Wisdom for life

Ecclesiastes 7:1–29; 8:1a

​23 All this I tested by wisdom and I said,
“I am determined to be wise”--  but this was beyond me.
24 Whatever exists is far off and most profound--who can discover it?
25 So I turned my mind to understand, to investigate and to search out wisdom and the scheme of things and to understand the stupidity of wickedness and the madness of folly.
26 I find more bitter than death the woman who is a snare, whose heart is a trap and whose hands are chains. The man who pleases God will escape her, but the sinner she will ensnare. 27 “Look,” says the Teacher, “this is what I have discovered: “Adding one thing to another to discover the scheme of things— 28 while I was still searching but not finding— I found one upright man among a thousand, but not one upright woman among them all.
29 This only have I found: God created mankind upright, but they have gone in search of many schemes.”

​I want to begin today with a simple observation: life is not neat. It’s full of contradictions. We laugh at weddings, and we cry at funerals. We see people who live with integrity yet suffer, and others who live selfishly yet prosper. Sometimes our questions echo in silence, and heaven feels far away. The book of Ecclesiastes doesn’t try to resolve these contradictions. Instead, it invites us to live within them with honesty, humility, and wisdom.

Qoheleth says, “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting.” Strange words, aren’t they? How can sorrow be better than laughter? I remember visiting a family who lost everything in a house fire. In the days that followed, they discovered what it meant to be carried by community. Neighbors brought food, friends offered shelter, and faith became less about rules and more about presence. The fire took much, but it gave them something they hadn’t known before: a purified sense of what really matters.

John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, had a similar experience as a boy. His family home burned down, and he was pulled out of the flames just in time. His father said, “God has given me all eight of my children. Let the house go—I am rich enough.” That moment marked Wesley’s life. It was as if God whispered, “You were saved for a purpose.” Sorrow became a teacher.

Later, Ecclesiastes warns us: “Do not say, ‘Why were the old days better than these?’ For it is not wise to ask such questions.”

How often do we do that? We scroll through old pictures, longing for “when the kids were small,” or “when my health was better,” or “when the church was full.” But the Preacher says: every season has its own gift. The present is the moment where God meets us.  

John Wesley understood this well. After his Aldersgate experience, when his heart was “strangely warmed”, he could have said, “That was the pinnacle, I’ll just live on that memory.” But he didn’t. He stepped into new journeys: preaching in fields, forming societies, and facing opposition. He chose to believe that God’s grace was always present, not just in the past.

Ecclesiastes continues: “Consider what God has done: Who can straighten what he has made crooked?” We all face crooked things in life: illness, disappointment, unfairness. A friend loses her job through no fault of her own. A family prays for healing, but the illness remains. These are crooked paths we cannot straighten.

Wesley also knew crooked paths. His mission trip to Georgia was a disaster. He was rejected, discouraged, and even humiliated. But later he would look back and say that even those failures prepared him for God’s deeper work in his life. He didn’t always understand, but he trusted that God’s hidden hand was at work.

Ecclesiastes reminds us: “God created mankind upright, but they have gone in search of many schemes.” Even though life has mysteries, we still have responsibility. We may not control circumstances, but we can choose our response.

I think of a woman caring for her elderly father. She told me, “I can’t change his illness. But every day, I choose to love him. I choose to be patient. I choose to make this a holy moment.” That is wisdom, freedom exercised in grace.

Wesley, too, chose faithfulness. He chose to preach in the fields when pulpits closed their doors. He chose to give away nearly all his income to the poor. He chose holiness as a daily way of life. That’s what freedom under God looks like.

Finally, Ecclesiastes reminds us of the silence of God. The Preacher sees a God who is often hidden, who doesn’t explain Himself. We know this silence. We pray, and the answer doesn’t come. We serve and still feel empty. We sing, but heaven seems quiet. John Wesley knew this, too. His journals tell of dry seasons, of fatigue, of doubt. But he kept preaching, kept visiting the sick, kept riding from town to town. In his last days, frail and nearly blind, his voice was still steady: “The best of all is, God is with us.”

So, what do we learn?

• Let sorrow teach us.
• Embrace the present as God’s gift.
• Accept the crooked things we cannot straighten.
• Use our freedom for love and holiness.
• Trust God even in the silence.

Life is not neat, but wisdom teaches us how to walk faithfully in its contradictions. And like Wesley, we can end each day with this truth: the best of all is that God is with us.