The Love That Endures All Things

1 Kings 3:4-28; Matthew 6:9-10

The Lord appeared to the new king Solomon in a dream and asked, “What should I give you?” And God said: “Because you have not asked for yourself a long life, or riches, or for the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself understanding to discern what is right, I will now do as you have said. I give you a wise and discerning mind. And I give you also what you have not asked for, both riches and honor all your life.” And then Solomon awoke from his dream.

When King David died, somewhere around the year 960 B.C., he was succeeded by his young son Solomon. Solomon was the son of David and Bathsheba, whose story we heard last week. He was not the eldest son of David, or even the eldest son of David and Bathsheba, and in the beginning he didn’t feel particularly ready to be the king. Before long, however, he became widely known for his wisdom in resolving questions and problems that people brought to him. People said, Did you hear about how the king solved the case of who was the real mother of that baby? Smart guy, that new king. He’s pretty good.

Solomon, of course, was a complicated person – like all of us. There are troubling stories about Solomon, just as there were troubling stories about his father David, as we read last week. But today’s text celebrates Solomon’s wisdom, both in his prayer to God as to what he really needed, and in his daily work as king over the people in Jerusalem.

Our text today was not specifically chosen for Reformation Sunday … it’s just the next story in the Old Testament as the overall narrative we’ve been reading since Labor Day. And to a certain degree it might seem like an odd text for this day. Because one of the consequences of the Reformation was the division of Western Christianity into Catholic and Protestant groups, and then Protestant Christians split into multiple denominations and communities. And each of these groups thought they were right and everybody else was wrong. Blood was shed, on all sides. And a lot of people might wonder what there is to celebrate about all this division.

And in my Catholic days, I might have said, You know, for all the good points that Luther made – and even then I thought he made a lot of good points – for all that Luther got right, just as Solomon knew that the mother who really loved the baby didn’t want the baby to be split, wouldn’t somebody who loved the church have not wanted it to be split? Shouldn’t we have all found a way to stick together, and not to divide and divide and divide over abstract doctrines that half the time you need a theology degree to even understand?

Of course, Luther would have protested – I’m not the one who wanted to split the church! And to this day, in the Apostle’s Creed, we confess every Sunday that we believe in “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church.” The body of Christ is one and it is catholic, which doesn’t mean Roman Catholic but which means universal, encompassing everybody. What Luther felt he was being asked to do was to split the gospel – to set aside the Good News of Jesus that had transformed his own life for the sake of human laws and traditions, and this was something he wasn’t willing to do.

Part of the wisdom that Solomon prayed for – the wisdom to discern good from evil, right from wrong, God’s Spirit from the spirit of the times – is the wisdom to know that not everything that claims to be from God is in fact from God. In Luther’s day, and in our own time as well, there are all kinds of things that people claim are Christian teaching and practice that in fact have nothing to do with Jesus. And just as Solomon was more concerned about discerning God’s law than about being a rich and powerful king – just as Luther was more concerned about being faithful to the gospel than he was about his own safety and his own career – so we also are called to be bold and uncompromising when the name of Jesus is being used to exclude and condemn and to justify violence and abuse.

But there is more, I think, for us to learn from this story of Solomon’s wise judgment in the case of the two women claiming one baby. These two women, we are told, are both “prostitutes” – which to the mind of the ancient writers simply meant that neither were married and that their children therefore were illegitimate. It does not necessarily imply anything about their profession. In any case, these two women are alone – they have no family, no one else in the house where they live except each other. And they aren’t exactly friends.

These women and their children are at the very bottom of the social hierarchy of ancient times. And yet the king Solomon hears their case, is concerned about doing justice by them – even though neither woman has any clout, even though no one will notice or care about what happens to them, Solomon takes them and their dispute seriously and wants to achieve the correct result.

And the wisdom that Solomon brings to the resolution of this case is his insight that the true mother of the child is the one who is willing to let go of her child, who is ready to accept being completely alone again, who would prefer to be separated from her child and deprived of being part of the child’s life as it grows up – rather than see her child harmed. Solomon’s wisdom is that love means putting the other first, being willing to step back and accept the deferral of one’s own dreams and needs, even accept injustice, if that becomes necessary to protect the beloved.

Solomon’s wisdom as a king is that a real mother will demonstrate this kind of love – the kind of love that, as St. Paul will later describe it, is patient and kind, that does not insist on its own way, that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things – this is the love that will allow a mother to sacrifice anything so her child will live.  Solomon’s wisdom as a man of prayer is that this exact same kind of love is the love that God has for all of God’s beloved children.

Isn’t this the kind of love that Jesus embodies – not only on the cross, enduring suffering, undergoing injustice, praying for forgiveness, dying alone – all for the sake of other people – but also in his teaching, in his healings, showing us in concrete terms that God will pay any price to bring life to God’s beloved children?

Isn’t this the kind of love that God shows from the moment of creation – creating a vast universe on unimaginable scale and making space for what is other than God – all of creation – to exist and flourish and thrive? Isn’t the mother of this child the image and likeness of the God who gives grace, who desires nothing but the life of the one to whom she has given birth, who is willing to step back and let go so the child may live?

Isn’t this the kind of love that the church is called to experience and to share? Aren’t we supposed to be the people who believe that love and grace are the force that holds the universe together? That it is possible for people to love one another, to bear burdens for one another, to take risks for one another, and that this is the way that leads to happiness and freedom and ultimately to whatever we mean by the word “salvation”?

Because Solomon, God’s anointed king, was a man open to God’s wisdom, the woman who had nothing and was willing to give up everything for the sake of her child does, in the end, receive her child back.  Because on Easter morning, Jesus the descendent of David and Solomon, Jesus the anointed and chosen one of God, received from God everything that he had risked for the sake of wayward humanity.  Because God in the end is a God of grace and love, we trust that by relying completely on the grace of God and giving of ourselves in love, we will in the end receive from God all that we ask and even more besides. Not because we have earned it but because this is who God is.

That is what Martin Luther discovered in the stories of the Bible, the Old Testament and the New Testament alike, and what he wanted the church to embody and live – a life of faith and trust in the God who is love, love that does not insist on its own way, love that puts the weak and defenseless first, love that makes room for the one who is alone and bereaved.

And so on Reformation Sunday we make the prayer of Solomon our own. Lord, give us understanding to discern good from evil, right from wrong, love from selfishness, communion from solitude, peace from conflict. Lord, give us understanding so we may discover your love in the community around us and, in whatever role we find ourselves, help us make that love real.