It's An Uphill Battle
According to Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a king who angered the gods by his craftiness and trickery, even having once cheated death. His eternal punishment was to push a boulder up a steep hill, only to watch it roll back down just before he reached the top. Sisyphus would then have to start over, pushing the boulder back up again, in a never-ending cycle of effort without achievement.
Thus, the term "Sisyphean endeavor" refers to a task that is both laborious and futile. It represents the endlessness futility of pursuing worldly success
No matter how many times we push our boulder up the hill of worldly gain and materialism, it always comes right back down. This is the reality we all face until God infuses divine purpose into our otherwise pointless lives.
"Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer walk as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds" (Ephesians 4:17, ESV).
"Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand" (Proverbs 19:21, ESV).
It All Goes Back In The Box
John Ortberg writes:
My grandmother ... was a lovely woman, but she was the most ruthless Monopoly player I have ever known in my life. Imagine what would have happened if Donald Trump had married Leona Helmsley and they would have had a child. Then, you have some picture of what my grandmother was like when she played Monopoly. She understood that the name of the game is to acquire.
When we would play when I was a little kid and I got my money from the bank, I would always want to save it, hang on to it, because it was just so much fun to have money. She spent on everything she landed on. And then, when she bought it, she would mortgage it as much as she could and buy everything else she landed on. She would accumulate everything she could. And eventually, she became the master of the board.
And every time I landed, I would have to pay her money. And eventually, every time she would take my last dollar, I would quit in utter defeat. And then she would always say the same thing to me. She’d look at me and she’d say, “One day, you’ll learn to play the game.” I hated it when she said that to me. But one summer, I played Monopoly with a neighbor kid–a friend of mine–almost every day, all day long. We’d play Monopoly for hours.
And that summer, I learned to play the game. I came to understand the only way to win is to make a total commitment to acquisition. I came to understand that money and possessions, that’s the way that you keep score. And by the end of that summer, I was more ruthless than my grandmother. I was ready to bend the rules, if I had to, to win that game. And I sat down with her to play that fall.
Slowly, cunningly, I exposed my grandmother’s vulnerability. Relentlessly, inexorably, I drove her off the board. The game does strange things to you ... She was an old lady by now. She was a widow. She had raised my mom. She loved my mom. She loved me. I took everything she had. I destroyed her financially and psychologically. I watched her give her last dollar and quit in utter defeat. It was the greatest moment of my life.
The author continues:
And then she had one more thing to teach me. Then she said, “Now it all goes back in the box–all those houses and hotels, all the railroads and utility companies, all that property and all that wonderful money–now it all goes back in the box.” I didn’t want it to go back in the box. I wanted to leave the board out, bronze it maybe, as a memorial to my ability to play the game.
“No,” she said, “None of it was really yours. You got all heated up about it for a while, but it was around a long time before you sat down at the board, and it will be here after you’re gone. Players come and players go. But it all goes back in the box.”
And the game always ends. For every player, the game ends. Every day you pick up a newspaper, and you can turn to a page that describes people for whom this week the game ended. Skilled businessmen, an aging grandmother who was in a convalescent home with a brain tumor, teenage kids who think they have the whole world in front of them, and somebody drives through a stop sign. It all goes back in the box–houses and cars, titles and clothes, filled barns, bulging portfolios, even your body.
"I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind" (Ecclesiastes 1:4).
Empty Vessels
Check this out ...
"We bought a house FULL of JUNK...!! What did we get ourselves into?"
The internet is filled to overflowing with stories just like this one — people buying homes at auction or in foreclosure, only to have to deal with all the old furnishings and junk that were left behind.
A house filled with old junk and clutter is not fit for habitation. It would be of little value to us until it is emptied of its contents. We need an empty house in order to properly set up housekeeping and make a house a home.
The Lord has little use for people who are full of themselves, their past "junk," and old, worldly ways. He needs an emptied vessel so that He can come and productively make His home within us.
In his ministry, Jesus loved to use empty vessels: empty boats, empty nets, empty jars, and empty tombs!
Are you ready to empty yourself to be filled with HIS fulness?
"Now in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and silver but also of wood and clay, some for honorable use, some for dishonorable. Therefore, if anyone cleanses [empties] himself from what is dishonorable, he will be a vessel for honorable use, set apart as holy, useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work" (2 Timothy 2:20-21, ESV).
"Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, ... [who] emptied Himself by taking the form of a bond-servant and being born in the likeness of men (Philippians 2:5,7, NASV).