Ecclesiastes 5 invites us into a slower and more careful posture. It opens with a call to approach God thoughtfully and reverently. Rather than rushing in with many words or careless promises, we’re encouraged to come near to listen. “Guard your steps when you go to God’s house,” the Preacher says, and it sets the tone for the chapter. There is a sense that words can lose their weight when spoken too quickly, especially before the one who is in heaven. We, who are on earth, must remember the difference. Our place in the world is not above understanding, and speaking too much can be a sign that we’ve forgotten to listen first.
When we come to God, it is better to listen with humility than to offer the sacrifice of fools, those who don’t consider their actions or words. The chapter warns us not to be hasty with our speech, especially when it comes to making vows. “Don’t be rash with your mouth, and don’t let your heart be hasty to utter anything before God.” Making a promise to God is not something to take lightly, and if we do make one, we are told to fulfill it quickly. Delaying or failing to keep a vow is described as foolish, and there’s no value in speaking a promise we never intend to carry out. Words matter, especially in the presence of the one who sees all things. So this part of the chapter teaches us restraint, calling us to speak with care and act with intention.
Alongside this caution about speech, Ecclesiastes 5 turns our eyes toward the world’s injustice and the way power and wealth often distort life. The Preacher says that if we see the oppression of the poor and the denial of justice and righteousness in a province, we shouldn’t be surprised. There are layers of oversight, and those at the top often remain untouched by the suffering of those below. This isn’t said to justify injustice, but to acknowledge it. In a broken world, even systems meant to provide order can become tools of oppression.
There is a quiet reflection here about the limits of wealth. “He who loves silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he who loves abundance, with increase.” The more we chase after riches, the more we discover that they don’t fulfill the deep longing inside us. Gaining more doesn’t bring contentment, only the hunger for more. And when goods increase, so do those who consume them. What advantage, then, is there to the owner except the ability to watch it all slip through their fingers? Even sleep is affected. The laborer, who has little, sleeps soundly, while the rich, with their many possessions, are kept awake by their abundance.
The chapter continues with a sobering view of wealth’s fragility. Riches can be hoarded to one’s harm, or lost through misfortune, leaving nothing behind for the next generation. A person may spend a lifetime gathering wealth, only to see it vanish through circumstances beyond their control. And in the end, no matter how much we acquire, we leave this world as we entered it—empty-handed. “As he came out of his mother’s womb, naked shall he go again… and shall take nothing for his labor.” This is the hard truth that chases many of our ambitions: nothing we gather in this life can be taken with us.
This chapter doesn’t leave us in despair, though. In the midst of these sobering reflections, there’s an invitation to joy—a gentle reminder that not everything is meaningless when seen through the right lens. “Behold, that which I have seen to be good and proper is for one to eat and to drink, and to enjoy good in all his labor… all the days of his life which God has given him.” Enjoying our work, our food, and our drink, receiving them as gifts from God—this is described as something beautiful. The person who receives their lot with gratitude, who accepts their days with contentment, is described as someone who finds peace. They may not dwell endlessly on the troubles of life because God has given them the ability to rejoice in what they have.
This view stands in contrast to the anxious striving and hoarding that fills much of the world. The chapter does not deny the existence of injustice, futility, or grief, but it points us toward a better way—one where quiet reverence before God, honest speech, and humble contentment mark our days. The ability to enjoy what we’ve been given is not earned by striving but granted by grace.
There’s a connection here with what Jesus later teaches in Matthew 6:19-21, when he says not to store up treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and thieves break in and steal, but to lay up treasures in heaven. And in 1 Timothy 6:6, we are reminded that “godliness with contentment is great gain.” Ecclesiastes 5 shares this same spirit. It recognizes the weight of a world that is often unjust, the emptiness of endless gain, and yet it encourages us to find joy in the small, faithful rhythms of life.
This chapter brings us back to a grounded place. It reminds us not to speak too quickly, not to chase after more than we need, not to overlook the beauty of the moment we’re in. There is wisdom in recognizing our limits, peace in letting go of what we can’t control, and joy in receiving what God places in our hands. Life under the sun may be full of unanswered questions, but it is not without meaning when we walk with reverence, speak with care, and live with gratitude.