To everything there is a season,
and a time for every purpose under heaven.
So begins that famous bit of wisdom from “The Teacher,” preserved in one of the Ketuvim (Writings) from the Hebrew Bible. It was written 2300 or more years ago — a long time.
Those words are more likely known as lyrics from a song made famous by The Byrds, but also sung by Judy Collins, Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and The Seekers to name a few. It came to mind recently as a friend bid me adieu as she moved away in order to better care for a loved one. For everything there is a season.
It hovers most vividly in my memory as a refrain I uttered in response to a deep sadness in my father. It happened on a sunny afternoon in October, in Northern Michigan, as I was taking down the dock at our family cottage. My dad was in his late seventies, maybe early eighties, and he sat in a lawn chair watching me. A gentle, quiet man of few words, I heard him say, “Gosh, I just hate this.”
I stopped, and looked up from the distance where I stood below the rocks with my legs in the water. “What?” I asked.
“That I have to just sit here.” He pointed to the planks and boards I had already taken up and said, “That was my job for so long…”
His voice trailed off. I could feel his sadness and also frustration more than the icy water surrounding my calves. The only thing I could think to say was, “For everything there is a season, Dad. You did it for a long time and now I am doing it.” Today it sounds so resigned as it echoes in my memory.
To give The Teacher his due, Ecclesiastes is not an expressionless, “whatever.” Nor is it a cynical “we live and then we die.” The Teacher declares dozens of times throughout Ecclesiastes, that all life is “hevel.” Hevel is often translated from the Hebrew as vanity but many think it is better rendered as vapor. “All life is vapor” The Teacher declares.
Embracing that all life is vapor, a diffuse mist we cannot mold or hold onto, we are stepping back with humility. By humility, I mean a kind of awe that suddenly embraces our small place in the order of things rather than seeing all things as pertaining to us. It is the experience of standing alone beneath the night sky in a place where we can see a sprawling canopy of stars stippling the darkness. That kind of humility.
Such humility does not drive us to then grasp for more and more and more, because what else is there? Nor does it send us into depression that there isn’t more. Instead, deep, authentic humility embraces awe and delights in what gifts there are around us. It inspires gratitude.
That is what I wish I had said to my dad back then. Instead of preaching from the words of Ecclesiastes, I wish I had helped him ponder the wisdom of vapor: “Hey Dad, what are the things about this place that you have loved over the years?”
Wow! All life is vapor. Certainly feels much heavier load than that at times, but I like the etymological and exegetical insight, Cam.
Indeed it does! Really heavy vapor. But as the Buddhist would say, the weight of it is but an illusion.
Cam, you’ve done it yet another time – caught me feeling so much of what your dad was expressing. I don’t miss the physical labor that once was mine to do, but I’m well aware of the changes that have come upon me and those I care about. As recently as yesterday I was rehearsing some of that to Kristin, remembering northern Michigan summers for so many years. Bless you!
Thank you, Stew, my dad would be so pleased we are in touch. He loved you too. So easy to slip into those Michigan memories, and now, for me, even though brief, I often slip into my Northeast Kingdom memories. Bless you too!
I thought that was your dad. Your story reminded me of a time my son David came to see me and remarked that I was sitting outside surrounded by an “epic fog”. It was indeed dense fog, and was left with the sense of having an epic son. “Wisdom covered the earth like a vapor.” Wisdom of Solomon, somewhere. Love you.
Love you back, brother. Nice memory.
The idea of vapor highlights that the Teacher is not cynical or depressed but accepting , stoical, even Buddhist in his attitude.
Yes! Yes!
Cam – thank you once again for your words, I needed to her your voice today! We miss you! Cindy
Lovely to hear from you. I saw a photo on FB of you smiling broadly with some friends and I just wanted give you a big hug. Glad you could hear my voice. Miss you too! Cam
While it may be true that all life is vapor, I believe that all vapors are not as emphemeral as we might think. Vapors, like smoke, sneak in and curl around our consciousness and linger like smoke after a cocktail party on our favorite sweater. These vapors, a mixture of regret, compassion, humility, the infinite and renewed resolve can shape our today and our future, for good or ill.
Not only a beautifully poetic response but deeply wise and true. Thank you, you made my day.