Sometimes Wish I’d Never Been Born at All

Ecclesiastes 6:3-5

Ages ago, when I worked summers at Mt. Washington Cemetery, my brother, the supervisor, came in his Jeep and summoned me to join him. “Where are we going?” I asked as I walked away from Eddy and the work we were doing.

“Just get in the Jeep,” he said before heading to a different part of the property. En route I noticed a box in the back of the Jeep. When we arrived, we found a small party assembled near a new-dug grave. That’s when I realized that the box contained Michael, a two-year-old incomprehensibly stabbed to death by his mother because “the devil was going to get him.”

Dennis and I carried the box to that grave. Michael’s mother stood there, handcuffed to a detective. His father and the remainder of the family clustered across the grave, weeping.

Looking back on that as a father and a husband, I cannot imagine the grief that father must have experienced. He must have felt, like the character in “Bohemian Rhapsody,” that he’d “sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.” That’s perhaps the sort of despair we encounter in today’s text:

A man may father a hundred children and live many years. No matter how long he lives, if he is not satisfied by good things and does not even have a proper burial, I say that a stillborn child is better off than he. For he comes in futility and he goes in darkness, and his name is shrouded in darkness. Though a stillborn child does not see the sun and is not conscious, it has more rest than he.

Ecclesiastes 6:3-5

Careful Reading

That day in the cemetery affected me. In fact, it continues to affect me. Just a few weeks ago, I visited Michael’s grave, reflecting. Surely the boy’s father, probably around 60 now, also thinks about what might have been, perhaps every day. But I hope he has managed to get on with a life despite that grim memory. I hope he’s able to be satisfied by good things.

As we read those verses attentively, we’ll see that Solomon is not telling us that having lots of kids and living a long life are prescriptions for despair. Instead, he inserts an “if.” “If he is not satisfied by good things,” the passage says. In other words, merely having a quiver full of sons and a long life will not solve the problems of life under the sun without that “if.”

The longer we live, the more opportunities we have for bad things to afflict us. The more children one has, the greater chance there is that one of them will go completely off the rails and create a full measure of heartache. That’s why we need to be able to take joy in the good things. Only by focusing on the good things can Michael’s father get past the horrible tragedy of losing wife and son in one awful moment.

Getting in Tune

Freddy Mercury closed his song with “Nothing really matters to me,” which is clearly not even something that he could take seriously. The problem with this world is that many things do matter. If we’re going to live in this world, if we’re going to complicate our lives with family, then we are going to have pain and tragedy. Probably our tragedy will not rise to the level of the murder of a two-year-old, but we will have something that, at the time, seems that great.

Our only hope, under the sun, is that we take joy in the good things. Perhaps that’s what Jesus meant in John 10:10 when He indicated that He had come to give us life and to give it abundantly. By focusing ourselves on Jesus as the ultimate good thing, we can get through the worst days of our lives.