“As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.” — Ecclesiastes 11:5 (HCSB)
The first verse of this passage trips people up because it sounds like Solomon is talking about tossing bread into a stream. He’s not. This is ancient poetry, and it’s actually about trade and investment, putting something out there, taking a risk, and then waiting to see what comes back. The second verse isn’t about a literal count of seven or eight either. It’s a Hebrew poetic way of saying diversify. Don’t put everything into one thing. Spread it out. Because you don’t know what’s coming and you can’t control it anyway.
Actually, the whole passage is really a series of poetic analogies pointing at the same idea. There are forces at work that no human being can predict or manage. The wind, the rain, which way a tree falls, and what the market does are not things Solomon is telling us to figure all out. He’s telling us that we can’t, and to stop pretending otherwise. What we can control is whether we do something or nothing. The person who waits for perfect conditions, who watches the clouds long enough to find a reason to plant, will end up with an empty field. The person who plants anyway, even without knowing how it will go, at least has a chance.
This passage is one of those places where the Bible feels more like a pillow than a hammer to me personally. I know people who read the promises of Jesus about how God takes care of the birds and the grass (Matt 6:25-34), and use that as a reason to sit still and wait for God to drop something in their lap. I also know people who pour everything into one venture, and when it doesn’t work out they end up angry at God. Solomon is pushing back on both of those. Do something. Do several things. And then hold it loosely, because you are not the one who controls outcomes.
For me, the diversification is standard, and sometimes it’s almost frenetic. I spread things out because I know I can’t predict which thing will land. That part I’ve got. The harder part is the waiting and staying connected to God through the seasons when nothing seems to be succeeding. When it feels like I’m out there alone doing things that may or may not matter, the truth is I’m not alone. God cares about me more than sparrows in a forest, and he has a track record of coming through in ways I didn’t see coming. His timing just doesn’t always match mine.
So the takeaway isn’t complicated. Keep moving. Don’t let my hands go idle. Don’t be frantic about it, but don’t stop either. Some things will succeed and some won’t, and I don’t have to figure out which is which in advance. That’s not my job. My job is to keep putting something in the water and trusting that God is paying attention to what comes back.