Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
     vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
 What do people gain from all the toil
     at which they toil under the sun?
 A generation goes, and a generation comes,
     but the earth remains forever.
 The sun rises and the sun goes down,
     and hurries to the place where it rises.
 The wind blows to the south,
     and goes around to the north;
 round and round goes the wind,
     and on its circuits the wind returns.
 All streams run to the sea,
     but the sea is not full;
 to the place where the streams flow,
     there they continue to flow.
 All things are wearisome;
     more than one can express;
 the eye is not satisfied with seeing,
     or the ear filled with hearing.
 What has been is what will be,
     and what has been done is what will be done;
     there is nothing new under the sun.
 Is there a thing of which it is said,
     “See, this is new”?
 It has already been,
     in the ages before us.
 The people of long ago are not remembered,
     nor will there be any remembrance
 of people yet to come
     by those who come after them.

New Revised Standard Version, copyright 1989, by the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. USCCB approved.

A sigh escapes my lips and my shoulders slump as I read these opening words from Ecclesiastes. Such a perspective on existence feels depressing, even bleak. And it captures something real, raw, and true of the human experience.

When Ecclesiastes was written, Judea was under oppressive Hellenistic rule characterized by brutal exploitation of land and people. The author doesn’t sugarcoat it; the average person suffered and felt powerless. Who would be so naive to think they could change things, let alone change them for the better?

Today we face destructive possibilities of AI, divisiveness within the political landscape, a widening gulf between rich and poor, and difficult situations in our personal lives. We may find the words of Ecclesiastes a fair representation of our lament and longing.

Where in the world and in my own life do I feel powerless or hopeless?

I talk honestly with God about what I think and feel.

I wait for God’s response.

—Lauren Hackman-Brooks is a spiritual director, retreat facilitator and writer who currently serves as the director of mission formation for the Jesuit Schools Network of North America.

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
 The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work. Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.
 No prayer fully expresses our faith.
 No confession brings perfection.
 No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
 No program accomplishes the Church's mission.
 No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about.

We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
 We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
 We lay foundations that will need further development. 
 We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
 This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
 It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
 We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
 We are prophets of a future not our own.

—Prophets of a Future Not Our Own, written by then Fr. Ken Utenter for Cardinal Dearden, often called the Romero Prayer