The ancient wisdom of Ben Sira, a Jewish sage writing over two thousand years ago, certainly thought so. He cuts straight to the heart of what truly matters, and honestly, it's a message that still resonates fiercely today.
"Health of flesh have I desired more than fine gold," Ben Sira declares. It's a powerful image, isn't it? Think about it: all the gold in the world is meaningless if you're too unwell to enjoy it. He goes on, "And a joyful spirit more than rubies." A joyful spirit. Not just happiness, but an inner wellspring of joy. Can you really put a price on that?
He continues, "There is no wealth above wealth of sound flesh; And no good above goodness of heart." Sound flesh…what a beautiful, almost poetic way to describe good health. And goodness of heart? That’s the kind of wealth that multiplies the more you share it. It’s a sentiment echoed throughout Jewish tradition – the importance of tzedakah, righteous giving, and acts of kindness.
Now, Ben Sira doesn’t shy away from the darker realities of life either. He turns a stark corner, confronting us with mortality and suffering. "Better is to die than a life of vanity; And eternal rest than continual pain." Ouch. That hits hard. He repeats the sentiment, driving it home: "Better is to die than life that is evil; And to go down to Sheol than lasting pain." Sheol, the Jewish concept of the underworld, a shadowy realm of the dead. It's a sobering thought, isn't it? That even the unknown of death might be preferable to a life of suffering, physical or moral. It's not a glorification of death, but a brutal acknowledgement of the limits of human endurance.
Then comes a particularly intriguing and somewhat cryptic line: "Goodness poured upon a mouth that is closed Is as an offering laid before a gravestone." What does this mean? Is it a warning against being generous to those who can't appreciate it, or to those who have already passed? Perhaps it's a commentary on the futility of offering kindness where it can’t be received or reciprocated. Or maybe, even more poignantly, it’s about the importance of expressing our appreciation to the living, instead of waiting until it's too late.
Finally, Ben Sira delivers a sharp rebuke against idolatry: "What can it profit idols of the nations, Which eat not, neither do they smell?" It's a rhetorical question, dripping with disdain. These idols, these lifeless statues…what good are they? They can't experience the world, they can't receive our offerings in any meaningful way. They're empty vessels. This is a recurring theme in Jewish thought: the rejection of idols in favor of a living, breathing relationship with the Divine.
So, what are we left with? A powerful call to prioritize what truly matters: our health, our inner joy, our acts of kindness. And a stark reminder that life is precious, fleeting, and should be lived with intention and purpose. Perhaps Ben Sira is urging us to ask ourselves: what am I worshipping? What am I pouring my energy into? Is it something that truly nourishes my soul, or am I just offering it to a gravestone?