"What Are You Doing Here?" (June 28, 2026 Sermon)

What Are You Doing Here?

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·June 28, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

5th Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

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1 Kings 19:1–18

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.

But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. He ate and drank and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, or the journey will be too much for you.” He got up and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. At that place he came to a cave and spent the night there.

Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts, for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”

He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake, and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire, and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts, for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” Then the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel, and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall kill, and whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall kill. Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.”

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Alright, friends, I’m stepping out of the pulpit today for a slightly different kind of sermon. I spent some quiet time for myself this past week in Montreat at the Music and Worship Conference. I took time to breathe in God’s mercies for myself and breathe them out for others, and I spent a lot more time listening to other people’s sermons than writing my own. So today we get what I like to call “hopefully not too random thoughts from Pastor Stephen,” as we wrap up this first part of our sermon series through the books of First and Second Kings.

So first, let us pray. O Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable and pleasing in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Naming Faith Fatigue

How many of you know what faith fatigue feels like? Maybe you’re not quite sure what that means, but you probably have a pretty good guess. This phrase was coined in a sermon I heard this past week by the Reverend Dr. Brian Blount, president emeritus of Union Seminary in Richmond, Virginia. He talked about faith fatigue — that feeling I trust you all share with me. When we look out at the world and see all the faithful things we try to do, in our own perfectly imperfect way, both as individuals following Christ and together as a church seeking to follow Jesus and to be agents of good change in the world — yet things don’t seem to be going in a very good direction.

We see a lot of people hurting, a lot of people suffering, a lot of people scared. We go out and do our best, and yet we watch as Haitian immigrants who have done nothing wrong — who have come here legally — are told by this presidential administration that they are expected to be deported. That broke my heart this week. We look out and see so much injustice in the world, and we wonder, “Lord, why are we here? How is it that we try, in our best way, to advocate for our neighbors — our immigrant neighbors, our neighbors experiencing homelessness — and yet there is still so much brokenness in the world?” We just want to run away.

Do you ever have that feeling? Because your pastor is here to tell you that he feels this way, and I’m guessing you do too, from time to time.

Elijah Runs

And you know what? There was a prophet in the Bible named Elijah who felt that way too. You may remember last week we recalled the story of Elijah standing up to the powers that were leading the Israelites into idolatry. He challenged the prophets of Baal at Mount Carmel in a great showdown in which both sides tried to call down fire from heaven. The prophets of Baal tried in vain — Baal didn’t show up. Then Elijah stepped forward and said, “Okay, God, time to do your thing.” And guess what? God showed up. Because we worship a God who shows up.

Well, Ahab and Jezebel were not very happy about that. In fact, Jezebel put a price on Elijah’s head. So guess what Elijah did? He ran. Elijah said, “I am out. I have worked so hard for justice, equity, and righteousness, and all I have gotten in return is a price on my head.” And so Elijah fled to a place called Mount Horeb, feeling tired, faith-fatigued, and despondent — so despondent that his prayer to God was that God would simply let him die.

And in that moment, an angel of God shows up with a message that is essentially this: “You need a nap and a snack.” That is exactly what the angel provides — rest, a freshly baked cake, and some fresh water. Take some time for yourself. And so Elijah does, sustained by that provision through 40 days and 40 nights in the silence, recovering and rejuvenating. Does that sound familiar? We are all entitled to a bit of a pity party from time to time, aren’t we?

After those 40 days and 40 nights, a great wind comes by. But was God in the wind? No. Then an earthquake shatters the ground. Was God in the earthquake? No. Then a great fire comes by. Was God in the fire? No. God was in a still, small, quiet voice — and that voice said to Elijah a very simple sentence: “What are you doing here?”

An Invitation, Not a Rebuke

Now, we could read that in any number of ways. We could read it as God shaming Elijah. But I don’t think that’s how God meant it. I think God was inviting Elijah into personal reflection — the kind we all need from time to time. Because we all need rest. We fight the good fight. We try to join the work of bending the moral arc of the universe, which moves stubbornly slow but is bending nonetheless. And sometimes we need time to be quiet, to reflect, to rejuvenate ourselves before we get back to the good fight of faith.

That is the question God asked Elijah: What are you doing here? After Elijah had taken the time he needed, God gave him new marching orders: I’m going to appoint you to anoint others. Though it’s not in this text, the very next thing God calls Elijah to do is to go and find another prophet named Elisha — to call him to share the mantle of leadership. Because what God is saying to Elijah, in the midst of so much violence, injustice, and pain, is this: I called you to do something, but I never called you to do it alone. So I’m going to raise up Elisha to help you carry the mantle of doing justice, walking humbly, and doing kindness.

A Relay, Not a Solo Marathon

Because, friends, one of the things I heard in the silence I took for myself this week — again, from that sermon by Reverend Dr. Brian Blount — is that the race of faith is not a solo marathon. It is a relay race. Sometimes we are out there fighting the fight. Sometimes, like Elijah, we take time for ourselves to care for our spirits — to take a nap and a snack. And then there is time to get back out there and take up the baton again.

The good news is that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who have run this race and are passing the baton to us. You and I will carry it, and we may not see this race finished in our lifetime. But that is the life of faith — a time when you and I will hand that baton off to the next generation.

Finding the Geese

So, friends, that is the message I want you to hear today: find that still, small voice, because it is looking for you wherever you are. I’ll tell you where I found it this week. Our house in southeast Guilford County has a pond in the back, and three families of geese have made our backyard their home. We have about two dozen geese that my family has loved watching grow over the past two months. They come to our house every day around five or six o’clock — I could set my watch by it. I’m not crazy about what they leave behind — watch your step if you come to visit — but we absolutely love watching these baby geese grow up.

A week or two ago, we had a huge storm. Thanks be to God, because we needed the rain. The thunder was loud and scary, and it especially frightened our girls. I took Winnie outside and said, “Look at the geese.” They were just hanging out, calm and still, doing their thing — quiet as could be while the very heavens were thundering all around them. And I said to her: “Look, there is the still, small voice of God, right in the middle of all the craziness and the noise.”

So, friends, look for your geese — whatever those metaphorical geese might be for you — and trust that that still, small voice will call you to where God is calling you to be.

Because the good news of this text is that things do not go well for Ahab and Jezebel. They both die. Jezebel gets thrown out of a window. Does anybody know the word for that? Defenestrated. One of my favorite words. And Elijah? He eventually gets carried off to heaven in a chariot. Maybe we will see those glorious days when the chariot comes, and maybe we won’t. But we continue the work.

As we close every worship service here at Guilford Park, remember: we are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are we free to abandon it. Listen to that still, small voice, friends. It is calling you to where God is calling you this day.

In the name of God — Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer — may all of us, God’s beloved children, say: Amen.

"The God Who Shows Up" (June 21, 2026 Sermon)

The God Who Shows Up

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·June 21, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

4th Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

1 Kings 18:20–40

So Ahab sent to all the Israelites and assembled the prophets at Mount Carmel. Elijah then came near to all the people and said, “How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him, but if Baal, then follow him.” The people did not answer him a word. Then Elijah said to the people, “I, even I only, am left a prophet of the Lord, but Baal’s prophets number four hundred fifty. Let two bulls be given to us; let them choose one bull for themselves, cut it in pieces, and lay it on the wood but put no fire to it; I will prepare the other bull and lay it on the wood but put no fire to it. Then you call on the name of your god, and I will call on the name of the Lord; the god who answers by fire is indeed God.” All the people answered, “Well spoken!” Then Elijah said to the prophets of Baal, “Choose for yourselves one bull and prepare it first, for you are many; then call on the name of your god, but put no fire to it.” So they took the bull that was given them, prepared it, and called on the name of Baal from morning until noon, crying, “O Baal, answer us!” But there was no voice and no answer. They limped about the altar that they had made. At noon Elijah mocked them, saying, “Cry aloud! Surely he is a god; either he is meditating, or he has wandered away, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened.” Then they cried aloud, and, as was their custom, they cut themselves with swords and lances until the blood gushed out over them. As midday passed, they raved on until the time of the offering of the oblation, but there was no voice, no answer, and no response.

Then Elijah said to all the people, “Come closer to me,” and all the people came closer to him. First he repaired the altar of the Lord that had been thrown down; Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Jacob, to whom the word of the Lord came, saying, “Israel shall be your name”; with the stones he built an altar in the name of the Lord. Then he made a trench around the altar, large enough to contain two measures of seed. Next he put the wood in order, cut the bull in pieces, and laid it on the wood. He said, “Fill four jars with water and pour it on the burnt offering and on the wood.” Then he said, “Do it a second time,” and they did it a second time. Again he said, “Do it a third time,” and they did it a third time, so that the water ran all around the altar and filled the trench also with water.

At the time of the offering of the oblation, the prophet Elijah came near and said, “O Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your bidding. Answer me, O Lord, answer me, so that this people may know that you, O Lord, are God and that you have turned their hearts back.” Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust and even licked up the water that was in the trench. When all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and said, “The Lord indeed is God; the Lord indeed is God.” Elijah said to them, “Seize the prophets of Baal; do not let one of them escape.” Then they seized them, and Elijah brought them down to the Wadi Kishon and killed them there.

Rain, Drought, and Divided Allegiance

Glory, glory, hallelujah! It rained a few days ago! I don’t know about y’all, but my poor yard is about as parched as the Sahara at the moment. Our region of North Carolina is in a severe drought, one that I’m told would require approximately 15 inches of rain over the span of a month to end! So when it finally rained a substantial amount at our house last Thursday evening, Winnie got scared of the thunder while she was trying to sleep. I invited her to join me on the front porch of our home, where we have half a dozen rocking chairs. Together, we sat and listened to the rain, watched the lightning, and marveled at the thunder, as I tried to show Winnie that such a storm is a beautiful thing our world needs for our plants and trees to grow and flourish.

Though our drought has only been going on for a few months, the drought in today’s passage had gone on for more than three years! The text gives us a clear reason for it, too: the Israelites, under the leadership of King Ahab, began to worship a pagan idol named Baal. As a reminder, last week we observed the split of Israel into two kingdoms, with Solomon’s son Rehoboam arrogantly ostracizing his constituents to the point of rebellion. Jeroboam and ten of the tribes of Israel seceded from the monarchy and became “Israel” in the northern territories, while Rehoboam and the remainder of the people became “Judah” in the southern territories. Today’s story concerns the events in the northern nation of Israel since last week’s passage.

Jeroboam’s reign lasted 22 years and was followed by a series of rather unremarkable, short-lived reigns. Fast-forward to 869 BCE, and the worst of them arrives, a man named Ahab. Scripture doesn’t hold back its disdain for his leadership. 1 Kings 16:33 says unceremoniously: “Ahab did more to provoke the anger of the Lord, the God of Israel, than had all the kings of Israel that were before him.” This was largely because Ahab took for himself a wife named Jezebel, who was the daughter of King Ethbaal of the Sidonians. The Sidonians worshiped a pagan idol named Baal, the god of fertility. And, unsurprisingly, Jezebel brought with her the religion of her home, and King Ahab led the Israelites away from worshiping God and instead turned their devotion to Baal.

Needless to say, God did not take kindly to this turn of events. The first commandment is pretty clear, and the Israelites (not for the first time, mind you!) seemed to have forgotten it. So God brought forth a prophet to set the record straight and return the Israelites to faithfulness. His name was Elijah, a Tishbite. His first face-to-face encounter with Ahab is one I’ve always found humorous. Elijah runs into Ahab while Ahab is literally walking around looking for water for his people, because things have gotten that desperate. It’s an absurd notion that when a drought gets so bad, the king himself has no better idea than to wander around looking for water. Apparently, Elijah’s reputation preceded him, because the first thing King Ahab says to him is, “Is it you, you troubler of Israel?” Here, I want to pause to acknowledge this thing called “projection.” Projection is a psychological term for the phenomenon of one person accusing another of something they themselves are guilty of. For example, a corrupt politician might accuse someone else of corruption as a way to detract from…their own corruption! Ahab calling Elijah a “troubler of Israel” is ironic, as the text is very clear that the drought and resulting famine are a divine indictment of Ahab’s sinfulness, not of Elijah. Elijah, however, will have none of it and simply replies to Ahab, “I have not troubled Israel; you have troubled Israel.” This is, of course, the very first Biblical record of that famous comeback, ‘I know you are, but what am I?’

The Contest on Mount Carmel

And so begins one of the most famous showdowns in all of scripture. Elijah challenges Ahab to a contest at a place called Mt. Carmel. The rules are simple. Ahab is to bring his prophets of Baal, and Elijah will represent God, and we’ll see which god wins. And so they do just that. On one side of the duel is Ahab with 450 “prophets” of Baal. And on the other side, all by himself, is Elijah representing “Team Yahweh.” Two altars are built, one for each team. Each altar has a slaughtered bull on top, and each team takes turns asking their god to send fire from the heavens to ignite the altar. Elijah graciously offers Ahab and his Baal friends the first turn. But before the contest formally begins, Elijah invites the Israelites to abandon their worship of Baal before things get nasty. “How long will you go limping with two different opinions?” he says. “If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.” Basically, Elijah tells them to stop trying to have their cake and eat it, too. They are trying to worship whichever god benefits them in any given moment, and he prophetically reminds them that that’s not how this works. God is a jealous God and does not take kindly to the Israelites playing both sides of the fence. Yes, indeed, friends, there is a time for compromise! But Elijah reminds us that there is also a time to take sides, a time to let our “yes” be “yes” and our “no” be “no.”

And it is worth pausing here to note that Joshua said something very similar long before Elijah ever showed up at Mount Carmel. “Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord,” Joshua told the Israelites, “choose this day whom you will serve… but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” Friends, the limping of divided allegiance is as old as the people of God themselves. Every generation has had to reckon with the same question: when it comes to whom we actually serve, where does our loyalty finally land?

But Ahab doesn’t heed Elijah’s final warning, and so the contest begins. For hours, the prophets of Baal try to get Baal to show up. They “limp” around the altar in a comical pagan dance, hoping to lure Baal into bringing down the fire they need as proof of Baal’s superiority. But the “limping” doesn’t do the trick. In desperation, the prophets draw their swords and begin cutting themselves, hoping that spilled blood will prompt their idol to act. But, lo and behold, nothing seems to work. And then Elijah decides to rub salt in their wounded pride by taunting them with a little bit of potty humor. Elijah mocks them with the following statement: “Cry aloud! Surely he is a god; either he is meditating, or he has wandered away, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened.” Now, one of those phrases is a Hebrew euphemism for what someone would say when they had to step away and “relieve” themselves. So Elijah feels pretty confident that God will win this contest.

In fact, he is so confident that he instructs the Israelites to douse his altar with water first. And if that wasn’t enough, he tells them to do it a second time, and even a third; he wants to make sure that what is about to happen cannot be mistaken for a trick or an illusion. Finally, Elijah lifts his hands to the heavens and asks Yahweh to establish his divine authority and to prove to the Israelites, once again, that the first commandment is the first commandment for a reason. And sure enough, fire immediately rains down from heaven, swallowing the whole altar and even licking up every ounce of water that had been poured upon it!

The conclusion of the contest is, at the same time, predictable, bloody, and swift. The Israelites, unsurprisingly, have a change of heart. Elijah orders the slaughter of the 450 prophets of Baal. King Ahab flees to his wife, Jezebel, and the three-year drought immediately ends. The fire from the heavens has been replaced by water that had been divinely withheld for such a dangerously long time.

Where Does Our Loyalty Land?

But at a deeper level, this dramatic scene reminds me of what remains true to this day: we all tend to “play the field” and — both knowingly and unknowingly — split our allegiance among different gods. We do this all the time:

We say “blessed are the peacemakers,” but fund the largest military apparatus in human history without blinking.

We pray “forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors” while participating in an economy that is designed to keep people in endless cycles of debt.

We confess that the earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, but treat creation as a resource to be extracted rather than a gift to be tended.

We affirm that every person is made in the image of God, but we build systems that sort people by their economic usefulness.

We baptize our children into a community that transcends borders, but let nationalism determine who we think deserves dignity.

We call Jesus “Lord,” but reserve our deepest loyalty for whichever party or politician promises to protect what we already have or bring back what we’ve lost.

You see, the Hebrew word for ‘limping’ is pesach (פָָסַח), and it really means the inability to walk straight and upright. Before I go any further with that image, though, I want to pause and say something clearly: if you are someone who walks with a limp, lives with a disability, or whose body simply moves through the world differently than others, Elijah is not talking about you. Not even a little bit. In fact, look at what the prophets of Baal are actually doing in this scene — they are choosing to limp. They are performing it theatrically as a kind of desperate religious theater, mimicking a posture of vulnerability to curry favor with a god who cannot hear them. Elijah isn’t condemning disability. He’s condemning its cynical performance in the service of a lie. The ‘limping’ he mentions is a limping of the soul, a divided loyalty of the heart — and it is chosen, not given. So when I use the word ‘limping’ this morning, I am using it the way Elijah does: as a metaphor for the condition of people who know exactly who God is yet still can’t quite bring themselves to act like it.

Thus, today’s passage invites us to reflect on the places in our lives where we are metaphorically “limping.” We “limp” whenever we say one thing and do another. We “limp” whenever we pay lip service to one god but then turn around and give our money, our trust, or our vote to another. We “limp” when predominantly white institutions post on social media, celebrating Juneteenth while failing to actively dismantle policies and procedures that perpetuate racist systems. There are many ways we can fall into these postures, some we understand and others we may be blissfully unaware of.

God Is Faithful; Droughts Come to an End

But there is good news in this text. And that good news is this: if the Israelites’ “limping” serves as a metaphor for their unfaithfulness, then we likewise affirm that God is always faithful. In the whole Old Testament, that verb is used only to describe human behavior, never God’s. God is faithful; full stop. God is faithful to neighborliness. God is faithful to the poor and the downtrodden. God is faithful to the immigrant, the stranger, the gay kid, the broke single mother of two trying to make ends meet, and the farmer who works so hard to feed others that they can barely feed their own family. God is faithful amid the droughts and crises of our own making, and amid the violence of our patterns of complicity. Through all of it, God is faithful.

Friends, there is a time to compromise. There is a time to “meet in the middle.” But there is also a time to make a choice, a time to acknowledge that our capacity for allegiance is a finite resource and that “limping” around has deadly consequences.

And so here is the other piece of good news in this text: droughts come to an end. Last Thursday, as I sat on our front porch with my youngest daughter watching the rain come down and the thunder shake the very ground, I was reminded that droughts come to an end. They come to an end when we collectively choose to stop “limping” between allegiances and strive to live out our faith in ways that serve both God and neighbor — when we dare, as the prophet Amos dreamed it, to let justice roll down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.

"The Voices We Heed" (June 14, 2026 Sermon)

The Voices We Heed

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·June 14, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

3rd Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

1 Kings 12:1-17

Rehoboam went to Shechem, for all Israel had come to Shechem to make him king. When Jeroboam son of Nebat heard of it (for he was still in Egypt, where he had fled from King Solomon), then Jeroboam remained in Egypt. And they sent and called him, and Jeroboam and all the assembly of Israel came and said to Rehoboam, “Your father made our yoke heavy. Now, therefore, lighten the hard service of your father and his heavy yoke that he placed on us, and we will serve you.” He said to them, “Go away for three days, then come again to me.” So the people went away.

Then King Rehoboam took counsel with the older men who had attended his father Solomon while he was still alive, saying, “How do you advise me to answer this people?” They answered him, “If you will be a servant to this people today and serve them and speak good words to them when you answer them, then they will be your servants forever.” But he disregarded the advice that the older men gave him and consulted with the young men who had grown up with him and now attended him. He said to them, “What do you advise that we answer this people who have said to me, ‘Lighten the yoke that your father put on us’?” The young men who had grown up with him said to him, “Thus you should say to this people who spoke to you, ‘Your father made our yoke heavy, but you must lighten it for us’; thus you should say to them, ‘My little finger is thicker than my father’s loins. Now, whereas my father laid on you a heavy yoke, I will add to your yoke. My father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions.’ ”

So Jeroboam and all the people came to Rehoboam the third day, as the king had said, “Come to me again the third day.” The king answered the people harshly. He disregarded the advice that the older men had given him and spoke to them according to the advice of the young men, “My father made your yoke heavy, but I will add to your yoke; my father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions.” So the king did not listen to the people because it was a turn of affairs brought about by the Lord to fulfill his word that the Lord had spoken by Ahijah the Shilonite to Jeroboam son of Nebat.

When all Israel saw that the king would not listen to them, the people answered the king,

“What share do we have in David?    We have no inheritance in the son of Jesse.
To your tents, O Israel!    Look now to your own house, O David.”

So Israel went away to their tents. But Rehoboam reigned over the Israelites who were living in the towns of Judah.

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Last week, we gathered with Solomon and the Israelites as he stretched his arms out to heaven and dedicated the glorious, newly constructed Temple to God’s glory. It had been years in the making. And in that moment, the Israelites celebrated not only this sacred space, but also the credentials it gave them on the geo-political stage. Just two generations prior, Israel was largely a nation of hill-country farmers. But this Temple put them on the map. It established their reputation. And that moment, when Solomon both basked in the glory of his and their accomplishment, was the apex of his reign. Unfortunately, everything pretty much went downhill after that.

To make a long story short, Solomon tasted glory and, as do almost everyone in his position, decided he wanted more. Once someone tastes that sort of power, they rarely find their appetite satiated. Solomon hungered for gold; lots of it. He began to cover everything in gold and seized every opportunity to establish himself and, almost as an afterthought, the Israelites as the golden kingdom of opulence, wealth, and power that everyone else needs to submit to. Famously, in the chapters between last week’s passage and this week’s passage, the Queen of Sheba paid a royal visit to Solomon to witness firsthand his golden empire and his storied wisdom. It would seem, however, that that “listening heart” (or lev shomeya) that God granted him back in chapter three began to listen to a voice other than the God who granted it to him in the first place. Instead, Solomon began to listen to the god of gold rather than the God of neighborliness.

The irony is this: everything Solomon did to increase Israel’s wealth and prosperity was perhaps done with good intentions. It was all done in the name of law and order, national strength and prosperity, success and power. However, he forgot the Torah’s mandate of neighborliness. Or, to put it another way in modern vernacular: a booming stock market doesn’t necessarily mean that the hungry are being fed, the naked are being clothed, and the homeless are being housed.

Instead, Solomon began to care more about his power than the people’s well-being. We can, of course, look at history and find no shortage of political leaders who have fallen into this trap. More than two dozen years ago, Walter Brueggemann said the following about Solomon’s folly: “It is odd and noteworthy that the steps taken toward security produce more anxiety. The provisions for happiness produce more tension.” In other words, Solomon’s efforts to make Israel “great” only led to a widening economic gap between the “haves” and the “have-nots.” After all, these building projects relied on forced labor and could only be funded by exorbitant taxes that disproportionately burdened the poor in his kingdom. And it’s only a matter of time before those chickens come home to roost.

Therefore, Solomon died a failed king. Mostly because by the time he had died, he had 700 wives and 300 concubines, and Solomon made the choice to abandon his faithfulness to God’s Torah to follow the pagan religions of his numerous spouses and concubines, most of which were undoubtedly affairs of political alliances and geo-political negotiations. But, most of all, the people had had it. By the time Solomon had died, the people were close to mutiny, fed up with the burden of paying for all of Solomon’s building projects.

Solomon’s Son Inherits

And so it happened that the crown was passed on to Solomon’s son, Rehoboam. However, trouble began to stir before his reign had barely gotten off the ground. The Israelites in the northern part of the kingdom complained to him that Solomon’s reign had been oppressive to their economic security. They essentially asked Rehoboam to turn from his father’s ways and to lighten both the requirements of forced labor for his father’s building projects and their responsibility to fund them with their taxes.

Rehoboam takes their complaint to two groups of advisors before deciding his response. First, he goes to the “old guard,” the advisors who have been around a long time and remember the time before his father became drunk with power and wealth. They advise him to ease the burden and lighten the yoke for his new constituents. “Listen, Rehoboam,” they say, “your father flew a little too close to the sun. He bit off more than he could chew, and you have an opportunity to adopt a more conciliatory posture and return the focus to the well-being of your people over national glory or personal advancement.” Rehoboam mulls it over but remains unconvinced.

Next, he goes to another group of advisers, which the Bible only describes as “younger men.” Brueggemann suggests that these are naive advisors, young enough to have known nothing but the opulence of Solomon’s reign, who tell Rehoboam exactly what he wants to hear. “Don’t listen to those wimps in the northern lands,” they tell him arrogantly. “Now isn’t the time to let up; instead, it’s time to grab the bull by the horns and take this to the next level.” In fact, they urge the young king to respond by telling the northern tribes the following taunt: “My little finger is thicker than my father’s loins.” Now, I will leave you all to extrapolate for yourselves what that particular insult is insinuating. Their entitlement and privilege are music to Rehoboam’s ears.

And so, Rehoboam decides to disregard the people’s discontent. And he does so to his own detriment. In the year 922 BCE, the northern tribes revolt and follow one of his father’s old advisors, Jeroboam, and the kingdom splits. The wonder and the glory of Solomon’s temple are now stained by a kingdom divided. Rehoboam continues his reign in the southern tribes of Judah, and Jeroboam begins his reign as king of the northern tribes of Israel. For the remainder of our time in 1 and 2 Kings, we’ll journey through the divided kingdom until Israel (the northern kingdom) falls to the Assyrians around 722 BCE and Judah (the southern kingdom) falls to the Babylonians around 587 BCE.

Wisdom in Rehoboam’s Folly

Now, I realize this has been a lot of history, and such is unavoidable in the Books of First and Second Kings. But I want to focus on the following because I believe that there’s wisdom to be gleaned from Rehoboam’s folly. I will make the case that Rehoboam did, in fact, inherit his father’s lev shomeya, his “listening heart.” But I believe he learned the hard way what many of us are learning today: that a “listening heart” isn’t a proper moral compass unless we make the intentional choice to listen to voices that help us grow, that challenge us, and give us different perspectives.

I remember back in college reading Doris Kearns Goodwin’s 2005 Pulitzer Prize-winning book Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln. In it, she chronicles how Lincoln cleverly filled his cabinet with his former political rivals who differed with him greatly on a variety of political issues. At a time when the country was fractured by civil war and fighting over the issue of slavery, Abraham Lincoln did the very opposite of what Rehoboam did in today’s passage. Rehoboam surrounded himself with nothing but “yes men,” advisors who appeased his desire to continue his father Solomon's vanity projects. Lincoln, by contrast, surrounded himself with people who disagreed with him. And he worked tirelessly to reconcile conflicting factions to bring the war to an end and, along with it, the institution of slavery. Was it messy work? Absolutely. Did it work 100% of the time? Of course not. But Lincoln knew what Rehoboam learned the hard way: that a political leader who listens only to that which he wants to hear is no leader at all.

We Are Leaders Nevertheless

Now, few among us will ever be the president of a country or the king of a nation. But we are leaders nevertheless. We are leaders in our church, in our families and circles of friends, and in our workplaces, non-profits, and boards. We lead simply by being representatives of Christ on earth whenever we step beyond the walls of this sanctuary. And I believe we are stronger when we listen to a multitude of voices and, together, discern which of those voices is leading us in a faithful direction. Because, let us be clear, not all voices are of God. There are voices telling us to turn against one another, to treat our neighbors with suspicion and contempt, and to give in to selfish individualism. But just because we listen to all voices does not mean we heed them all.

So this week, I invite your “listening heart,” your lev shomeya, to be intentional about naming the voices that you listen to and ask yourself the following questions. Who am I listening to? Who am I not listening to? What voices have been pushed to the side?

I’ll close with this observation. In a few short weeks, we will observe the 250th anniversary of the United States. For many of us, this will be a time of celebration. And I want y’all to hear me when I tell you that we don’t have to choose between being Christian and being patriotic. However, part of being patriotic Christians is having honest conversations about our nation’s lev shomeya, its listening heart. Who has this nation’s heart listened to? And who has this nation’s heart dismissed, disparaged, and dehumanized over its 250-year history? As we study this book of the Bible that chronicles the rise and fall of Israel's political regimes, we face the reality that all kingdoms rise and fall eventually, but only God’s faithfulness remains. And you and I can be thankful for the parts of our country that are good and just and moral, while also attuning our lev shomeyas to the voices of those for whom that promise of “liberty and justice for all” has not come to fruition.

Tuning Our Listening Hearts

And so, we close this sermon together by tuning our listening hearts, and our singing voices, to our next hymn, “O God of Every Nation.” I particularly want to draw our attention to the prayer of the second stanza that we will sing together:

From search of wealth and power and scorn of truth and right,
from trust in bombs that shower destruction through the night,
from pride of race and station and blindness to your way,
deliver every nation, eternal God, we pray.

Let us sing…

[sing “O God of Every Nation”]

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.

"Can God Really Dwell on Earth" (June 7, 2026 Sermon)

Can God Really Dwell on Earth?

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·June 7, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

2nd Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

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1 Kings 8:22–30

Then Solomon stood before the altar of the Lord in the presence of the whole assembly of Israel and spread out his hands to heaven. He said, “O Lord, God of Israel, there is no God like you in heaven above or on earth beneath, keeping covenant and steadfast love with your servants who walk before you with all their heart, the covenant that you kept for your servant my father David as you declared to him; you promised with your mouth and have this day fulfilled with your hand. Therefore, O Lord, God of Israel, keep for your servant my father David that which you promised him, saying, ‘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.’ Therefore, O God of Israel, let your word be confirmed that you promised to your servant my father David.

“But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built! 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; hear and forgive.

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You all get a little bit of an unscripted sermon this morning, because it’s been one of those weeks. So I’ll keep my comments brief.

I am grateful this morning for the anthem that Jordan and Abigail just lifted up for us, because it is an incredible segue into the text before us — specifically the line they just sang: the heavens are your tabernacle. The heavens are your tabernacle. “God of glory beyond our galaxy” is a wonderful way into this story, in which Solomon dedicates the temple that had been years and years in the making since the beginning of his reign.

So, friends, let us pray. O Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable and pleasing in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

Yes, indeed, the heavens are God’s tabernacle. But most of us don’t have the ability to go up into the heavens, so we make places like this one, where we can come and encounter God. And I want to begin by saying that this is not a bad thing.

The Holiness of Beautiful Spaces

I have had the privilege of worshiping in some of the world’s most fantastic and beautiful worship spaces. On Tricia’s and my honeymoon, we went to Rome, and I stood in St. Peter’s Basilica. How many of you have been to St. Peter’s? It is hard to imagine — hard even to explain — just how big and beautiful that space is, with St. Peter’s Square reaching out its arms to embrace the world, as Jesus would have us do. Back in college, I traveled to Istanbul, Turkey, and stood in the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. The Hagia Sophia is so grand that you can look up and literally watch birds soaring near the top. I’ve worshiped at Washington National Cathedral. I’ve been blessed to officiate two weddings this year at Duke Chapel — even though I hate Duke, it is a beautiful space. And Jasmine and Joshua, as many of you know, were married at Riverside Church in Manhattan. These are beautiful spaces.

And of course, I want to include our own beautiful space here. It may be humble in size, but it is no less beautiful, and it means so much to all of us, for good reason. This sanctuary was one of the reasons I chose to be your pastor. It was very low on the list — because I came here for the people — but the people of this church have gathered in this space since the late 1950s. For decades, this has been a beautiful place where we have gathered: to celebrate weddings and baptisms, to worship and sing, and to weep as we have said goodbye to those we love.

I love that this worship space truly is ours. If you are new to our congregation, when you leave today, take a look at the wood carvings at the end of each pew — carved by members of this congregation nearly seventy-five years ago. This table, at which we are about to break bread, was built by Rick Cromer, whom we sang to heaven about a year ago. And these beautiful stained-glass windows were purchased in the 1950s for a whopping $600. But aren’t they beautiful? This is a wonderful space where we gather, and I want to honor it and give thanks for it.

Solomon’s Remarkable Curveball

I want to set the stage with all of that, because at this point in 1 Kings, it has been several years since Solomon prayed the prayer we journeyed with last week — the prayer in which he asked God for a lev shomea, a listening heart. Since then, Solomon has spent years building this temple. It was a staggering achievement. (If you ever have trouble falling asleep at night and want a few chapters of the Bible to drift off to, the chapters that precede today’s story do nothing but list, in excruciating detail, the temple’s dimensions and adornments.)

And then we arrive at this moment, after all those years of building, when it is finally time to dedicate it. It is important to recognize that this temple was not only a theological accomplishment but also a political decision, meant to place Israel firmly on the geopolitical map alongside other major players. There were many reasons this temple was built. But in this moment, Solomon gathers all the people together in this beautiful worship space and gives thanks to God for meeting them there, going on at length about how the holy will be encountered there.

So we hold that in one hand. Then Solomon throws a remarkable curveball. After rightly giving thanks that God is met in this place — whether that place is the temple, Guilford Park, St. Peter’s, or a small church in the middle of rural North Carolina — it doesn’t matter, because this is where God finds us — after all of that, Solomon has the wisdom to say this in verse 27:

But will God indeed dwell on earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built.

I love that line because I think Solomon knew what many of us know: that we sometimes treat our worship spaces in ways we don’t even realize. Without intending to, we can try to domesticate God. As Walter Brueggemann observed many times throughout his scholarship, whether we realize it or not, the very places we build to gather can become places where we attempt to manage and possess the holy. But Solomon says this cannot be done.

God Cannot Be Contained

I want us to remember this day. Yes, indeed, this place is holy. It is where we gather to sing, to pray, to wonder, and to be challenged by the words of Scripture. And yet, Solomon was right: we cannot contain God in this space. My guess is that a sermon like this has been preached from this pulpit before. But all of us — pastors included, myself included — need that reminder from time to time.

Because yes, God is here. And God dwells everywhere.

God dwelt in the hospital room a few weeks ago, beside the bed of Skip Bailey, as I gathered with his family to sing, “There is a Balm in Gilead.” God dwells in the veterinary office when we gather to say goodbye to our furry loved ones. God dwells at the kitchen table during uncomfortable conversations about how we will afford groceries or rent. God dwells in the auditorium where our graduates celebrate their achievements and wonder what comes next. And God will dwell wherever this bread is carried after today’s worship, to our sick and our homebound.

I think this is what makes communion so special. We share it mostly in this room — but not always — because we are gathered in this beautiful space to dwell with God, and then we leave with God, and God goes with us.

Come to the Table

So here is your simple homework assignment for today. Come to the table. Come just as you are, with whatever brokenness you may feel, whatever joy or burdens you may carry, and dwell with God in this space. Meet God here — really here. And then carry the God you meet here out into all the places in the world where God already dwells.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s beloved children, say: Amen.

"A Listening Heart" (May 31, 2026 Sermon)

A Listening Heart

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·May 31, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

1st Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

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1 Kings 3:3–15

Solomon loved the Lord, walking in the statutes of his father David, except that he sacrificed and offered incense at the high places. The king went to Gibeon to sacrifice there, for that was the principal high place; Solomon used to offer a thousand burnt offerings on that altar. At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night, and God said, “Ask what I should give you.” And Solomon said, “You have shown great and steadfast love to your servant my father David because he walked before you in faithfulness, in righteousness, and in uprightness of heart toward you, and you have kept for him this great and steadfast love and have given him a son to sit on his throne today. And now, O Lord my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David, although I am only a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in. And your servant is in the midst of the people whom you have chosen, a great people so numerous they cannot be numbered or counted. Give your servant, therefore, an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil, for who can govern this great people of yours?”

It pleased the Lord that Solomon had asked this. God said to him, “Because you have asked this and have not asked for yourself long life or riches or for the life of your enemies but have asked for yourself understanding to discern what is right, I now do according to your word. Indeed, I give you a wise and discerning mind; no one like you has been before you, and no one like you shall arise after you. I give you also what you have not asked, both riches and honor all your life; no other king shall compare with you. If you will walk in my ways, keeping my statutes and my commandments, as your father David walked, then I will lengthen your life.”

Then Solomon awoke; it had been a dream. He came to Jerusalem, where he stood before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. He offered up burnt offerings and offerings of well-being and provided a feast for all his servants.

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Setting the Stage

Today we begin a summer-long journey through the books of 1 and 2 Kings. We’ll spend five weeks on 1 Kings, take a three-week break, and then spend another six weeks on 2 Kings. I invite you to set aside time to read these two books. If you do, I promise you’ll find plenty of juicy stories to pique your interest. 1 and 2 Kings tell the “royal history” of Israel from the death of King David in 962 to the destruction of Jerusalem in 587. The chapters we’ll explore together have it all: palace intrigue, sexual politics, family drama, and, above all, a God who remains faithful throughout the Israelites’ ebbs and flows as they try to do the same.

Before we get to the meat of today’s passage, it’s important to remember where we are in the Biblical narrative. Just before the books of 1 and 2 Kings come the books of 1 and 2 Samuel, which tell the story of King Saul and King David. By the time we reach today’s passage, King David’s meteoric rise has been followed by his fall from grace after the Bathsheba/Uriah debacle. In fact, the very first verse of 1 Kings chapter 1 reminds us of his fragility in his later years: “King David was old and advanced in years; and although they covered him with clothes, he could not get warm.” The once-mighty and invincible David, the very one who conquered Goliath with nothing more than a sling and a rock, now lies shivering in his bed, knocking on heaven’s door. His servants bring in a beautiful young girl named Abishag to “arouse” his vitality, so to speak, from its slumber, but it’s no use. David is old, feeble, and spent. And the vultures begin circling.

By this point, violence has already visited David’s household. One of his sons, Absalom, has already met a nasty end. Absalom never forgave his father for failing to punish his brother Amnon for sexually assaulting their sister Tamar, and he therefore led a rebellion against his father’s house, challenging his father for the throne. Absalom met a memorable, if tragic, end when his head became caught in the branches of an oak tree, and his mule kept on riding, leaving him dangling helplessly until he was eventually found by David’s army and slaughtered. David grieved his son’s death, and this was perhaps the beginning of the end of his reign.

Once it became clear that David’s days were near an end, another of his sons, Adonijah, began vying for the throne behind his father’s back. He launched a PR campaign to solidify support for his candidacy, but Bathsheba (remember her?) had other plans. Though she was stripped of agency in the previous story, where David forced himself upon her and had her husband, Uriah, killed, she now speaks up. She sees the writing on the wall and knows that if Adonijah is crowned king, she and her son with David, Solomon, will be seen as a threat to Adonijah’s legitimacy. Therefore, she conspires with the prophet Nathan to “remind” David that he had promised Solomon the crown. Nowhere in scripture is there a record of this “promise,” so we’re left to wonder whether it really happened or if Bathsheba is perhaps taking advantage of David’s feeble mind. And even if that’s the case, can anyone blame her? She and her husband, after all, were the collateral damage of David’s unsatiated sexual appetite, so perhaps she believes this is an appropriate time for the scales of justice to be rebalanced.

To make a long story short, Bathsheba’s play works. David anoints Solomon as his successor, with all the pomp and circumstance required to legitimize his claim. Not surprisingly, Adonijah’s time on earth was short. In a foolish move, he asks to be given Abishag in marriage, and Solomon interprets this as an attack on his legitimacy. So Solomon has his brother killed. At long last, Solomon has consolidated his power and now sits on the throne that belonged to his father, King David, and to his predecessor, King Saul, before him.

Now, if this is all sounding a bit like the plot of the classic movie The Godfather, you would be right! David is kind of like Don Corleone, who is far past his prime, and the circles of power around him, such as his family and the other families of the Italian mafia, are testing one another to see who will come out on top once he sleeps with the fishes. And after all of these ruthless “Game of Thrones” maneuvers, Solomon finally has a chance to rest his head on his bed and catch up on some sleep as he prepares for his reign to begin.

And that is where we find him in today’s story, or, more specifically, where God finds Solomon. As is often the case with many other characters in the Bible, God meets Solomon in a dream as he slumbers. Solomon had traveled to Gibeon, a so-called “high place” where the Israelites often made sacrifices to God to curry God’s favor. And after the bloodshed that brought Solomon to this point, he certainly could use all the divine favor he could get!

A Blank Check from God

God approaches Solomon in his dream and simply asks him, “Ask what I should give you?” What does one do when one is given a blank check by God Almighty?

If we’re governed by fear, we might ask:

“Keep me safe. Keep my family safe. Make sure nothing bad ever happens to us.”
“Give me certainty - about my health, my future, my children’s future.”
“Let me know how it all ends so I don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

If we’re governed by scarcity, we might ask:

“Give me enough money that I will never have to worry again.”
“Make sure my retirement is secure, my house is paid off, and my kids are taken care of.”

If we’re governed by violence, we might ask:

“Punish the people who hurt me.”
“Vindicate me - publicly, visibly. Humiliate my enemies.”

What questions would you add to that list? Perhaps some that come from a place of genuine good? That our church would grow? That the cancer would be defeated? That gas and groceries would become reasonably priced again?

Solomon could have asked for any of those things (though I don’t think the price of gasoline was high on his list of priorities…). But he asks for none of them. His response is simple: “Give me wisdom.” More specifically, he asks for an “understanding mind” to govern God’s people and discern between good and evil.

His restraint is remarkable. Especially because his recently deceased father, King David, was not known for restraint. But the phrase that is usually translated as “understanding mind” deserves further scrutiny because of its complexity.

The Listening Heart

The “understanding mind” that Solomon asks of God is a Hebrew phrase, לֵב שֹמֵעׇ (“lev shomea”), which literally means “a listening heart” or “a hearing heart.” You may recognize the word shema in the phrase lev shomea because it’s the same word that begins Israel’s central confession of faith: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone…” In his dream, Solomon does not ask to be heard; he asks instead “to hear.” We hear in Solomon’s request much of what inspired the Prayer of St. Francis so many centuries later: O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love.

What I think is equally important about the Hebrew phrase לֵב שֹמֵעׇ (“lev shomea”) is that the verb shomea is in the participle form, a grammatical term that simply indicates continuous, ongoing action. Solomon’s request for a lev shomea isn’t a one-time download of information or enlightenment. Solomon doesn’t ask for a heart that has heard and is now done, but for a heart that is forever listening.

I find in this passage a quiet rebuke of so much of the power baked into our world today. Our current political atmosphere assumes that power means making yourself heard, imposing your will, and being the one everyone must listen to. Solomon, on the contrary, asks to be the one who listens. Would that all of our elected leaders, on both sides of the aisle, adopted such a posture! Would that all of us could find within ourselves the resolve to adopt such a posture in our families, in our schools, in our workplaces, in our churches and faith communities, and in our boardrooms!

I think Solomon’s prayer is a wise one for us in this modern age, given how much knowledge is out there. We live in an age where information is easily accessible at our literal fingertips. Now, whether that information is accurate, unbiased, or factual is another topic altogether! But such makes it even more important that you and I join Solomon in a continual posture of humility, asking for the lev shomea, the “listening heart” that God indeed grants Solomon.

Wisdom in the Age of the Sword—and the Algorithm

But such wisdom, even when granted by Divine Authority, can slip between our fingers if we’re not careful. I find the story that comes immediately after today’s story a telling one in this regard. What follows today’s story is the famous passage in which two women simultaneously claim to be the legitimate mother of a child after the other woman’s child dies in the middle of the night. The two women bring the child and claim to be the biological mother. Solomon famously asks for his sword and threatens to cut the baby in two to divide it equally between the two women. One of the two women quickly objects and begs for the child to be given to the other woman, and therefore Solomon surmises that the woman who objects is the biological mother. The passage is often lifted up as evidence of Solomon’s newly granted wisdom.

Now, I think two things can be true at the same time. First of all, this story is evidence of Solomon’s wisdom. After all, the story concludes with the following verse: “All Israel heard of the judgment that the king had rendered, and they stood in awe of the king because they perceived that the wisdom of God was in him to execute justice.”

But I think another thing can be true at the same time: that even with Solomon’s newfound wisdom, his first instinct is nevertheless to reach for the sword.

And I find that to be an important observation for us to make these days. You and I have unlimited potential at our fingertips, unlike any generation before us. The artificial intelligence boom that has happened just in the last three and a half years, since I’ve been your pastor, has completely changed the world around us, in ways we welcome and in others we may not. In just a few years, AI has gone from a rather abstract futuristic concept to something that feels truly unavoidable (I can’t even order a chocolate frosty at my local Wendy’s without using their AI ordering system!). AI may indeed be an incredible tool that can be used for much good; but it’s a tool nonetheless, and one that can also be used for great harm if not properly regulated, maintained, and made accessible to all, not just a wealthy few.

All this is to say that I think we need the lev shomea that Solomon sought now more than ever. We all need listening hearts attuned to humanity’s near-limitless capacity for both good and ill. We need listening hearts that resist Solomon’s instinct—and that of his father—to reach for the sword as the go-to response to conflict. We need listening hearts that can cut through the constant noise around us to hear the still, small voice of the Spirit, bestowed upon the Church last week on Pentecost. We need listening hearts that understand that wisdom is a precious gift, one that must be tended with the same intentionality a master gardener brings to his plants.

As we continue this five-week sermon series on 1 Kings, we’ll see both the successes and failures of Solomon’s reign, as well as the successes and failures of Israel’s attempts to live faithfully as the recipients of God’s liberation from Egypt. As we continue this journey, may we all seek the lev shomea, the “listening heart” of Solomon’s prayer. And may we understand that wisdom is never a gift to be taken for granted.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.