690_Finding your security in Christ alone (Ecclesiastes 7:26 – 8:17)
Ecclesiastes 7:27 Behold, this is what I found, says the Preacher, while adding one thing to another to find the scheme of things— 28 which my soul has sought repeatedly, but I have not found. One man among a thousand I found, but a woman among all these I have not found. 29 See, this alone I found, that God made man upright, but they have sought out many schemes.
A man spent years building his dream house right on the shoreline. The sound of the waves, the view of the ocean, the evening breeze, all felt like security. It felt like peace. But one year, a powerful storm whipped the waves into a frenzy. The ocean that meant comfort to him rose against him. By morning, the house was gone.
In many ways, that’s what life “under the sun” feels like. We build our sense of safety on things that seem strong—relationships, our own understanding, systems of authority, even our sense of justice. Yet, as the Preacher in Ecclesiastes reflects, those foundations often prove far less secure than we imagine.
As we come to Ecclesiastes 7:26 through 8:17, we are listening to a man who has searched deeply for certainty. He has tried wisdom, pleasure, wealth, and achievement. Now he turns inward and outward—to the structures of society and of religion. But he uncovers, not peace, but growing instability.
He begins with the words: “I find something more bitter than death: the woman whose heart is snares and nets…” These do not depict women as a whole. But they reveal the Preacher’s deep disappointment and disillusionment stemming from broken trust and emotional manipulation.
Even at their best, human relationships cannot bear the weight of ultimate security. Meaningful as they can be, they are shaped by human fallenness. Ecclesiastes 7:29 reminds us, “God made man upright, but they have sought out many schemes.”
We long for relationships that are stable, safe, and life-giving. But we fail, and others fail us. Expectations go unmet. Trust is broken. And if such relationships form our sense of identity or security, we will eventually feel the bitterness the Preacher describes.
Yet his insecurity goes deeper. It turns inward.
He describes himself as searching, adding “one thing to another,” trying to make sense of life. Yet the farther he goes, the clearer it becomes that even his own heart is not a reliable foundation. As Jeremiah 17:9 says: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?”
We often think that if we could just understand ourselves—our motivations, our purpose, our identity—we would find peace. But scripture fits our experience in telling us otherwise. The self is complex and inconsistent. We are capable of wisdom and foolishness at the same time. We desire what is right, yet we are drawn toward what is not.
If our security is anchored in our own understanding, we are standing on shifting ground.
Then, the Preacher looks at the structures of society—to kings, authority, and systems of power. “Who is like the wise?” he asks. Wisdom is far better than power or authority, because it is the only stable guide to spiritual stability.
“Where the word of a king is, there is power,” he observes. He has in mind the intrinsic authority delegated to the king, to those who lead a nation, so that they may discern and put away evil. They are to be honoured and obeyed.
However, social and political insecurity exists. Authority does not always act justly. Systems do not always protect the righteous. The timing of judgment is beyond our control. Even wisdom cannot guarantee safety.
Every generation experiences this. We look to systems for fairness, to leaders for justice, to institutions for stability. Yet again and again, we see inconsistency. What should protect us often fails.
And so the Preacher confronts the question of God’s justice. Ecclesiastes 8:10–14 describes the troubling fact that the wicked often seem to prosper, and the righteous to suffer. “Though a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs his life…” he says with conviction: “It will be well with those who fear God.”
Yet it can look as though justice is delayed—or even absent. What he sees does not make sense. And therefore, he concludes, in verse 17: “Then I saw all the work of God, that man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun… even though a wise man claims to know, he cannot find it out.”
Here is the heart of the matter. The deepest insecurity is about our need for faith, because we cannot fully understand what God is doing. And so, everything feels uncertain.
The truth is that if we search for ultimate meaning and security “under the sun”—within the limits of this world—we will always come up against the evil of human nature, the imperfection of human systems, and the limitations of human understanding. The greatness and complexity of the plan that God is weaving through the history of the world is too vast in its scale for the wisest of men to grasp more than a few patterns.
But Scripture brings the broad plan into clarity through Jesus Christ. Through his coming, his death, and his resurrection, it underlines the fact that security is not to be found under the sun at all, but above, where Christ sits at God’s right hand.
This is the foundation for immovable security. Here we experience a relationship that never fails us. In Christ, we know we are fully known and fully loved. Romans 5:8 tells us, “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
Our worth and identity do not depend on how others treat us. We are free to love others generously, not to gain a sense of security, but because we are secure in God’s love.
Our security no longer rests on our ability to understand ourselves, but on God’s unchanging knowledge of us. We are not defined by our inconsistencies or failures.
Instead, God gives us a new start and a new heart when we throw ourselves on him. Second Corinthians 5:17 says, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.”
Christ is the King above all kings. Matthew 28:18 declares his word, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” No human system has the final word. No injustice escapes His notice. Even when earthly authority fails, Christ reigns.
And finally, the cross reveals the justice of God. He does not overlook sin. Justice is not abandoned—it is fulfilled in the atonement made by Christ for the sin of the world.
The Preacher could not reconcile the delay of justice. But in Christ, we see the longsuffering yet immutable nature of God’s justice.
Second Peter 3:9 reminds us that the Lord is not slow, but patient, “not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” Justice may seem delayed, but it is never denied.
When we live with this kind of security, we no longer cling to relationships for identity—they become gifts we can enjoy without fear. The self is no longer a puzzle we must solve to feel complete—we are known and acknowledged by God. It means we live under God’s sovereign rule, unafraid of human authority even when it goes wrong. And even mystery—those things we cannot understand—no longer threatens us, because our trust is anchored in a God we do know.
The Preacher ends with humility: “No one can find out.” Yet the gospel begins with revelation: God has made Himself known. In the coming of Christ, his death for us, his being raised to God’s right hand, we find true security in the love and power and wisdom of God.
This is what holds us firm, when relationships disappoint, when our own hearts waver, when life feels unfair. For when we are anchored in Christ, everything else begins to find its proper place.
And even in a world full of uncertainty, our hearts can rest. God bless.