Solomon With 700 Wives vs. the Celibate Monk: Which Would You Choose?
A king who enjoyed countless women and every pleasure.
A monk who prayed his whole life without ever knowing a woman.
If both are saved in the end, why would anyone choose the monk's path?
Solomon pleased God by asking for wisdom, built the Temple and wrote Scripture. In Proverbs he taught, "Rejoice in the wife of your youth," and God had warned kings not to take many wives.
But he went beyond God's command and kept expanding what he had. Seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines. And when he was old, his heart turned to other gods.
Those who clutch what they've been given can end up losing their hearts.
So should we just give everything up instead?
The monk doesn't win automatically either. Celibacy is a gift, not a merit, and even if I give my body to be burned but have no love, I gain nothing.
What's more, a monk who has given up everything has also received a great deal: time, a body, freedom, the strength to pray. And he can clutch even what he gave up, as a merit: "Look how much I've endured."
In Jesus's parable of the workers in the vineyard, those who worked from early morning hold out their labor to the owner like a bond: "Why have you made them equal to us?" The moment renunciation becomes a transaction, the monk becomes a Solomon in different clothes.
So neither Solomon's thousand nor the monk's zero is the unit of heavenly reward.
In the wilderness, Satan offered Him the power and glory of all the kingdoms of the world. Jesus refused the path of taking power and glory for Himself.
Yet He wasn't an ascetic who turned His back on the world either. He went to feasts, ate and drank, and lived among people. But He clutched nothing for Himself. Neither enjoying nor renouncing was His goal. Like a grain of wheat, He gave Himself away.
The true King didn't become king by taking more, or by giving up more. He became King by giving Himself.
That is why God highly exalted Him, and heaven sings that the Lamb who was slain is worthy to receive power and wealth and wisdom and glory.
But isn't hoping for a reward in heaven just a longer-term calculation?
The elders in Revelation 4 answer. They receive crowns, but they don't hold on to them. They lay them back down before the throne. At the end of love, not even "what I received" remains.
Solomon lost his heart clutching what he received.
The monk risks clutching even what he gave up.
Jesus gave even Himself.
The elders of heaven lay down even the rewards they received.
The way Christianity speaks of is neither pleasure nor asceticism. It's a heart once bent toward itself being turned inside out by love.
The world still asks how much you enjoyed. God asks something else.
Not how much you enjoyed, not how much you gave up,
but for whom you used what you were given.
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A monk who prayed his whole life without ever knowing a woman.
If both are saved in the end, why would anyone choose the monk's path?
Thesis: Solomon, the one who indulged
Solomon pleased God by asking for wisdom, built the Temple and wrote Scripture. In Proverbs he taught, "Rejoice in the wife of your youth," and God had warned kings not to take many wives.
But he went beyond God's command and kept expanding what he had. Seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines. And when he was old, his heart turned to other gods.
Those who clutch what they've been given can end up losing their hearts.
Antithesis: the monk, the one who renounced
So should we just give everything up instead?
The monk doesn't win automatically either. Celibacy is a gift, not a merit, and even if I give my body to be burned but have no love, I gain nothing.
What's more, a monk who has given up everything has also received a great deal: time, a body, freedom, the strength to pray. And he can clutch even what he gave up, as a merit: "Look how much I've endured."
In Jesus's parable of the workers in the vineyard, those who worked from early morning hold out their labor to the owner like a bond: "Why have you made them equal to us?" The moment renunciation becomes a transaction, the monk becomes a Solomon in different clothes.
So neither Solomon's thousand nor the monk's zero is the unit of heavenly reward.
Synthesis: Jesus, the one who gave Himself
In the wilderness, Satan offered Him the power and glory of all the kingdoms of the world. Jesus refused the path of taking power and glory for Himself.
Yet He wasn't an ascetic who turned His back on the world either. He went to feasts, ate and drank, and lived among people. But He clutched nothing for Himself. Neither enjoying nor renouncing was His goal. Like a grain of wheat, He gave Himself away.
The true King didn't become king by taking more, or by giving up more. He became King by giving Himself.
That is why God highly exalted Him, and heaven sings that the Lamb who was slain is worthy to receive power and wealth and wisdom and glory.
And then, heaven
But isn't hoping for a reward in heaven just a longer-term calculation?
The elders in Revelation 4 answer. They receive crowns, but they don't hold on to them. They lay them back down before the throne. At the end of love, not even "what I received" remains.
Solomon lost his heart clutching what he received.
The monk risks clutching even what he gave up.
Jesus gave even Himself.
The elders of heaven lay down even the rewards they received.
The way Christianity speaks of is neither pleasure nor asceticism. It's a heart once bent toward itself being turned inside out by love.
The world still asks how much you enjoyed. God asks something else.
Not how much you enjoyed, not how much you gave up,
but for whom you used what you were given.
