Tears of the Oppressed (Meditations on Ecclesiastes)

"Again I saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun. And behold, the tears of the oppressed, and they had no one to comfort them! On the side of their oppressors there was power, and there was no one to comfort them. And I thought the dead who are already dead more fortunate than the living who are still alive. But better than both is he who has not yet been and has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 4: 1-3)

Really? Is anyone allowed to say such a thing?! No wonder some of us feel uncomfortable with Ecclesiastes! Here is a book, inspired by God, that appears to claim it better to be dead, and indeed, to never have even been alive, than to have seen and experienced the evil that goes on under the sun. Where is the hope here?

In fact, the author of Ecclesiastes doesn't really offer any right now. There is terrible oppression done on this earth, injustices that in this life go continually unpunished (Eccl. 3:16-17). But we want to find the hope NOW. As Christians, we want Ecclesiastes to jump to the gospel, to hold up the coming judgement and offer salvation. Better off dead? Seriously?

In thinking through this troubling passage, I was really struck by Derek Kidner's question in his commentary:

If [the author]'s gloom strikes us as excessive at this point, we may need to ask whether our more cheerful outlook springs from hope and not complacency. While we, as Christians, see further ahead than he allowed himself to look, it is no reason to spare ourselves the realities of the present.

Are we shocked by the darkness of Ecclesiastes because we truly understand the hope of resurrection and future justice offered in the gospel, or, if we are honest, is it because we are not willing to go to the dark places in this world? Is it because we aren't ready to really look at the evils and oppressions that go on under the sun, and really care, really mourn, really weep with those who weep. To my shame, I have to admit that far too often, my lack of groaning is not because I'm so full of hope, but because I'm too lazy or comfortable to care. I'm apathetic. I don't look at the sufferings in this world with the grief of the God who created a beautiful world that was "very good" and then, in looking at the wickedness of man, "was sorry that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart" (Genesis 6:6).

Do we care about the unspeakable horrors going on at this very moment around the world? Do we care that young girls are forced into prostitution at any age, let alone at ages when our own daughters are still playing with dolls? Does it grieve us that infants the world over are slaughtered just because their parents and or their governments don't want to deal with them? Does it matter to us that children are conscripted into violent armies, that slumlords, orphanage owners and relief workers grab for themselves many of the donations given for the poorest of the poor under their "care"? And what about our own Christian brothers and sisters in other nations who are tortured, enslaved, imprisoned and killed because their persecutors hate what they believe? What about the spiritual oppression and darkness in our own comfortable land?

"But what can I do?" we often ask. Ecclesiastes itself acknowledges that oppression and evil are out of our control. We can deal with it in one form, in one place, at one time, and it's just starting somewhere else. Until the day that Jesus returns, there will always be poor, oppressed people in this sinful world. But I may not use this as an excuse to cease caring, to ignore. There ARE practical things that can be done for some of these issues. And even if there really is no practical way that I can help, there is ALWAYS one practical way that I can help. I can PRAY. I can join with Ecclesiastes and with the psalmist and with the martyred saints before the throne of God and groan on behalf of the oppressed. I can weep and mourn and plead on their behalf before the throne of the only One who has the power to end the pain, to comfort the victims, and to judge their oppressors.

Yes, ultimately we do not mourn as those who have no hope. In the end, God will bring every deed into judgement, with every secret thing, whether good or evil (Eccl. 12:14). We do know that there is a Jesus who sets the captives free. But we may not use this hope as an excuse to ignore the darkness of this present age. If we want to follow the whole counsel of God, as revealed in the entirety of the Bible, we must also have a place for deep grief over the ravages of sin, over the terrible evils that plague masses of people made in the image of God. We must be willing to go with Solomon to the depths of human suffering and mourn it. We have a God who didn't just sit back, looking from a distance at our misery, saying, "Don't want to go there." We have a God who entered right in to a world burdened by sin and oppression, lived in the midst of it, wept under the weight of it, and then died a horrible death to deal with it once and for all.

We must not merely be a people of hope, but also a hopeful people who care, who act, who pray to the God of all mercy and comfort on behalf of those who have no earthly hope. May we be a people who weep with the tears of the oppressed.