Beware the Wasted Life

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Psalm 127—the oldest intact boat in the world. You guys are already excited, aren't you? You can hardly wait to find out. It's an Egyptian boat, about 4,500 years old, circa 2500 BC. It was found near a tomb beside one of the Great Pyramids in Giza, the Great Pyramid of Pharaoh Khufu. This boat was buried with him and is referred to as a solar barge, believed to be the vessel that would carry him through the heavens into the afterlife. It looks a little something like that—the boat intended to transport him through eternity.

What I find so interesting is that the pyramids, as spectacular and enigmatic as they are—mysterious structures that still leave us asking who built them, how they were built, and what they were truly for—ultimately remind us of the vanity of life. No matter how much time, effort, and resources were poured into these architectural and engineering marvels, and no matter the untold wealth, servants, and even magnificent boats buried with the pharaohs for their journey to the afterlife, it all stands as an enduring testament to their complete and utter failure. The boats are still there. The bodies are still there. The treasures remain in the ground, only to be excavated, unearthed, and carried off to museums around the world. They tried so hard, investing immense time, energy, and resources into what they hoped would secure an eternity of luxury and power, yet everything is stuck here. If we’re honest, the pharaohs and their pyramids aren’t that different from the way most people live today. Many of us are building legacies that will prove to be complete wastes because they will die with us. You’ve heard the old saying: there are no U-Hauls behind hearses. It’s true—you can’t take it with you. So much of what we live and work for in this life simply stays here when we’re gone and becomes someone else’s.

Solomon addressed this at length in the book of Ecclesiastes, exploring the vanities of life. “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity” is the refrain of that book. He leaves no stone unturned as he pursues every avenue—pleasure, wisdom, work, wealth—in search of meaning and purpose, only to conclude that all those things we chase to give ourselves value, purpose, or an enduring legacy ultimately go up in smoke. His final conclusion in Ecclesiastes is that the only thing in life of any lasting value is to fear God and keep His commandments.

There is a very short version of Ecclesiastes in the Bible, and it’s Psalm 127—often called the Cliff Notes or abbreviated Ecclesiastes. It goes like this:

“Unless the Lord builds the house,

those who build it labor in vain.

Unless the Lord watches over the city,

the watchman stays awake in vain.

It is in vain that you rise up early

and go late to rest,

eating the bread of anxious toil;

for he gives to his beloved sleep.

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,

the fruit of the womb a reward.

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior

are the children of one’s youth.

Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!

He shall not be put to shame

when he speaks with his enemies in the gates.”

If you’re looking in your Bible, you’ll notice that Psalm 127 is titled “A Song of Ascents,” meaning it was one of the songs the Israelites sang as they went up to the temple mount for worship during feasts or festivals. It served as a reminder that a life devoted to God in trust and obedience has true and lasting value, while a life lived for self-indulgence and self-reliance simply does not work.

The first section of the psalm drives home the truth that self-reliance doesn’t work. Where Ecclesiastes repeats “vanity of vanities, all is vanity,” Psalm 127 repeats “in vain, in vain, in vain.” Solomon gives three illustrations: the vain builder who constructs something without God’s involvement and discovers his labor was worthless; the vain watchman on the city wall who relies on his own vigilance for protection and stays awake for nothing unless the Lord is watching with him; and the vain worker who rejects even the free gift of sleep God offers, choosing anxious toil instead—only to find that too is pointless.

When I read the opening of this psalm, I’m immediately reminded of Jesus’ words at the end of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 7, where He contrasts the wise and foolish builders. The wise builder hears Jesus’ words and does them, digging deep and building his house on the rock so that when storms come, it stands firm. The foolish builder hears the same words but ignores them, building on sand—and when the floods come, great is the fall of that house, just like castles made of sand slip into the sea, eventually.

All of human history—and certainly the Bible—is filled with people who insist on ignoring God’s instructions and doing things their own way. It starts in Genesis with Adam and Eve in a perfect garden, provided for in every way, yet choosing disobedience. The Tower of Babel is another early example—humanity refusing God’s command to fill the earth, instead trying to make a name for themselves, only to be scattered. It never ends well when we say, “I know better than God.”

Yet Scripture is also full of people who built their lives with God’s support and in obedience to His commands—sometimes through great difficulty, like Noah—and their labor was not in vain.

Importantly, none of Solomon’s illustrations in Psalm 127 suggest we should just sit back and do nothing, folding our hands and letting God handle everything. That’s not biblical. The point is that whatever our plans and pursuits, if they are not sustained by the mercy and grace of God, they are futile quests that end in death and judgment.

It’s so easy to convince ourselves this doesn’t apply to us—that we don’t really need to obey God’s commands, that we’re the exception. We see it when people reject God’s clear design for marriage and family—one man and one woman for life, with sexual intimacy reserved for that covenant. Even godly people in Scripture sometimes went their own way in this area: Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar; Solomon himself with hundreds of wives and concubines, turning his heart from the Lord. It always brings pain.

Another common way we do this is by trusting earthly things—jobs, 401(k)s, education, government, entertainment, followers, likes—for meaning, protection, and provision. Psalm 20:7 says, “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.” We don’t know what even the next moment holds, much less tomorrow. As Robert Burns wrote after plowing through a mouse’s nest, the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry, leaving us grief and pain instead of promised joy.

This is where the gospel comes in. The gospel is the death of self-reliance. It declares that apart from God’s grace we are helpless, that God in His mercy has done for us what we could never do for ourselves. Because God is holy and demands perfection, and because we all fall short, none of us can earn our way to Him. But Jesus lived the perfect life we couldn’t live, died the death we deserved, rose victorious, and now sits exalted at the Father’s right hand. The gospel says, “You can’t save yourself—but I already have.”

If you’ve been living self-reliantly, if you’ve bristled at God’s ways, if you recognize yourself in the vanities Solomon describes, there is still hope. Psalm 145:8 says, “The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.” Jesus came to save sinners—not pretty-good people, not nice people, but rebellious, broken sinners, of whom Paul said, “I am the foremost.”

Even the gift of sleep in verse 2 is pure grace—“He gives to His beloved sleep” (or “in sleep”). We can rest because God is sovereign and good.

The second half of the psalm turns to a specific blessing: children. This is not a command to have as many children as possible (we’re not all called to be the Duggars). It’s simply holding up children as one beautiful example of God’s heritage and reward. They are a blessing, not a burden—arrows in a warrior’s hand, meant to be aimed, trained, and sent out. Faithful parenting is stewardship, not a guarantee of perfect outcomes, but a call to obedience while trusting God with the results.

So here’s a simple assignment:

1. Identify one area where you are still self-reliant, refusing to trust and obey God. Write it down and start praying, “Lord, help me let go of my way and surrender to Yours.”

2. Pick one child you know by name (your own, a friend’s, a kid here at church) and commit to praying this week for that child and their parents—thank God for them and ask Him to guide and protect them.

Let me close by reading the psalm once more:

Unless the Lord builds the house,