The Leaven of Little Compromises Text: 1 Kings 3:1-4
Introduction: The Logic of the Long Defeat
We come now to the reign of Solomon, a man whose name is synonymous with wisdom, wealth, and a golden age for Israel. His story begins with such spectacular promise. The kingdom is secure, the enemies are subdued, and the blessing of God is palpable. And yet, if we read carefully, we find that the seeds of the kingdom's eventual, catastrophic division are sown right here, at the very beginning, in the midst of all the glory. The story of Solomon is a sober warning to us all. It is a warning against the logic of the small compromise, the seemingly pragmatic deviation, the tiny bit of leaven that will eventually leaven the whole lump.
We live in an age that despises absolutes and celebrates pragmatism. "Does it work?" is the great question of our time, not "Is it righteous?" We want our political solutions, our church growth strategies, and our personal lives to be successful, and we are often willing to bend the rules just a little to get there. We tell ourselves that our compromises are temporary necessities, strategic alliances on the way to a greater good. We will marry the world in order to win the world. We will worship like the world in order to attract the world. This was Solomon's logic. And it was a logic that ended in utter ruin, with the kingdom torn in two and his own heart turned away from Yahweh to the worship of demons.
The text before us presents a glaring contradiction. In one verse, we are told that Solomon loved Yahweh. In the very next clause, we are told that he disobeyed Yahweh. This is not a textual error. This is the central tension of the Christian life, and it is the central conflict in the story of Solomon. It is possible to love God sincerely and yet to harbor areas of disobedience that, if left unchecked, will grow like a cancer and consume everything. This passage is a diagnostic tool. It forces us to ask ourselves: where are our high places? Where are our pragmatic alliances with Egypt? Where are we telling ourselves that we love God, except for this one little thing?
Let us be clear. The writer of Kings is not being subtle. He places these compromises right at the front of the story for a reason. He is teaching us to see the end in the beginning. He is showing us that the great apostasy of Solomon's old age did not spring out of nowhere. It was the logical conclusion of the seemingly minor compromises he made in his youth. The path to idolatry is paved with good intentions and pragmatic exceptions.
The Text
Then Solomon formed a marriage alliance with Pharaoh king of Egypt, and took Pharaoh’s daughter and brought her to the city of David until he had completed building his own house and the house of Yahweh and the wall around Jerusalem. The people were still sacrificing on the high places because there was no house built for the name of Yahweh until those days. And Solomon loved Yahweh, walking in the statutes of his father David, except he sacrificed and burned incense on the high places. And the king went to Gibeon to sacrifice there, for that was the great high place; Solomon offered one thousand burnt offerings on that altar.
(1 Kings 3:1-4 LSB)
The Pragmatic Alliance (v. 1)
The chapter begins with a political masterstroke that is, at the same time, a profound spiritual compromise.
"Then Solomon formed a marriage alliance with Pharaoh king of Egypt, and took Pharaoh’s daughter and brought her to the city of David until he had completed building his own house and the house of Yahweh and the wall around Jerusalem." (1 Kings 3:1)
From a purely worldly perspective, this was brilliant. Egypt was a superpower. For a Pharaoh to give his daughter to a foreign king was an unprecedented event, a sign of Israel's newfound status on the world stage. This marriage secured Solomon's southern border, opened up lucrative trade routes, and projected an image of immense power. It was a geopolitical triumph. It "worked."
But from a covenantal perspective, it was a disaster. God had explicitly and repeatedly forbidden this very thing. "You shall not intermarry with them, giving your daughters to their sons or taking their daughters for your sons, for they would turn away your sons from following me, to serve other gods" (Deuteronomy 7:3-4). This was not a suggestion. It was a foundational principle of covenant faithfulness. Israel was to be a holy nation, separate from the pagan nations, a beacon of light to them, not a partner with them in their darkness.
Solomon's rationalization is almost audible. "This is just politics. It's a temporary arrangement. I'll bring her into the city of David until I finish the Temple. I can handle it. I can keep her paganism contained." But this is the lie of all compromise. We think we can dabble in the world's wisdom and power without being infected by its worldview. We think we can form alliances with Egypt without eventually worshiping Egypt's gods. But the principle is absolute: bad company corrupts good morals (1 Cor. 15:33). You cannot form a one-flesh union with an unbeliever and expect it not to have spiritual consequences. Solomon was yoking the holy nation to a pagan one, and in so doing, he was placing a snare at the very heart of his kingdom and his own life.
This is the first crack in the foundation. It seems small, pragmatic, even wise from a certain point of view. But God had already spoken on the matter. And when God has spoken, all our pragmatic calculations are nothing more than polished rebellion. This marriage was not an act of faith; it was an act of fear, a turn toward the strength of horses and chariots rather than the strength of Yahweh.
The Tolerated Disobedience (v. 2)
The second compromise is presented as a matter of public practice, a temporary problem awaiting a permanent solution.
"The people were still sacrificing on the high places because there was no house built for the name of Yahweh until those days." (1 Kings 3:2 LSB)
The "high places" were originally Canaanite sites of pagan worship, usually on hilltops. While men like Abraham and Samuel had sacrificed at various locations before the centralization of worship, the Law of Moses was crystal clear. Once Israel was in the land, there was to be one, central place of sacrifice. "Take care that you do not offer your burnt offerings in any place that you see, but in the place that Yahweh will choose in one of your tribes, there you shall offer your burnt offerings" (Deuteronomy 12:13-14). The purpose of this was to guard the purity of Israel's worship and to prevent the syncretistic blending of Yahweh-worship with pagan practices.
The narrator here gives the reason, the excuse: the Temple wasn't built yet. This sounds reasonable enough. What were they supposed to do in the meantime? But this is precisely the problem. The Tabernacle, the authorized, portable house for the name of Yahweh, was at Gibeon. There was a legitimate, God-ordained place for sacrifice. The issue was not the lack of a building in Jerusalem; the issue was a laxity in obedience. The people were doing what was convenient, what was traditional, what felt right in their own eyes. And Solomon, the king, tolerated it.
This is how liturgical compromise always works. It begins with a pragmatic excuse. "We don't have the right building." "We need to reach the culture." "We have to be relevant." And so, we begin to trim the edges of God's commands. We neglect the means of grace He has appointed and substitute our own inventions. We tolerate worship that is man-centered, convenient, and tainted with the assumptions of the world. And we do it all under the guise of necessity, waiting for some future day when we can finally be fully obedient. But that day never comes, because compromise begets more compromise.
The Divided Heart (v. 3)
Verse three brings the contradiction into sharp focus, applying it directly to the king himself.
"And Solomon loved Yahweh, walking in the statutes of his father David, except he sacrificed and burned incense on the high places." (1 Kings 3:3 LSB)
This is one of the most tragic verses in all of Scripture. "Solomon loved Yahweh... except." That "except" is the hinge upon which his entire reign, and the future of the kingdom, would turn. The text affirms the sincerity of his love. This was not hypocrisy in the sense of a conscious deception. Solomon genuinely loved God. He desired to follow in the footsteps of his father David. And yet, this love coexisted with a pocket of known disobedience. He participated in the very practice that was a concession to paganism.
This should be a terrifying thought for every one of us. It is possible to have a genuine affection for God, to read your Bible, to pray, to attend church, and to simultaneously cultivate a pet sin, a cherished disobedience, an "except." It might be a secret habit, a compromised business practice, an unforgiving spirit, or a worldly form of entertainment. We tell ourselves it's a small thing. We tell ourselves that our love for God is the main thing, and this is just a minor exception. But God demands total allegiance. He is not interested in being the Lord of 95% of your life. That remaining 5% is an act of high treason. It is a rival throne set up in your heart.
Solomon's exception was in the realm of worship. This is always where the battle is hottest. How we worship reveals who we believe God to be. To worship God on our own terms, in a place and manner He has not commanded, is to create an idol. It is to worship a god of our own making, a god who is comfortable with our compromises. Solomon loved Yahweh, but he was willing to worship Him in a Canaanite way. This is the essence of syncretism. And it is a poison that will always, eventually, kill true faith.
The Lavish Exception (v. 4)
The chapter concludes this section by showing us the grand scale of Solomon's compromise.
"And the king went to Gibeon to sacrifice there, for that was the great high place; Solomon offered one thousand burnt offerings on that altar." (1 Kings 3:4 LSB)
Now, Gibeon was a special case. As we noted, the Tabernacle of Moses and the bronze altar were there (2 Chron. 1:3-5). So, in one sense, this was the "correct" place to be sacrificing before the Temple was built. The problem is that the text explicitly calls it "the great high place." It was legitimate, but it was still part of the high place problem. It was the best of a bad system. And Solomon's actions here are a mixture of true piety and disobedient extravagance.
He offers a thousand burnt offerings. This is an act of astonishing devotion and generosity. It is a display of his love for Yahweh. God Himself responds to this act by appearing to Solomon in a dream and offering him anything he wants. God meets Solomon in the midst of his compromised worship. This is a stunning display of grace. God often condescends to bless us even when our worship is flawed and our obedience is partial. He meets us where we are. But His grace is never an endorsement of our compromise. It is an invitation to leave it behind.
This is the danger of blessing in the midst of partial obedience. We can easily misinterpret it. We can think, "Well, God blessed me, so He must be okay with my 'except'." We see our church growing, and so we assume God approves of our pragmatic, worldly methods. We see our business prospering, and so we assume God is fine with our ethical shortcuts. But God's kindness is meant to lead us to repentance, not to ratify our rebellion (Romans 2:4). God blessed Solomon at Gibeon, but the high places would ultimately be his undoing.
Conclusion: No Exceptions
The story of Solomon begins with a fatal mixture. A love for God mixed with compromise. A desire for obedience mixed with exceptions. A true piety mixed with pagan pragmatism. And the rest of his life tells the story of which of those ingredients won out in the end. His foreign wives, beginning with Pharaoh's daughter, turned his heart away. The high places he tolerated for the people, he eventually built for his wives' gods. The small "except" became the ruling principle of his life.
The gospel of Jesus Christ is the only cure for a divided heart. The problem with Solomon was that he was trying to secure his kingdom and his standing with God through a mixture of faith and works, obedience and compromise. But the gospel tells us that our standing is secured entirely by the perfect work of another. Jesus Christ had no "excepts." He loved the Father, and He walked in His statutes, full stop. He had no pragmatic alliances with the world, the flesh, or the devil. His obedience was perfect and entire.
When we are united to Him by faith, His perfect record becomes ours. We are accepted not on the basis of our mixed performance, but on the basis of His flawless obedience. And it is only from that position of grace, of perfect acceptance, that we can begin to fight our compromises. The Holy Spirit comes into our hearts and begins the work of rooting out all our high places, of tearing down our alliances with Egypt. He wages war on our "excepts."
The call to the Christian is to be ruthless with your exceptions. What is the compromise you are tolerating? What is the pragmatic alliance you are maintaining? What is the area of your life where you say, "I love Jesus, except..."? Do not be deceived. That exception is a seed. If you water it, if you make excuses for it, it will grow. And it will produce the bitter fruit of apostasy. Come to Christ, who is our wisdom and our righteousness. Confess your divided heart to Him. And by His grace, tear down the high places. For He must be Lord of all, or He is not Lord at all.