The psychiatrist looked at his schedule for the day as he sipped his morning coffee. "Is this correct?" he asked his secretary. "Yep," she said, "guess you’re a big shot now." "Guess so," he said, turning toward his office.

In his years of practice, he had seen a number of prominent people, but never one as newsworthy as this. This was a man who bought and sold empires, who appeared in Time magazine when he bought a new company, who appeared in People magazine when he dated a new woman, this was a man who was the epitome of someone who had it all — fabulous wealth, great power, good looks, health. "I wonder why he’s coming to see me," the psychiatrist thought.

Later, after the new patient had taken a seat in the overstuffed chair, the doctor said, "So, why are you here." He was not surprised that the man jumped right in, but he was surprised at the torrent of anguish that flowed from the man, like a dam breaking.

"Nothing means anything," he began. "Generations change, time passes, none of it means anything; everything is just," he searched for the word, "wearisome. Wearisome, more than I can say. There’s nothing new under the sun. People die and are forgotten. You and I will die and be forgotten. Nothing means anything; it’s all just chasing after the wind. The more you try to figure it out, the more painful it is.

"You probably know that I’ve done about everything. Laughter, pleasure, the best food, the best wines. I’ve built empires; I’ve built bridges and skyscrapers; I’m richer than I could ever imagine, and I’ve had more beautiful women than I can remember. And you know what it means? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My whole life, your whole life, everybody’s whole life, they mean nothing. Just chasing after the wind.

"And if you accumulate something in your life to leave behind," (he was on a roll now), "that doesn’t mean anything either. You have to leave what you worked hard for to someone who didn’t work for it, and we’ve all seen what happens then. They just waste it. Even if they didn’t, what difference does it make? I’ll still be worm food. Dead. Just as dead as if I hadn’t’ done a thing with my life."

"Well," the psychiatrist interjected, "do you find anything outside yourself that provides meaning? Do you support any causes, for example? Justice for animals or children?"

"Justice? Are you kidding? When God tests us, we find out that we’re just animals. There is no justice; we’re oppressors, and the oppressed people have no comfort. Even when we do good things, build skyscrapers and bridges, it’s out of envy, a desire to be better than someone else, to build a taller building, a bigger bridge. There’s no sense to this life; it is meaningless. It would be better to be dead; better yet, never to have been born."

Now the psychiatrist was alarmed. "Do you find no comfort in anything?" he asked. The man thought for a minute, searching. "I do find comfort in friendship," he said at last. And then, sadly, "But, of course, that passes away too."

"How about religion?" the psychiatrist asked. "Religion," the man said, "reminds us of how far we are from God. God’s in heaven, and we’re on earth, and we can’t do one thing, not one thing, without sinning."

"What do you think the meaning of life is?" the doctor asked. Another pause. "Well, nothing, really. There is no meaning, at least not one that we have any clue about. It’s best just to live in the moment, enjoy the day, and not think about the past or the future or what anything means—because it is all meaningless. It reminds me of a scene from a Woody Allen movie. He comes across a smiling, handsome young couple in line to buy movie tickets. ‘You two look happy,’ he says, ‘what’s your secret.’ ‘Well, I’m just very shallow,’ says the man. ‘And so am I,’ says the perky woman with a bright smile. I think that’s the only way to be happy. Don’t worry about meaning, just live in the moment."

"So, why can’t you just do that." The man smiled for the first time. "Try as I might, I’m just not shallow." The psychiatrist chuckled. Then he asked, "How would you characterize the feelings that brought you into my office?"

"I feel," he said, looking aimlessly at the rug, "despair. Despair. Life is meaningless. Better not to have been born. Just chasing after the wind. Despair. Despair."

The psychiatrist looked at him for a moment, then reached for his prescription pad.

Okay, that’s the end of that story. Kind of depressing, isn’t it? Sorry about that. What do you think the psychiatrist should do? Prescribe anti-depressant medication? Well, that sounds like it might be appropriate to me. This guy sure sounds depressed, and possibly even suicidal. And "despair," which he used a number of times, is a powerful and disturbing word. I think that anti-depressant drugs, when they’re called for, are good things, like insulin is a good thing when you need it. And it sounds to me like this guy is pretty depressed, and medication might help him get well.

But I want you to know that I didn’t make this character up out of whole cloth. (Don’t be looking around at each other wondering who it is!) He’s from the Bible. In fact, the words of the patient in this story are a summery of the Book of Ecclesiastes. We usually know it for the author’s fatalism, "For everything [turn, turn] there is a season" (we’ve all heard that song). This morning, we got a taste of the author’s rather depressing view of life: "I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun; and see, all is vanity and a chasing after wind. . . So I turned and gave my heart to despair."

I think a lot of people would be surprised to learn that such a dismal view of the meaning of life is in the Bible. And you probably don’t hear Ecclesiastes talked about a lot in churches, certainly not in sermons. After all, aren’t we Christians supposed to be cheerful? Optimistic? Positive? This book isn’t any of those things. But it is admirable, because it is brutally honest—and it articulates a very real human emotion that people of faith have.

I believe that the brutally honest truth is that most of us have, at some time, during some dark night of the soul, felt the sense of despair and meaninglessness articulated in the Book of Ecclesiastes. If you haven’t, fine. But I don’t think there are many of us have not felt some sense of futility, of despair at some point when we have reflected on death, and illness, and the randomly occurring disasters of life, and the way time washes away our accomplishments like the tide washes away writing on the beach. Ecclesiastes doesn’t get talked about in church much because it’s a real bummer, but it does us a great service by fearlessly naming a very real emotion and saying that even that emotion, even despair, can be within the reach of God’s embrace.

Now, it seems to me that Ecclesiastes puts a question to us: "Does life have meaning, and if so, where do we find it?" Jesus makes a statement about meaning this morning. He tells a story about a rich man who looks for meaning in acquiring wealth and possessions, so that the man has to build bigger barns to store his grain, and he has everything he wants. He says to his soul, "You have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat drink, and be merry." God, sounding like the author of Ecclesiastes, says, "You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?" Jesus ends the story saying that meaningless like that comes from being rich in things, but not being rich toward God.

So, Jesus seems to say that we can find meaning in being rich toward God. That’s easy to say, and of course you expect me to say it (I am a preacher), but I sometimes struggle with issues of meaning. I sometimes struggle with despair. I sometimes struggle with whether my riches are really in my relationship with God, or in all the cares of the world and the seductive possessions. I struggle with these things, so, you see, it really isn’t easy to say, it really isn’t just something I’m saying because I’m a preacher.

And I hope that you will struggle with these things too. Where do you find meaning? Where are you rich, or where do you strive to be rich? Will the way that you want to be rich give you meaning?

Heavy stuff, huh? But I think that an important way not to succumb to despair is not to let it become too heavy. So there’s another reason I think the author of Ecclesiastes might benefit from some anti-depressant medication. He seems to have lost the ability to find joy. That guy is hurting, isn’t he? Listen, we can mope around all we want about how terrible the world is, and every word of it will be true, but we should not loose sight of the wonder, of the joy that surrounds us everywhere, that is in the relationships in this room.

This morning we heard Saint Paul give us a long list of things we’re supposed stop in order to be ethical. Stop fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, greed, anger, wrath, malice slander, lying. Then a list of things we are supposed to do: be kind, humble, meek, patient, forgiving. Lots of people just hear joyless reasons to feel guilty. Don’t lose the joy. Listen to Paul’s joy: "Be thankful. . . . [W]ith gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." In this chaotic, hurtful, fleeting existence, Paul knows the meaning of joy.

I know that I will sometimes still despair. In the dark nights of my soul, I’m sure I will sometimes ask, "Is it all meaningless? Are we all just chasing after the wind. Is it all vanity?" And there will be times in those dark nights when I will probably answer, "Yes," and I will despair. But I take comfort in knowing that God has named despair as a real human emotion that God can deal with. And so, when I’m in that darkness I hope I will remember, as I hope you will remember, that the dawn will come, that God calls us to a rich relationship, and that, together, we will sing with joy, "I want to walk as a child of the light."