Sermon for the 3rd of August - Seventh Sunday after Trinity

Imagine standing before the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain. Its wild, angular shapes seem to rebel against every rule of traditional architecture. There’s no symmetry, no predictable pattern. It almost says to us: “Stop trying to make sense.”

It’s a bit what life today feels today? Chaotic. Disconnected. Confusing. We live in a world of rapid change. Where technology explodes with potential – promising to connect us but leaving millions of people lonely. Where truth seems elusive and the lines between good and evil are no longer so clear.

Into this world, God has given us an unexpected companion: Qohelet—the writer of Ecclesiastes. His words ring out: “Vanity of vanities, utterly absurd! Everything is absurd!” (Eccl. 1:2). It’s one of my favourite books of the Bible and it’s so rarely set for Sundays, so I’m delighted to reflect on it today. Qohelet was a man of faith, yet deeply disillusioned. A seeker of wisdom, yet bruised by the answers he didn’t find.

First, let’s trace the path we’ve walked. Once, our world believed in progress. St Augustine saw history as God unfolding his purpose. The Enlightenment turned that faith toward reason and science, and human progress became our gospel. We would build a better world.

But cracks appeared. Two World Wars. 9/11, this week the 80th anniversary of Hiroshima, along with huge environmental challenges. The very tools we used to conquer nature have begun to destroy us. We moved from believing everything could be known, to believing maybe nothing can be known.

We entered what philosophers call postmodernity—a world suspicious of big promises, tired of grand stories. The French philosopher, Jean-François Lyotard called it “incredulity toward metanarratives.” There is no universal truth or story…. truth became local, personal, relative.

And into this chaos, Ecclesiastes speaks with startling relevance. Qohelet is postmodern before his time.

Qohelet walks through the world not with the certainty of Proverbs, but with the reflections of a man who has tried everything: wealth, wisdom, pleasure, toil. And his conclusion? Hebel—meaningless, vapor, absurd.

He isn’t despairing without reason. He looked at life. He observed. He tested it. What did he find. He found that the righteous still suffer. The wicked still prosper. The sun rises and sets, and nothing truly changes. He writes: “Time and chance happen to all” (Eccl. 9:11).

Qohelet’s crisis isn’t in life being hard—it’s in life being unfair. And not just unfair, but unpredictable. This isn’t atheism—it’s honest faith. It’s a faith that refuses to wear a fake smile. It’s the faith of someone who says, “God, I believe—but I don’t understand.”

Qohelet is thus a helpful spiritual guide. He isn’t afraid of questions. He walks through the fog of doubt.

Too often, the church has offered a faith of formulas. A packaged theology with simple answers. But that’s not the world we live. And it’s not the world Qohelet saw either.

His conclusion is striking: “It will go better for those who fear the Lord.” (Eccl. 8:12). He doesn’t abandon God. He holds fast—but not because life is logical. He believes in the Lord not because life makes sense, but precisely because it doesn’t.

We might learn this spiritual realism. We don’t have to pretend all our doctrines make sense. Instead, we are called to be people who trust in the mist. We might describe it as a “holy insecurity”—a faith not built on certainty, but on trust.

Postmodernity is honest about life’s contradictions. It helped us see the limits of human reason, the flaws of modern institutions, and the dangers of pride in progress. But it also struggles to offer hope.

If all truth is relative, then nothing is worth living or dying for. If there is no ultimate meaning, then why love your neighbour? Why care for the planet? Why hope at all?

Qohelet shows us another way: a life of wisdom in the face of absurdity. A life that still fears the Lord even when he seems silent.

And so we are invited to live with realism and hope. Christ didn’t come to offer us a neatly systematised theology. He came to be with us. To weep. To suffer. To die. And to rise again.

In Christ, absurdity doesn’t win. Death is not the final word. And while Qohelet could only say, “It will go better for those who fear the Lord”, we can say more: “Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.”

So what does that mean for us today?

It means we can stop pretending that faith makes life easy.

It means we can embrace doubt without surrendering to despair.

It means we can be a church that doesn’t offer false certainties, but rather honest authentic communities of compassion, justice, and hope.

This is a grown up faith – a faith where we can explore faith honestly, without fear of rejection.

In conclusion, if modernity has failed to deliver on its promise of progress. And postmodernity rightly critiques it but cannot offer meaning on its own. Qohelet stands like a prophet in our midst, reminding us that even in absurdity, we can trust God.

We don’t have to pretend we have all the answers. We can walk by faith, not by sight. And we can hold fast to hope.

And I wonder, that when people see our honesty, our realism, and our love—they will be drawn to an honest and real church. Not because we’ve solved life’s mysteries, but because we are living truthfully, humbly, and together.

So let us be the church that lives wisely, questions faithfully, and walks humbly with our God.