Three-dimensional spectral color superimposed upon the near black canvas of a typical Oregon skyline served all the invitation I needed to cross the street and finally see the “bottom” or “beginning” of a rainbow. I had witnessed dozens of such spectacular specimens before; the typically moisture-saturated atmosphere of the area where my family had finally settled, faithfully served up one rainbow after another. Every season of the year was replete with these testimonies to the ancient promise of God to man.
This one was different. Unusual in brilliance, the complete arc clearly had one leg of its origin behind the massive football stadium bleachers just 150 yards from the front door of my parent’s home. It was chilly, but just from being damp, and I chose not to don a jacket for fear that by the time I made the short sprint, the object of my quest would disappear.
I hurried down the black, rubberized running track encircling the player’s grid and my hope intensified. Unlike previous attempts, the curve remained stationary and resplendent. I was finally going to see it!
I cleared the chain-link fencing marking the corner of the spectator’s area and, sure enough, the grass of the practice field seemed to spew a fountain of color. The sought after “spot” was a little further away than I thought it should be, however. I continued my pursuit in hopes of being able to brag I had actually stood next to, or perhaps in the center of, the beginning of a rainbow. At first, it appeared that the rainbow was aware of my pursuit and had coyly backed away. The yards added up and I was quickly running out of adequate open space for my chase.
In a panic I ran more furiously toward my objective. Then it was lost. In my periphery I could sense the color-pregnant droplets, but every time I turned my head all I saw was the sun poking its powerful face through the clouds in the west and the still-thick blanket of grey to the east. No rainbow at all.
Dejected, I commenced the walk home. After two or three minutes I cast a glance backward and there stood the rainbow again, touching down on the wet turf. No excitement welled up in my soul this time. Even though it would be some years before I would study the principles of reflection and refraction and be introduced to the physics of optical illusion, I knew better than to run a fool’s errand twice in one morning.
I remember that day not because of its disappointment, but because of its applicability to life in general. Much of human activity I have observed in the years since should be clearly classified as “chasing rainbows.” Sometimes it was me executing the senseless pursuit, sometimes it was others.
For me chasing rainbows begs the question, “Is there anything really worth the trouble of running after?”
I believe there is, and my friends at Main Street will consider that belief with me during the next four weeks.
“What do people get for all their hard work under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth never changes. The sun rises and the sun sets, then hurries around to rise again. The wind blows south, and then turns north. Around and around it goes, blowing in circles. Rivers run into the sea, but the sea is never full. Then the water returns again to the rivers and flows out again to the sea. Everything is wearisome beyond description. No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied. No matter how much we hear, we are not content. History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new. Sometimes people say, “Here is something new!” But actually it is old; nothing is ever truly new. We don’t remember what happened in the past, and in future generations, no one will remember what we are doing now.” (Ecclesiastes 1:3–11, NLT)
