MUMC Sermon-08/20/06

20 August 2006

The Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost

1 Kings 2.10-12; 3.3-14; Ephesians 5.15-20

The Reverend Jennifer K. Morrow

I’m so intrigued by this morning’s story from 1 Kings, I think because of the childlike simplicity of it. It reminds me, in many ways, of stories most popular with the five-and-under set. Because it reads like a fairytale: there is a kingdom, a young hero, a clear moral, and an element of the miraculous. All it’s missing is a wicked queen and a cute, marketable sidekick and Disney would pick it right up. So humor me, indulge me, because that’s how we’re going to tell it here this morning. The form is especially for our children, but the content is for us all.

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, there lived a king. His name was David. For forty years he ruled over a kingdom in a beautiful land filled with rolling hills, majestic mountains, lush olive groves and forests made of the tallest trees in the world.

Like all people, King David made many mistakes. But like most kings, his people loved him and he had an amazing story. David was not born a king, but instead worked as a lowly shepherd, taking care of his father’s sheep in the fields. They did not have gold or riches, and David was the smallest of all his brothers. But it did not seem to matter to David that he was small and only a shepherd. One day when his people were battling a mightier nation, David walked straight into battle. He wore no armor. He rode no horse. He carried with him only a pocketful of stones, and by himself—his small, shepherd self—he defeated the other army’s most powerful soldier, a giant named Goliath.

Years later, David became king. He was no longer a smelly shepherd but a great ruler. He had his own army now, a beautiful palace, and many, many children. For forty years David ruled his kingdom until one day, as an old man, he died.

“Who will rule the kingdom?” everyone wondered. “Who will be our next king?” The question buzzed through homes and marketplaces throughout the land. Everyone probably had their guess, but many of them were probably wrong. Do you know why? Because the next king would be a young boy named Solomon. Solomon was King David’s youngest, smallest son—and in this way he was like his father at the beginning of his reign—they were both the last person anyone would expect to be king.

But King Solomon he would be. His story begins in a mystical place called Gibeon. Solomon was there to worship God. Both young King Solomon and his father David loved God very much. So they spent time praying or singing or trying to help the people in their kingdom love God too. Well, on this particular night, young King Solomon had climbed to the top of a hill to pray. After he prayed, he fell asleep and began to dream. And do you know who was in Solomon’s dream?

God. God was there. We can only imagine how God looked to Solomon in his dream: grand, or kind, or bright. Like an angel, or a person or a star. But however God looked, God had a question for Solomon: “You are king now, what shall I give you?”

Can you imagine? God asked King Solomon what he would like to have. Anything. Anything. We talked about some of the things you might wish for if you had a chance: [list]. Well, do you know what King Solomon asked for? Not gold, not jewels, not horses or armies or fine clothes or magical powers or long life. Young King Solomon asked for none of these things. Instead he asked for wisdom. And what does wisdom mean? It means he said something like, “God, you have made me king, even though I am very young. There is so much I don’t know. And yet I want to be a good king, and take good care of the people in my kingdom. I want them to love you. So I ask you for this: a mind that is wise, and understanding, and that can know the difference between good and evil. If you give me this, then I know I will be a good king, and serve the people well.

This pleased God very much, because young King Solomon had not asked for something to make himself powerful, neither did he ask for something to make himself rich. King Solomon asked simply to learn how to love his people. This request filled God’s heart with such unspeakable joy that God celebrated by promising to give King Solomon the wisdom he had asked for and more. “No other king shall compare with you,” God tells Solomon. His choice to love leaves him richly blessed. The end.

But not really. It’s not actually the end of the story. Sure, it’s the end of this chapter in King Solomon’s story, but there is a sense in which his story is the story of all God’s children. No, we’re not all kings or queens living in ancient times ruling magnificent kingdoms. But God still asks the same question of us that God asked of Solomon: “What shall I give you?”

I want to be clear here. I didn’t retell this story as a fairytale to diminish it, but rather to uncover its universal significance, for that is what fairytales seek to do: to transmit stories, lessons, morals, truths across divides of culture, age, and time. King Solomon’s story does just this, or ought to be allowed to.

Imagine, just for a moment, how our world would be if our leaders, all leaders of nations approached their work in such a way. If God was invoked, not on behalf of violence, guilt, or reproach, but as a source of wisdom. What if world leaders today were not working mostly toward power, or money, or clout, but toward self-giving wisdom to care for their people? Imagine, John Lennon said years back, and sadly we still have to.

But don’t stop with world leaders. Let’s not exclude ourselves from the mix. What if we, in our relationships as parents, children, siblings, partners, spouses, or friends sought to work, labor, give ourselves over more—primarily—on behalf of the other, instead of servicing ourselves and our own needs. How transformative that would be, and how freeing!

Imagine if church leaders dared the same kind of love—if they prayed to God not mostly to be prestigious, or powerful, or impressive, or right, but instead to find the wisdom simply to guide fellow Christians along the path of love, and to walk that path themselves. Imagine, but do not feel the need to look too far a field for examples.

Many years ago, though not hardly as many years ago as the story of King Solomon, God asked a young boy named Tom, “What shall I give you?” Young Tom was a talented musician. But he did not ask for great wealth, or a beautiful instrument, or even to become famous—all of which he could have had. Instead, Tom answered as Solomon did. He asked for wisdom. He replied to God, “Give me a way to help others love You through music, because that is how I love You.” And as God answered Solomon, God answered Tom. Today, we are saying good-bye to Tom Crawford, our music director, thanking him for three-and-a-half years of sharing his gifts and wisdom with us.

When I first thought about this sermon, I had intended to structure it around Tom and his music, to honor him. But then I read the story of young King Solomon and realized that not only does it remind me of a marvelous fairy tale, it also reminds me of Tom. Like Solomon in his wisdom, nothing would make Tom more uncomfortable than making worship about him.

What I think he would rather — if I had asked Tom what he’d like today to be about — what I know he would want is for us all is to do here is just what the writer to the Ephesians says, “…be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Ephesians 5.18b-20)

And as our hearts fill with the joy of worship, as our voices sing out to God, as we give ourselves over in thankfulness, that we would hear deep within the voice of God asking each of us the same question God asked Solomon so many once-upon-a-times ago: “What shall I give you?” How will your life answer?