head meets the mattress and lets go.

A loaded table does not guarantee rest. A full stomach can crowd the night. The mind loops through numbers and news and what-ifs. Eyes stare at the dark. The body never gets the signal that the day is over. The heart acts like a guard on the wall. It keeps watch over accounts and plans. It tries to protect everything. It cannot protect everything. The effort drains joy. Sleep slips through the fingers.

Rest is a gift from God. He gives it to the humble and the trusting. He teaches us to set down our work at sunset. He points us to limits and calls them good. He says we are not the ones who keep the world spinning. We can close our eyes. We can thank Him for enough. We can hold money lightly and let sleep come. That is wisdom for the night.

The passage also names a wound that wealth can cause. Riches can be kept in ways that harm the owner. Hoarding builds walls. The world gets smaller. Fear grows tall inside the walls. A person can clutch his things so hard that he bruises his own hands. The heart grows tight. Joy thins out. Sickness shows up in body and mind.

Then risk arrives. A deal turns sour. A market turns. A venture fails. A parent looks down at a child and has empty hands. Hopes collapse. The Teacher does not gloat. He grieves. He says this is a grievous evil. Money felt like a seatbelt. In a moment it felt like smoke. The loss exposes a truth that was always there. We enter life with nothing. We leave in the same way. We do not carry our toil into the grave. We do not pack a bag for the last day.

He uses a sharp image. Toil for the wind. Try to catch it. Try to store it. Try to hold a breeze in your palm. It slips out. It mocks your plan. That is what it is like to make money the point of life. Days pass in darkness. Meals feel joyless. Anger lingers. The body aches. Vexation settles in like thick fog. All the while, the clock moves. Relationships fade in the background. Prayer becomes thin. Gratitude dries up.

This word lands like a wake-up bell. It shakes us, then it steadies us. We are dust and breath, not machines. We are made to love and be loved. We are made to know God and walk with Him. Money can serve that walk when it is placed in its lane. It can feed, house, educate, heal, and bless. It cannot answer the deepest cries of the heart. It cannot make death go away. It cannot make sin go away. It cannot give you a clean conscience. It cannot look you in the eye and say, “You are mine,” and make you safe forever.

So the Teacher points us to a wiser way. Hold what you have with open hands. Give thanks for small and plain gifts. Notice the meal before you. Enjoy your work as service, not as a ladder to the sky. Practice generosity in secret. Practice limits with joy. Practice trust when the numbers are lower than you planned. Practice celebration when the numbers are higher than you planned. Ask God for a quiet heart. Ask Him for rest at night. Ask Him for eyes to see people as treasures, not costs.

And remember where the story ends. We will stand before God empty-handed. He will not weigh our accounts. He will look at our hearts. He will ask what we loved. He will ask who we served. He will ask how we treated the least. He will ask where we placed our hope. May that day inform this day. May it free us from chasing the wind. May it push us toward faith, toward simplicity, and toward love.

Possessions multiply worry and harm rest

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