Standing in the Temple, King Solomon takes one last, deliberate step towards the altar of the Lord, stops and raises his hands, spreading them to heaven. He looks out on the assembled crowd, comprised of Israel’s best and most influential people, assembled because he commanded that they be there to witness the dedication of the Temple of the Lord. Solomon rules all he sees in that moment and so much more. He has been blessed by God and his father David. His unquestioned authority leaves no room for dissention among his elite, as evidenced by their presence before him this day. He has spent seven years meticulously and luxuriously constructing Yahweh’s first-ever house on earth, in which he now stands. He has also spent thirteen years building an even larger and more luxurious palace for himself that sits just next door, lest anyone should wonder whose house is bigger.
The ruling elite of Israel waits with bated for its wise and powerful ruler to speak. To know of Solomon is to know of his wisdom. It is the first word mentioned in connection with their monarch. The story of his decision to divide the baby in order to figure out which of its self-proclaimed mothers was truly the parent is now legendary across the region. And not far behind its fame is the story of his dream – the dream he had early in his reign in which God asked what to give him. Solomon responded, “an understanding mind to govern,” not wealth, not long life, but the gift of good governance. The king is additionally responsible for over 3,000 proverbs, wise sayings that guide people towards good, practical and faithful lives. Surely, Solomon is the best that Israel has to offer.
But perhaps he is among the worst, as well. For that same crowd knows all too well of his bloody and Machiavellian rise to power. They witnessed how he manipulated his ailing father into giving him his royal blessing, even while his brother Adonijah was already set up as the new sovereign. They know how he never executed his rivals personally or immediately, but set conditions on them and then had them killed by his generals at the slightest incursion upon his rules. They saw the wisdom in marrying Pharaoh’s daughter and trading Israelite food for Lebanese cedar to build the temple and palace, securing peace abroad to the south and the north. Israel’s leaders know this wise king is no saint.
They know he is no pauper, either. When Israel first asked for a king, way back before old Samuel had crowned crazy Saul, God had warned them what would happen. God had said that a king would take their sons to be soldiers and their daughters to be servants. A king would take the best from their fields, vineyards and livestock to feed himself, his administration and his army. A king would take their slaves and work animals and employ them in his own service. And indeed, the people of Israel have had to provide all that and more, including almost 50,000 men to harvest the wood and build the palace and the Temple. Their king, standing before the altar of the Lord, is rich beyond measure, as least beyond their measure.
So the leaders of Israel watch the king with his arms outstretched and raised to heaven, about to speak, and they see him for who he is – wise and blessed leader, aggressive and ruthless politician, the richest man in the land. And let us notice we are not that completely unlike Solomon. We may not be monarchs, but we are certainly sovereign over much of our lives, gifted with more than some of these divine gifts – wisdom, intelligence, diligence, leadership. At the same time, we are by no means saints. Maybe ours are not sins of spilling blood, but I daresay they are sins of pressing our advantage, of placing ourselves before our neighbors and of attending to our house before we attend to God’s. While Solomon’s transgressions may shock us, our Reformed faith reminds us that we are all stinking sinners in need of God’s grace. And finally, we hear an echo of our own wealth in that of Solomon’s. For we are wealthy beyond measure, beyond the world’s measure. In our world today, 53% of the population lives on less than two dollars a day. We all know of people who are better off than we are. But in the eyes of someone subsisting on 200 pennies each day, we must look like the rulers of the earth, living in huge palaces with only the best things inside them, wealthy beyond measure. So perhaps, we are Solomonic – gifted, sinful and wealthy.
Standing in the Temple, King Solomon takes one last, deliberate step towards the altar of the Lord, stops and raises his hands, spreading them to heaven. And he rules over nothing that he sees, for standing before him is the altar, the point of connection between him and God almighty, and Solomon knows as well as anyone that he does not and cannot control the maker of heaven and earth. For all his wisdom and wealth, for all his faithfulness and sinfulness, for all his earthly power, he is in need of God’s grace, love and providential care. He is always a heartbeat away from death, a war away from powerlessness, a disaster away from losing it all. Solomon is human, and we know something about that. We know how fragile our lives, our work and our futures can be. Everything can change with a phone call, a diagnosis or a turn in the market. Relationships can break. Tests can be flunked. Hope can fade away. The world can seem so big and volatile and we, so small and powerless. Listen again to the end of Solomon’s prayer before the altar, and notice that beneath his grandiose words are anxiety and desperation…
“Regard your servant’s prayer and his plea, O Lord my God, heeding the cry and the prayer that your servant prays to you today; that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house, the place of which you said, ‘My name shall be there,’ that you may heed the prayer that your servant prays toward this place. Hear the plea of your servant and of your people Israel when they pray toward this place; O hear in heaven your dwelling place; heed and forgive.” (I Kings 8:28-30)
Regard. My God. Heed. Hear. Plea. Cry. Forgive. Over and over again, listen to me, my God, please listen to me. I am pleading. Watch over this place night and day. Listen to my prayers and the prayers of this people. Over and over again. Solomon is asking, begging, God for certainty. For the definite promise that Solomon will go on ruling and that in due time, his son will succeed him. That’s why he keeps mentioning David, whose blessing he was so keen on securing. David was Yahweh’s best guy and Solomon’s father, and God made grand promises to David with God’s own mouth. “There shall never fail you a successor before me to sit on the throne of Israel.” Solomon is clamoring for the kind of certainty we all seek, that our wish will be granted and all our hard work will pay off handsomely in the end. In our tumultuous world, full of bad diagnoses, broken relationships and flunked tests, we want assurance. We want to know. Certainty ought to lead to peace, to rest and to well-being. Our faith calls it the “peace that surpasses all understanding,” and it sounds so very good. And it is.
But Solomon’s God, our God, does not traffic in certainty. That’s not what God’s handing out these days, or those. Instead, our God loves, values and promises faithfulness – not certainty, but faithfulness. “There shall never fail you a successor before me to sit on the throne of Israel, if only your children look to their way, to walk before me as you have walked before me.” Solomon quotes God back to God, and doesn’t even realize what he’s saying. Faithfulness if your children walk before God, not certainty that they will. Our creator, redeemer and sustainer says be faithful, and I will be faithful with you. Be faithful, for I am your God. Be faithful, though troubles will come. Be faithful in the midst of life-changing phone calls, market downturns and fading hope. Be faithful, for I will dwell among you. Be faithful. Don’t be certain. Be faithful, and I will regard you. I will heed you. I will hear you. I will forgive you. I will love you. Be faithful. Amen.