“Why do we shout over Solomon’s wisdom but stay silent on his wealth?”
In pulpits across Black America, King Solomon is rightly revered. We honor him as the wisest man who ever lived—God’s chosen ruler, the author of Proverbs, and the builder of the Temple. His name is spoken with reverence. His writings are quoted with authority. Yet one of the most powerful aspects of his legacy—his economic brilliance—is rarely preached, studied, or applied.
Solomon wasn’t just a man of wisdom; he was a builder. A strategist. A steward of wealth and a leader who transformed Israel into a thriving, self-sustaining nation. He didn’t just pray—he planned. He didn’t just worship—he ruled. He created systems, secured trade alliances, built infrastructure, managed labor, and ushered in a period of prosperity the nation had never seen before.
So why is this part of his story missing in our faith culture?
The answer lies in a history that has shaped our theology around survival instead of sovereignty. Faith culture in Black communities was born under conditions of slavery, segregation, and systemic oppression. In that crucible, faith became our refuge. It was where we found dignity, identity, and hope. But as we fought for spiritual survival, we were often cut off from the tools of economic power. And over time, our culture—once rooted in faith, family, and community—was gradually replaced with something else.
Today, too often, what we call Black culture has been distorted into consumer culture. We glorify spending over saving, flexing over investing, and consuming over creating. We chase validation instead of valuation. We know the brands, but we don’t own the businesses. Nearly $1.8 trillion passes through our hands each year, yet much of it leaves our communities within hours. That’s not poverty. That’s misdirection. That’s a system—and a mindset—that doesn’t teach us how to build.
Let’s be clear: Black people are not poor. We are not helpless. We are not lacking talent, creativity, or intelligence. But many of us are financially broke—not because we don’t have money, but because we’ve been taught to spend it, not build with it. We’ve got $900 sneakers in the closet, $3,000 handbags on our arms, $500 weaves laid every two weeks, $400 jeans with the tags still on, a $70,000 Mercedes in the driveway—and $3,000 rent due in three days with nothing in savings. We wear our money. We drive our money. We post our money. But we don’t invest it, circulate it, or grow it. And it’s not just a financial problem—it’s a cultural misdirection, one that has separated us from the wealth-building principles that are not only practical, but profoundly biblical.
And our faith culture, which has long been the center of our lives, must now rise to meet this moment. Because the issue isn’t just injustice—it’s dependency. The real crisis we face is not just racism, but the lack of economic independence. We protest, we march, we boycott. These actions raise awareness, but awareness without infrastructure does not produce power. Attention is not ownership. And emotion is not strategy.
We are living in a new era of governance in Washington, D.C.—an era that is reshaping how institutions function, how resources are distributed, and how communities survive or thrive. The time we are in is demanding universal change—economically, spiritually, politically, and culturally. And if our theology doesn’t evolve with the times, we will continue to raise generations of people with deep faith but no power.
This is why we must reclaim the full legacy of Solomon.
Solomon was not only a man of prayer—he was a man of policy. He wasn’t just anointed; he was appointed to govern, to manage wealth, to create jobs, and to build. He designed systems. He invested in human capital. He secured long-term prosperity for his people. His leadership wasn’t just spiritual—it was structural.
It’s also worth examining how other cultures, like the Jewish community, have embraced a more holistic view of faith and finance. While we proclaim belief in the same scriptures and even revere Solomon as a spiritual icon, the Jewish cultural approach to his legacy looks very different. In Jewish tradition, money is not viewed as a threat to holiness—it’s seen as a tool for fulfilling God’s covenant. Economic life is interwoven with religious life. Business ethics, contracts, inheritance, community lending, and investing are all part of the faith conversation. Wealth is not something to apologize for; it’s something to manage wisely and distribute justly. They don’t just honor Solomon with words—they emulate his strategy. Meanwhile, in our faith culture, we believe in Solomon’s wisdom but detach it from how we think about money. We preach about his proverbs but don’t practice his principles. We spiritualize what they systematize. And until we shift that mindset, we’ll continue to live in the gap between inspiration and institution.
Yet in our faith culture today, Solomon’s blueprint is often overlooked. We focus on his wisdom but not his works. We preach the Proverbs but skip the principles of sovereignty that undergirded his reign. And that gap is costing us. Faith without works is dead, and faith without economics makes us educated slaves, still begging for jobs instead of creating them, still waiting for access instead of building our own doors.
This isn’t a message of blame—it’s a call to responsibility. A loving reminder that we are capable of more. The same God who gave Solomon the wisdom to build is offering us that same insight, if we’re willing to receive it. Our faith leaders and institutions must begin to teach not only righteousness but responsibility. Not only tithing but taxation. Not only worship but workforce development. Not only prayer but planning.
Our young people don’t just need inspiration—they need instruction. They don’t just need sermons—they need strategies. The Bible tells us clearly in Proverbs 22:6: “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” But how can our children follow a path they’ve never been shown? How can they walk in wisdom when the blueprint has been hidden?
Solomon didn’t just leave us words to make us feel good—he left us systems to help us build. His life offers both revelation and responsibility. He gave us spiritual insight and economic strategy. If we want to raise a generation that doesn’t just survive but leads, owns, builds, and governs, then we must give them more than emotion—we must give them structure.
Solomon left us both. And it’s time we teach the whole blueprint.
