[King Shishak of Egypt] carried off the treasures of the temple of the Lord and the treasures of the royal palace. He took everything, including all the gold shields Solomon had made. So King Rehoboam made bronze shields to replace them and assigned these to the commanders of the guard on duty at the entrance to the royal palace.
1 Kings 14:26-27 (NIV)

Wendy and I are sports fans of a particular sort. With each sport we follow, we have a team we claim as ours. Cubs, Vikings, Liverpool — we enjoy embracing the team, following the stories, and showing up through thick-and-thin. In a world of bandwagon fans who only follows winners, there’s something to be said for being part of the larger story.

When you embrace fandom the way we do, there is the inevitability of experiencing the ebb-and-flow of a team’s history. I grew up in the glory years of the Vikings when they went to the Super Bowl four times (and lost all four). After that came a long period of agonizing drought. I’m glad I was alive to watch the Cubs end their 108 year World Series drought, but was equally disheartened when what looked like the making of a dynasty quickly imploded and the lovable losers quickly returned to the field.

Enjoy the glory years — they don’t last forever.

Today’s chapter reflects a similar reality. The golden years of David and Solomon are over. The nation is shattered and broken in two. There’s a shift in the narrative, even in the style of writing. The narrator from this point on follows a prescriptive pattern in which he will bounce back and forth sharing summary details of the reign of each king for each of the two nations, Israel and Judah.

What’s interesting in today’s chapter is that there are eery similarities between both Rehoboam, King of Judah, and Jeroboam, King of Israel. Both kings have rejected Yahweh. Rehoboam follows his father’s example and relegates Yahweh to just one of many gods the people worship. Jeroboam outright rejects Yahweh out of fear that his people might return to Jerusalem.

What’s fascinating is that when Jeroboam’s son is deathly ill, he sends his wife to inquire of the old blind prophet Ahijah in Shiloh, the one who told him God was making him king. Shiloh had once been Israel’s major sanctuary, associated especially with Eli and Samuel and the tabernacle traditions. Jeroboam now operates his rival sanctuaries at Bethel and Dan.

Yet when his child is dying, where does he turn? Not Bethel. Not his golden calf. Not one of the priests he appointed.

He sends for Ahijah, the genuine prophet of Yahweh. When everything is going well, Jeroboam constructs a religion convenient to his political needs. When his son is dying, suddenly he wants the real thing.

And I can’t escape the irony of the story. The narrator specifically tells us “Ahijah could not see; his sight was gone because of his age.” (v. 4) That detail isn’t necessary to the plot unless it means something. Jeroboam apparently thinks blindness makes Ahijah easier to deceive. Instead…

Jeroboam can see but is spiritually blind.
Ahijah is blind but spiritually sees.

Then the narrator swings the camera south where Rehoboam, Solomon’s son, reigns in Judah. And if I thought Judah might provide the faithful alternative to Jeroboam’s apostasy— I will be disappointed. “Judah did evil in the eyes of the LORD.” (v. 22) High places, sacred stones, Asherah poles, and pagan religious practices flourish throughout the land.

Then comes a humiliating historical moment. Shishak king of Egypt attacks Jerusalem, and he takes away the treasures of the temple and palace—including: “all the gold shields Solomon had made.” (v. 26) Rehoboam replaces them with bronze shields.

Solomon’s golden age has become Rehoboam’s bronze imitation.The chapter closes with continuing warfare between Rehoboam and Jeroboam, followed by Rehoboam’s death.

The glory years are gone. The kingdom that once seemed glorious, wealthy, united, peaceful, and blessed is now divided, idolatrous, impoverished, and fighting itself.

Both kings are preserving appearances while reality underneath has radically deteriorated. Jeroboam sends his wife in disguise. Rehoboam replaces gold with bronze.

A disguise in Israel.
Imitation gold in Judah.

Both kingdoms are pretending. Jeroboam wants to appear to be someone he isn’t. Rehoboam wants his kingdom to appear to possess something it no longer has. And God sees through both.

Along my journey, I’ve observed that we human beings are extraordinarily gifted at polishing bronze. I can maintain the vocabulary, habits, ceremonies, reputations, ministries, careers, marriages, institutions, and appearances of spiritual vitality long after something precious underneath has quietly disappeared.

Sometimes the temptation isn’t even consciously fraudulent. I simply replace what was lost. Gold disappears, and well…bronze is shiny, too. Nobody needs to know. Just keep it polished.

Which makes blind old Ahijah such an iniviting figure. The one man in the story who cannot see is the one man who sees reality clearly. And, in the quiet this morning, that gives me something for my heart and mind to chew on.

Stop polishing the bronze. Bring the disguise into the light.

Ask not merely whether my life looks faithful, successful, respectable, spiritual, or whole—but whether the substance beneath the appearance remains genuine. Because the God who saw through the disguise at Shiloh and knew the difference between Solomon’s gold and Rehoboam’s bronze is still less interested in the shine of my life than in what my life is genuinely made of.

And there may be one final grace hidden inside this otherwise dark chapter. The narrator tells us that Jeroboam’s sick son is the one man in Israel in whom God found anything good. In Jeroboam’s thoroughly compromised household, God still sees “something good” in Abijah. Just something. The narrator doesn’t even tell us what it is. Yet God sees it.

God sees through our disguises—but He also sees goodness that everyone else may overlook. That’s a beautiful tension that I carry away from today’s chapter. The gaze of God from which I cannot hide is also the gaze of God that sees every tiny seed of faithfulness. And I know what Jesus said about mustard seeds.

Lord, make me genuine, and I pray your gaze finds the seed in me.

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