What does a person gain for all his efforts that he labors at under the sun? A generation goes and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever. Ecclesiastes 1:3–4
What must it be like to be a successful quarterback in the National Football League? I’ve often wondered what it would feel like to throw the winning touchdown pass or scramble out of the pocket and rush for the first down. What if seventy thousand fans were screaming for me? What a thrill that would be.
Not long ago, I was watching one of those do-or-die NFL games—the winners make the playoffs; the losers get the rest of the year off. The quarterback dropped back, setting up for a pass to the wide receiver on a post pattern. The opposing team had called a safety blitz, and as the unsuspecting quarterback was preparing to release the ball, the fleet-footed and hard-charging defenseman had him in the crosshairs. From his blind side, the quarterback was pummeled to the unforgiving earth, the impact sending the loose football skittering to the ground. Fortunately, an attentive offensive lineman smothered it.
For the fallen field commander, the lights were out. For several minutes the quarterback lay motionless where he had fallen. Then, gratefully for the fans, the announcers, and his extended family, he moved his hands. His feet followed close behind. No broken neck this time. The sigh of relief from the crowd was audible.
In a few minutes, a golf-cart-turned-ambulance was wheeling the bruised athlete from the field. And in a few more minutes, his replacement was barking out signals of his own. Amazingly, this new recruit was more immediately successful than his veter- an predecessor had been. The hometown fans were now shouting for the new guy.
Since I have already confessed that I wonder what it would feel like to be the quarterback, I continue to wonder how it must feel to be lying on an examining table in the locker room. The first thing that registers in my spinning head is the screams and chants of the crowd upstairs, but their cheers are for someone else. After all I’ve sacrificed, I might groan, now they’re screaming for someone else?
Solomon wrote today’s text from a locker-room examining table. He reminds us that sometimes our work brings nothing but frustration and futility. We gain nothing. We make no progress. Youngsters, new recruits, young bucks—generations of them—slam us mercilessly to the ground. And then we’re forgotten.
No candidate for a motivational talk at one of those positive-thinking rallies, Solomon sends all of us a strong reminder. “Be careful what you cling to,” he seems to say. “Be careful what you love.” “Be careful how you invest yourself and what you put your hand to.”
If, humanly speaking, you and I think we’re immortal or irreplaceable or inex- haustible, we’re in for an abrupt message from a blitzing safety. What we thought was here to stay could be gone tomorrow.
Time is not on your side. Cling only to those things worthy of your love, your invest- ment, and your work. Anything less will be a complete waste of your time.