Nine-year-old Leo Tolstoy, convinced God would help him fly, dove headfirst out a third-floor window and had his first major crisis of disappointment with God. Fortunately, Tolstoy survived the crash landing and, years later, could laugh at his childish test of faith.
What child has not fantasized about supernatural powers? Lord, help me walk across this lake. Help me beat up this bully. Make me smart without having to study. And if God ever saw fit to answer some of those prayers, if, like a genie in a bottle, he granted us any wish we wanted, wouldn't we then try to please him out of gratitude? In my dark hours of disappointment, I instinctively think like that: If God can get me out . . . if things calm down . . . if I get well . . . then I'll follow God.
My friend Richard believed that anyone would, like a faithful puppy, follow a God who acted fairly, spoke clearly, and made himself obvious. The wilderness wanderings of the Israelites prove him wrong. But, some might argue, their faith faltered in a harsh land, a place remembered by Moses as a "vast and dreadful desert, that thirsty and waterless land, with its venomous snakes and scorpions." Who wouldn't lose heart in those circumstances? Were there happier times, when God seemed close and granted his people their desires?
The tone of the Old Testament brightens when the name David shows up. "Then the Lord awoke as from sleep, as a man wakes from the stupor of wine," Psalm 78 says about those days. God had at last found a man after his own heart, the kind of person he could build a nation around. Lusty King David broke every law on the books save one: he loved God with all his heart, all his mind, and all his soul. With David installed as king over Israel, dreams of the covenant came surging back.
And when David's son Solomon took the throne, God pulled out all the stops. What children only dream of, Solomon got. God offered him any wish - long life, riches, anything at all - and when Solomon chose wisdom God added bonus gifts of wealth, honor, and peace. He would rule over a Golden Age, a shining moment of tranquillity in the long, tormented history of the Hebrews.
Solomon
He took over the throne of Israel as a teenager and soon became the richest person of his time. The Bible says that silver was as common in Jerusalem as stones. A fleet of trading ships sought out exotica for the king's private collections - apes and baboons from Africa - and ivory and gold by the ton. Solomon had artistic talent as well: he wrote 1005 songs and 3000 proverbs.
Rulers traveled hundreds of miles to test Solomon's wisdom firsthand and to see the great city he had built. One such ruler, the queen of Sheba, said to him:
"The report I heard in my own country about your achievements and your wisdom is true. But I did not believe these things until I came and saw with my own eyes. Indeed, not even half was told me; in wisdom and wealth you have far exceeded the report I heard. How happy your men must be! How happy your officials, who continually stand before you and hear your wisdom! Praise be to the Lord your God, who has delighted in you and placed you on the throne of Israel."
Impressive words from a queen who, as a farewell gift, gave Solomon four and a half tons of pure gold.
And what did God feel during these halcyon days? Relief, pleasure, delight - the Bible hints at all these. Israel's chronic grumblers had died off, and Solomon went out of his way to make God feel loved. He lavished the wealth of his kingdom on a tremendous temple, fashioned by 200,000 workmen, that ranked as one of the wonders of the world. From a distance, it shone like a snowcapped mountain.
Old Testament history reached a high-water mark on the day Solomon dedicated that temple to God. Think of a movie scene of the most blinding encounter with an extraterrestial being. Something like that happened in Jerusalem, only this was no illusion staged by special-effects crews. Thousands of people were looking on in a huge public ceremony. When the glory of the Lord came down to fill the temple, even the priests were driven back by the blast.
God was making Solomon's temple the center of his activity on earth, and the crowd spontaneously decided to stay another two weeks to celebrate. Kneeling on a bronze platform, Solomon prayed aloud, "I have indeed built a magnificent temple for you, a place for you to dwell forever." Then he caught himself in astonishment. "But will God really dwell on earth? The heavens, even the highest heaven, cannot contain you. How much less this temple I have built!"
Later, God responded: "I have heard the prayer and plea you have made before me; I have consecrated this temple . . . My eyes and my heart will always be there." God had done it! His promises to Abraham and Moses had finally come true. The Israelites now had land, a nation with secure boundaries, and a gleaming symbol of God's presence among them. No one present on the famous day of the temple dedication could doubt God; everyone saw the fire and the cloud of his presence. And all this came to pass not in a harsh desert full of snakes and scorpions, but in a land rich with silver and gold.
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With everything imaginable working in his favor, at first it seemed Solomon would gratefully follow God. His prayer of dedication for the temple in 1 Kings 8 is one of the most majestic ever prayed. Yet by the end of his reign Solomon had squandered away nearly every advantage. The poetic man who had sung of romantic love broke all records for promiscuity: seven hundred wives in all, and three hundred concubines! The wise man who had composed so many commonsense proverbs flouted them with an extravagance that has never been equaled. And to please his foreign-born wives, the devout man who had built the temple of God took a final, terrible step: he introduced idol worship into God's holy city.
In one generation, Solomon took Israel from a fledgling kingdom dependent on God for bare survival to a self-sufficient political power. But along the way he lost sight of the original vision to which God had called them. Ironically, by the time of Solomon's death, Israel resembled the Egypt they had escaped: an imperial state held in place by a bloated bureaucracy and slave labor, with an official state religion under the ruler's command. Success in the kingdom of this world had crowded out interest in the kingdom of God. The brief, shining vision of a covenant nation faded away, and God withdrew his sanction. After Solomon's death, Israel split in two and slid toward ruin.
A quotation from Oscar Wilde might provide the best epitaph for Solomon: "In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it." Solomon got whatever he wanted, especially when it came to symbols of power and status. Gradually, he depended less on God and more on the props around him: the world's largest harem, a house twice the size of the temple, an army well-stocked with chariots, a strong economy. Success may have eliminated any crises of disappointment with God, but it also seemed to eliminate Solomon's desire for God at all. The more he enjoyed the world's good gifts, the less he thought about the Giver.
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In the wilderness God dwelt in a pillar of fire and cloud, so nearby that his power sometimes "broke out" with destructive force. In Solomon's day God seemed to restrict that power, giving the king authority to represent him to the people. As for the Israelites, who had shrunk in fear from God in the wilderness, they simply took God for granted once his presence was centered in the temple. He became just another part of the royal landscape.
In response to this change, God quietly turned elsewhere. You can easily detect the shift by scanning the Old Testament, which gives lengthy accounts of the first three kings of Israel - Saul, David, and Solomon; but after Solomon, stories of the kings speed up into a forgettable blur. God turned instead to his prophets.
Bible references: Deuteronomy 8; 2 Samuel 7; 1 Kings 8-10.
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"One Shining Moment," Philip Yancey, in Disappointment With God, pp. 77-81, Zondervan Publishing House: Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1988.
