No matter what is happening to us, we can recognize that it will ultimately count as little more than a “light momentary affliction” that is “preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18; Romans 8:18). Our suffering, in other words, can and should prompt us to look up and long for what God has prepared for us.

If you were to ask me what I take to be among Scripture’s most comforting passages, my answer may surprise you: Psalm 90 and Ecclesiastes.
Psalm 90 is Israel’s poignant lament that, even though they are God’s chosen people, they are also Adam’s children, subject as he was to God’s righteous anger at their sin. Moses’s poetry in Psalm 90 leads us, step by step, deep into the cellar of their life’s brevity, pain, and toil. The third verse begins that descent by echoing God’s words to Adam in Genesis 3:19:
You return man to dustand say, “Return, O children of Adam!” . . .You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,like grass that is renewed in the morning:in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;in the evening it fades and withers.For we are brought to an end by your anger;by your wrath we are dismayed.You have set our iniquities before you,our secret sins in the light of your presence.For all our days pass away under your wrath;we bring our years to an end like a sigh. (Psalm 90:3, 5–9)
We aren’t exactly sure of the details — perhaps, as Allen Ross argues, Moses penned this psalm at the end of Israel’s forty years of wandering in the wilderness (A Commentary on the Psalms, 3:26–27). Whatever the specific backdrop, the Israelites had gone through a period of intense suffering and had thus learned the hard way that God’s anger against their sin meant that, even if they lived unusually long lives, their best years would be but toil and trouble that would soon be gone, and then they would fly away (verse 10).
Good But Unfathomable Providence
Ecclesiastes is best understood “as an arresting but thoroughly orthodox exposition of Genesis 1–3,” as David Clemens observes. In particular, it makes “the painful consequences of the fall . . . central,” clarifying how disconcerting life after the fall can be. The Preacher knows that God generally administers his providence through the world’s regular causal processes (Ecclesiastes 1:4–7, 9). Fools and sluggards generally get what they deserve because they refuse to conform to creation’s ordered patterns (Ecclesiastes 4:5; see also Proverbs 6:6–11; 20:4; 24:30–34). Wisdom is better than folly because the wise understand and honor those patterns and thus can see where they are going, while fools stumble around in the dark (Ecclesiastes 2:13–14).
But still, “time and chance happen to them all” (Ecclesiastes 9:11). In other words, what God, in the course of his ordinary providence, ordains creation’s structures and processes to bring us, is not only outside our control but also beyond our finding out. Yet nothing can be added to what God does, nor anything taken away from it. “God has done it, so that people fear before him” (Ecclesiastes 3:14).
A healthy, holy fear of God’s providence thus keeps us humble and dependent as we acknowledge that he has so ordered life “under the sun” that, however hard we may strive to understand what was or is or will be, we won’t fathom much. “No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun. Despite all their efforts to search it out, no one can discover its meaning.
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Written by Michael P.V. Barrett |
Friday, August 23, 2024
The principal theme of Zechariah’s preaching was hope in God’s unfailing purpose. Hope is the future perspective of faith. Like all true faith, hope is objective, and its object determines its value. Hope is not a trembling, hesitant, cross-your-fingers wish. On the contrary, it is a confident expectation that God’s promises cannot be anything but true. The Godward gaze is the secret to hope, so Zechariah points the people to God—His power, His authority, His covenant faithfulness, and His Christ.

1. The first thing to know about Zechariah is the identity of the man.
Zechariah was a common name in the Old Testament, but the first verse specifically identifies him as “the son of Berechiah, the son of Iddo the prophet.” According to Nehemiah 12:1–4, Iddo was one of the priests who returned to Palestine along with Zerubbabel after the Babylonian captivity. The first order of business for those who returned to Judah after the exile was to rebuild the temple that had been destroyed by the Babylonians. Under the leadership of Zerubbabel, the work flourished at first but then floundered because of outward pressure and inward apathy (Ezra 4, 5). Iddo, Zechariah’s grandfather, would have been involved in the initial work on the temple. Zechariah was instrumental in seeing the work brought to completion. Ironically and according to Jesus (Matt. 23:35–37), Zechariah was killed at the very temple that he was influential in rebuilding.
But before his assassination, Zechariah had a lengthy ministry. He dated his first messages (Zech. 1–6) to the second year of Darius, which calculates to 520 BC. He dated his second series (Zech. 7–8) two years later, during the fourth year of Darius (518 BC). Chapters 9–14 are not dated, but references to Greece (Zech. 9:13) suggest a later date, most likely between 480–470 BC. Altogether, Zechariah prophesied for approximately fifty years.
2. The second thing to know about Zechariah concerns his message.
The Babylonian captivity was over, but the people were not experiencing the blessing or prosperity they had expected. They faced opposition from the Samaritans, desolation in the land, hard work, and hardships. The situation seemed to be hopeless; it seemed as though the Lord had forgotten about them. Zechariah’s name means “the Lord remembers,” and just hearing his name would have been a reminder to the people that the Lord had not forgotten them.
The principal theme of Zechariah’s preaching was hope in God’s unfailing purpose. Hope is the future perspective of faith. Like all true faith, hope is objective, and its object determines its value. Hope is not a trembling, hesitant, cross-your-fingers wish. On the contrary, it is a confident expectation that God’s promises cannot be anything but true.
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We should acknowledge differences, advantages, and imbalances, and strive to help those who are less fortunate. But we should not consider inequality an inherent obscenity. It is a base sort of spirit who says: “Because everyone [or, more often, because I] cannot enjoy that, no one should.”

Thieves are typically pegged under one of two caricatures. The first is the burglar ruffian who picks your pocket, breaks into your car, or steals your Amazon package. The second is the white-collar fat cat, embezzling from his employees and clients or pulling the strings of a Ponzi scheme. Both are met with public condemnation, and both are hunted by the emblems of justice (i.e. the local police and the FBI).
But what about the systemic, institutionally protected forms of robbery? These are forms of legal theft which break no laws, yet distort principles of just ownership. The motives and methods behind such thefts vary. Some prey upon the “haves,” others upon the “have-nots”—yet both are committing nothing short of swindling, depriving others to build themselves up.
Sharks and Minnows
We can see theft happening in the ecosystem of “Economic Sharks.” In true Darwinian style, these sharks prey upon the weak and poor — those who have few resources and little recourse. Often the sharks pose as those who wish to help and lend a hand — but the hand they offer holds a handcuff. They let the little fish swim right up to them, and then swallow them whole.
In what world can interest rates of 15, 20, 25% be considered conscionable? And yet it’s all above board because, after all, they (the prey) signed the contract, didn’t they? The sharks have it in writing. Their defense is that the financial institute, the loaner, has to protect their risk. But this is a mere smoke screen for extortion.
What of gambling (or its well-dressed cousin, “gaming”)? We provide for casinos to be set up on Native American property, as if this is some sort of national reconciliatory concession. Do we think native peoples would somehow be helped by legalizing an instrument of economic predation in their backyard? Of course, location is not so much of an issue anymore, as we’ve now flung the doors wide open for online gambling. Tell me, are we helping the poor by putting a portal to financial ruin in their pockets?
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