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Ecclesiastes 3:20

One, Two, Buckle my Shoe

Perhaps age has a way of turning our attention toward the inevitable end of our physical lives. The phrase “dust to dust, and ashes to ashes” echoes through the book of Ecclesiastes and lingers in thoughtful moments. Ecclesiastes 3:20 reminds us, “All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return.” The verse applies equally to people and animals. Everything that has ever lived eventually dies. Solomon wrestled with this reality and called it vanity. The wise and the foolish share the same fate. The wealthy and the poor reach the same conclusion. The productive and the idle all arrive at the same destination. The comparison between humanity and animals reinforces the same sobering truth: both return to dust. It is a humbling realization. Human achievement, intelligence, and ambition cannot change the certainty of mortality. The earth has received kings and shepherds alike, and it will continue to do so.

Childhood memories sometimes echo these realities in unexpected ways. “Ring around the Rosie, a pocket full of posies. Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down.” As children, the rhyme seemed playful. Later reflection gives it a more serious tone. On Himebaugh Avenue in North Omaha, jump ropes turned and voices sang the same lines repeatedly. The rope kept swinging, and the song kept repeating, often to the mild frustration of nearby listeners. Another childhood chant eventually found its way into popular films and became a darker refrain. These little verses remind us, in their own simple way, that life has limits. Even the Grim Reaper appears in cultural imagination as a persistent visitor. The message is not meant to produce dread but awareness. Mortality is a teacher, gently reminding us that time is not unlimited and that human control is more fragile than we sometimes imagine. Life moves quickly, and its brevity has a way of sharpening perspective.

The New Testament addresses mortality with both honesty and hope. Jesus spoke plainly: “In the world you will have tribulation” (John 16:33), yet He also promised something greater. In John 14:2–3 He said, “In my Father’s house are many rooms… I go to prepare a place for you.” The certainty of death does not stand alone in the gospel story. Paul writes, “For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22). While humanity returns to dust, Christ offers resurrection and life beyond the grave. The One who entered death and rose again transforms the meaning of mortality. The future is not defined solely by ashes and dust but by the promise of a prepared place and a faithful Savior who has gone ahead.

Ecclesiastes 3:18-20

Ring Around The Rosie!

In Ecclesiastes 3:18–20 we are reminded that God is testing humanity. The writer observes that people and animals share the same breath and the same end: “All are from the dust, and to dust all return.” Mortality is not merely a biological fact but a spiritual lesson. God allows human frailty to reveal who we are and who He is. A childhood memory sometimes captures this truth in unexpected ways. As children splashed in a summer pool and later played “Ring Around the Rosie,” the familiar line echoed: “Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down.” At six years old, those words seemed only playful. Later reflection reveals their sobering echo. Some historians link the rhyme to the Great Plague, with its rash, its posies, and its tragic ending. Whether or not that connection is exact, the message remains: all of us fall down. Death arrives without regard to status or strength. Neither clever plans nor human effort can fully shield us. The fall of humanity placed mortality upon us all, and it remains beyond our control.

Recognizing mortality often changes perspective. It humbles ambition and places achievements in their proper context. We make plans, collect possessions, and imagine we are steering the ship, only to discover we are passengers more than captains. Life can feel like an exam for which the study guide never fully arrives. We try to compare ourselves favorably with others, though the mirror sometimes reveals a more honest report. In this sense, life exposes our dependence. Ogilvie notes that we must trust God’s deeds since our own are limited and our lives too brief to see ultimate justice. Another commentator writes, “Our present existence is a proving ground. It is a test… in the sense of something that demonstrates our true character.” Mortality reveals our place in the universe and our relationship to God. The lesson can be uncomfortable, like discovering the answer key is not in our possession after all.

The New Testament speaks directly to this human condition. Jesus described Himself as the shepherd, saying, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11). While humanity returns to dust, Christ offers a different horizon: “For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22). Mortality becomes a teacher pointing beyond itself. Paul writes, “For this perishable body must put on the imperishable” (1 Corinthians 15:53). In Christ, the testing ground of life reveals not only human frailty but also divine grace, reminding us that while all fall down, God’s redemptive purpose stands.

Jeremiah 2:37, Romans 6:14

Truth Will Set You Free

The people of Jerusalem searched for deliverance through alliances with surrounding nations, hoping political connections would secure their future. Jeremiah made it clear that such confidence would end in disappointment. In Jeremiah 2:37 we read, “From it too, you will come away with your hands on your head, for the Lord has rejected those whom you trust, and you will not prosper by them.” The very nations trusted for protection would eventually enslave them. Huey explains, “Its dependence on other nations rather than on God was leading to national destruction. After its defeat, many of the people would be led away as captives with their hands on their heads.” The image is sobering. Those who sought freedom through human alliances found themselves returning to captivity. Israel looked to others for liberation when true freedom could only be found in a relationship with the God who created and sustained them.

This pattern continues to echo through history and into ordinary life. Nations still depend on alliances for security, and individuals often look to various systems, achievements, or pleasures to provide meaning and peace. Yet the things we trust apart from God frequently become masters rather than servants. Boice writes, “Remember that the next time someone suggests that you have to sin to be free. Merely attaching the word freedom to sin does not make sin a way of liberation. The truth is that sin is bondage. It enslaves us so that we are unable to escape its grasp later, even if we want to.” The promise of freedom can be persuasive, whether it appears in possessions, ambitions, or personal indulgences. It often arrives wrapped in attractive packaging and persuasive language. Over time, however, these pursuits can quietly take control, leaving us wondering how something that once felt liberating now feels strangely confining. The human heart has a remarkable ability to trade lasting peace for temporary satisfaction while insisting it is doing just fine.

The New Testament presents a different vision of freedom through Jesus Christ. He declared, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). God opposes sin not out of harshness but because it enslaves and ultimately destroys. As another writer observes, sin leads to blindness and bondage, much like Samson’s downfall. Jesus came to offer life rather than captivity, saying, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). Through His death and resurrection, He provides a liberation no earthly alliance can supply. Paul affirms this freedom in Romans 6:14: “Sin will have no dominion over you since you are not under law but under grace.” In Christ, the search for freedom finds its true and lasting fulfillment.

Jeremiah 2:36

It Doesn’t Make Sense

Jeremiah, along with many of the prophets, confronted both the northern and southern kingdoms of Israel with their sins. Yet Israel could not see their wrong and certainly would not admit it. Even when the blood on their hands exposed their guilt, they refused to acknowledge their faults. Huey observes, “Since Adam’s sin and denial of blame (Gen 3:12), the human race has become skilled at sidestepping guilt. The most difficult words to form on human lips are ‘I was wrong; I am guilty.’” This stubborn refusal led to shame and failure. The Northern Kingdom experienced the consequences when Assyria scattered them throughout the world in 721 before Christ, carrying them away as captives. Judah still had an opportunity to repent, and Jeremiah was sent as the final prophetic voice to warn them. In Jeremiah 2:36 he declares, “How much you go about changing your way! You shall be put to shame by Egypt as you were put to shame by Assyria.” Their unwillingness to confess would eventually lead to disgrace.

The charge against Judah included inconsistency and disloyalty. The phrase “changing your way” reveals a nation shifting allegiances whenever convenient. They trusted Egypt one moment, Assyria the next, and later Babylon. They moved from one idol to another, abandoning the Lord who had delivered them from Egypt. Hughes writes, “Loyalty is indispensable to the survival of friendship. How many once-prosperous friendships have faded because of disloyal talk? Pascal put it pointedly: ‘I set this down as a fact, that if all men knew what each other said of the other, there would not be four friends in the world.’ You will never know a deep friendship unless there is mutual loyalty and trust.” Disloyalty inevitably produces shame. This pattern feels familiar in everyday life. It is easy to shift commitments when circumstances change or to place confidence in whatever promises immediate security. The human heart can change directions with surprising speed, often while insisting it has remained steady all along.

The New Testament exposes this same tendency and offers a clearer path. James writes, “A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways” (James 1:8). Jesus taught that divided loyalty cannot endure: “No one can serve two masters” (Matthew 6:24). Yet Christ also embodies the loyalty humanity lacks. Paul reminds believers, “If we are faithless, he remains faithful” (2 Timothy 2:13). While people often search for meaning in shifting alliances, the gospel points to a Savior who remains constant. Willis notes that Israel should have looked to the Lord, the One who delivered them with a mighty hand. The New Testament echoes that truth, declaring that salvation is found not in earthly power but in Christ, “the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8).

Jeremiah 2:35

Saying “I was wrong”

During the days of the prophet Jeremiah, the nation carried “blood on their hands” and “blood on their skirts” as they twisted the law to steal from and destroy the poor. The evidence of injustice was visible to everyone except those committing it. Still, there was no remorse and no repentance. Jeremiah indicts them again, this time not merely for their sin but for their refusal to acknowledge it. In Jeremiah 2:35 the Lord declares, “Yet in spite of all these things you say, ‘I am innocent; surely his anger has turned from me.’ Behold, I will bring you to judgment for saying, ‘I have not sinned.’” They insisted they were innocent and assumed their prosperity proved divine approval. Their self-assurance blinded them to reality. Constance observes, “Their moral blindness was so great that they were not conscious that their sin violated all God’s requirements. They felt they were innocent and imagined that God would wink at their wickedness and that his anger would pass away.” Sin had so seared their conscience that right and wrong were reversed. They believed themselves righteous even while standing guilty.

The same tendency lingers in ordinary relationships. During years of pastoral counseling, it was often difficult to help people see their own part in a broken relationship. The repeated refrain sounded familiar: “He did this,” or “She did that.” Fault was always easy to locate in someone else. Rarely did anyone rush forward to claim responsibility. The consequences of refusing to acknowledge personal failure are severe because they prevent forgiveness and restoration. Many relationships crumble not simply from mistakes but from stubborn hearts unwilling to admit them. The Cornerstone Commentary notes, “Israel claims she has not sinned. Failure to see evil for what it is, is itself an evil.” That observation feels uncomfortably accurate. It is remarkably easy to justify ourselves while quietly drafting closing arguments for our own defense. From Adam onward, humanity has demonstrated a talent for self-justification that would impress any courtroom attorney.

The New Testament addresses this condition with clarity and grace. John writes, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8). Yet he also declares, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us” (1 John 1:9). Jesus told of a Pharisee who confidently declared his righteousness and a tax collector who simply admitted his guilt; only the latter went home justified (Luke 18:14). Christ came not for those convinced of their innocence but for those aware of their need. As Paul explains, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” (1 Timothy 1:15). Where denial hardens hearts, honest confession opens the door to mercy, revealing the depth of grace offered through Him.

Jeremiah 2:34, Isaiah 59:3

My Brother’s Keeper?

In Exodus 22:2, the law permitted a homeowner to defend house and family against an intruder. “If a thief is found breaking in and is struck so that he dies, there shall be no bloodguilt.” The provision was meant to protect the innocent. Yet Jeremiah charged Judah with twisting this law to justify injustice. In Jeremiah 2:34 he declares, “…on your skirts is found the lifeblood of the guiltless poor; you did not find them breaking in.” Willis explains, “The poor are charged falsely with some wrongdoing (in this case, theft) so that the wealthy can gain control of their property.” The law designed to defend the vulnerable had become a weapon against them. It echoes the story of King Ahab stealing Naboth’s vineyard through false accusations and legal manipulation. What was intended as protection became a tool for oppression.

The imagery of guilt deepens when we consider how it is described. The Septuagint uses the word “hands” rather than “skirts,” suggesting that the powerful had the blood of the innocent on their hands. Whether on hands or garments, the message is clear: their guilt was visible. Isaiah confronted similar corruption when he declared, “For your hands are stained with blood, your fingers with guilt. Your lips have spoken falsely” (Isaiah 59:3). The phrase “caught red-handed” captures this idea well. Guilt often reveals itself despite careful attempts to conceal it. It is tempting to assume that injustice belongs only to ancient kings or corrupt leaders, yet indifference can quietly participate in wrongdoing. A modern judge once told four convicted youths, “It was Jamal Jones who plunged the knife into Dean’s heart. But make no mistake; you all have blood on your hands.” The others had not prevented the crime nor helped the victim. Their silence spoke loudly. Even the priest and Levite in Jesus’ parable passed by the wounded man on the Jericho road, their robes unstained yet their consciences implicated.

The New Testament draws this truth into sharper focus through the life and teaching of Jesus. He told the parable of the Good Samaritan to expose the deeper meaning of neighborly responsibility (Luke 10:30–37). Cain once asked, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” The gospel answers by revealing Christ, who became the true Keeper of souls. Peter writes that believers were redeemed “with the precious blood of Christ” (1 Peter 1:19). While humanity bears guilt, Christ bears wounds for others. He entered a world stained with injustice and carried its weight upon Himself. Through Him, the reality of guilt and the possibility of mercy stand side by side, revealing both the seriousness of sin and the depth of divine compassion.

Jeremiah 2:33, Hosea 2:13-14

Forever Faithful

God is always calling His wayward children home. Even though His bride, Israel, had forsaken her vows and prostituted herself, His everlasting love continued to pursue her. No matter how long she had wandered or how far she had fallen, God’s love had not diminished. His words and actions were designed to bring her back. Yet, like Israel, people often move further away instead of being drawn near. In Jeremiah 2:33, God indicts His bride with sobering honesty: “How well you direct your course to seek love! So that even to wicked women, you have taught your ways.” Willis explains this verse candidly: “She has failed miserably as a wife, but she has excelled as a prostitute. How skilled you are at pursuing love! She is the expert; she has ‘written the book’ on how to be promiscuous. She is the one who will be interviewed on the television talk shows to give the most sought-after advice regarding this topic because even the worst of women can learn from your ways.” Israel had become tragically proficient in chasing false love while forgetting the One who had first loved her.

The imagery is painfully relevant. Like Gomer in the book of Hosea, Israel had become an expert at wandering. Hosea 2:13 declares that she “adorned herself with her ring and jewelry, and went after her lovers and forgot me, declares the Lord.” Guenther notes that the unfaithful wife decorated herself for adultery, possibly wearing jewelry associated with prostitution or pagan worship. It is easy to smile at such descriptions and assume distance from them, yet the human heart can be remarkably creative in its distractions. We polish our pursuits, chase approval, and sometimes display impressive energy in seeking everything except the One who gives life. We may not bow to carved idols, yet we can become quite skilled at managing our own little kingdoms. If spiritual wandering earned college credits, many of us would have honorary degrees hanging on the wall.

Still, God’s love continues to pursue. Even in the painful narrative of Hosea and Gomer, the goal was restoration rather than rejection. Hosea 2:14 records God’s promise: “Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her.” This tender pursuit finds its fullest expression in Jesus Christ. The New Testament declares, “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Jesus described Himself as the shepherd who seeks the wandering sheep “until he finds it” (Luke 15:4). His mission was clear: “The Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10). God’s everlasting love, celebrated throughout the Psalms, reaches its clearest expression in the One who continues to call His people home.

Jeremiah 2:32

Driven by Love

God moved Jeremiah to speak to His people about their sins, using the familiar visuals of love and marriage to reveal their spiritual infidelity. Israel is portrayed as the Lord’s bride, yet an unfaithful one who has forgotten her covenant partner. In Jeremiah 2:32, God asks, “Can a virgin forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people have forgotten me days without number.” Willis comments, “He should have been treated as most precious, guarded and cherished like a woman’s wedding trousseau; yet she has treated him like some cheap trinket, placed in the back of some drawer and forgotten.” The image is both tender and piercing. The covenant God, who should have been treasured above all, had been pushed into the dark recesses of Israel’s memory. Even the law of the Lord had been neglected, lying forgotten in the temple cellars until discovered during Josiah’s reign. That rediscovery sparked revival, yet, as history often records, such awakenings faded. The phrase “days without number” may be rendered “over and over,” revealing a pattern of revival followed by forgetfulness. Craigie observes, “That love should have been lasting, the perpetual hallmark of the covenant relationship. Yet it had been a fleeting emotion, soon forgotten; love and commitment had been replaced by arrogance and an overweening sense of self-sufficiency. Such was Israel’s rebellion.” Still, God’s love remained undiminished.

The pattern feels uncomfortably familiar. It is possible to treasure God deeply during seasons of need and then quietly set Him aside when life stabilizes. We keep our schedules, polish our routines, and sometimes treat our faith like formal attire worn only for special occasions. The tendency to misplace what matters most does not always require deliberate rebellion. Sometimes it happens gradually, like misplacing reading glasses that were on our heads all along. The heart can grow comfortable with religious structure while drifting from the living presence of God. History shows that every revival risks fading into routine when gratitude gives way to self-sufficiency.

The New Testament reveals that God’s covenant love finds its fullest expression in Jesus Christ. Paul describes Christ’s love for the church in marital terms: “Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (Ephesians 5:25). Even when His people wander, He remains faithful, for “if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:13). The parable of the prodigal son portrays a Father who waits and welcomes rather than rejects (Luke 15:20). Like Hosea pursuing Gomer, God’s actions aim at restoration rather than retribution. Love, not revenge, is the driving force in this divine pursuit, revealed fully in the One who came “to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10).

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