Now Adonijah, whose mother was Haggith, put himself forward and said, “I will be king.”
1 Kings 1:5a (NIV)

Starting in late September, I’m scheduled to deliver a series of three messages that kick off a series on the Seven Deadly Sins. Thus, I’ve been doing a personal deep dive study on the classic list of places we humans end up when we indulge our natural appetites to unhealthy excess.

Always first on the list of the unholy seven is pride, though the classic word for it is vainglory. The Greek is kenodoxia (kenos = empty + doxa = glory): “empty glory.” That’s incredible language.

Vainglory isn’t simply thinking I’m wonderful. It’s deriving my sense of worth from being perceived as wonderful. And, that distinction matters.

Pride says: “I am great.”
Vainglory says: “I need YOU to think I’m great.”

Which means vainglory is strangely fragile.

Today, our chapter-a-day journey continues to trek through history. 1 Kings lowers the curtain on David’s reign and follows the game of thrones that follows. It’s going to be a fascinating journey. Think of all the great books, movies, and series that revolve around palace intrigue, succession, and individuals vying for power within human systems. The stories of 1 Kings are source material for them all.

The book opens with the great warrior and King, David, now old and bedridden. The situation creates a classic question of succession. Who will be king after David? David had multiple wives and concubines, and he had children with many of them. The royal family is fractured into competing rival factions. In fact, the two main factions competing for the throne each fear that they will be killed if the other succeeds. It becomes a tale of two brothers. Adonijah is the eldest son. Solomon is the youngest son and the offspring of the scandalous Bathsheba.

As the eldest living son, it is not unreasonable for Adonijah to assume that the throne should be his. However, God’s Law never established a simple rule of royal primogeniture whereby the oldest surviving son automatically became king. Kingship ultimately remained subject to God’s choice. David himself had demonstrated that principle spectacularly: he was the youngest son of Jesse and wasn’t Saul’s heir.

Adonijah makes a power play for the throne. He makes political alliances with key power players in his father’s administration who agree to support his power grab. He arranges for a glorious public procession, a public sacrifice spectacle, and a ceremony in which a priest anoints him King. A giant celebratory feast follows. He invites everyone in the royal family except his rival Solomon and those loyal to him.

The prophet Nathan acts fast. He and Bathsheba approach the king, explain what is happening as it is happening. David tells them to crown Solomon immediately and place him on the throne. Solomon is called for, placed on his father’s royal mount, anointed, and placed on the throne as the city erupts in celebration so loud that it interrupts Adonijah’s feast. His power play fails spectacularly.

“I will be king,” Adonijah declares at the beginning of the chapter. The Hebrew is wonderfully stark: ‘ani ’emlokh “I will reign.” Adonijah isn’t simply ambitious. He’s attempting to author his own destiny.

That’s vainglory.

Adonijah sees what he wants. He decides it belongs to him. He gathers the right people, manufactures momentum, creates the optics, and throws the party. He declares victory before victory has actually been given.

Meanwhile, Solomon isn’t even present. There’s something uncomfortable about that for those raised in a culture that tells us:

You only live once.
Just do it.
Make it happen.
Build your platform.
Seize your opportunity.
Take what’s yours.
Manifest your destiny.

Scripture offers a counterintuitive wisdom. There are things I can seize that God never gave me. Conversely, what God truly calls me to doesn’t ultimately depend on my ability to seize it.

That doesn’t mean passivity. David eventually acts decisively. Nathan acts shrewdly. Bathsheba speaks courageously. Zadok and Benaiah obey immediately. But all their action takes place in service to something received rather than manufactured.

I can manipulate circumstances to get a position. I can maneuver relationships to gain influence. I can curate an image to build a platform. I can even convince myself that because something is possible, it must therefore be God’s will.

Adonijah managed to gather a priest, a general, royal sons, government officials, sacrifices, food, and a crowd shouting his name. It probably looked remarkably blessed. He was completely wrong. Vainglory is deceptively fragile.

That’s the spiritual warning I find in today’s chapter. Never confuse momentum with providence. A lot of people supporting me doesn’t necessarily mean God’s behind it. An open door doesn’t necessarily mean God opened it. Success doesn’t necessarily signal the blessing of obedience.

Solomon, on the other hand, doesn’t campaign. He doesn’t gather supporters or throw himself a party. He doesn’t declare himself king.

Instead, he is called. He is placed upon the king’s mule, escorted, and anointed. He receives the throne.

Adonijah grasps.
Solomon receives.

Which, in the quiet this morning, is an example of the posture I want to have.

Listen. Discern. Wait. Obey when the moment comes, but hold my ambitions with open hands.

Adonijah’s fists, clenched with vainglory proclaim, “I will reign.”
Solomon’s open hands receive what he never had to steal.

And that’s an image worth carrying with me into this day. The kingdom of God has always been easier to receive with open hands than clenched fists.

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