Key Verse: “Better
to be poor and honest than to be dishonest and a fool.” (v.1)
We returned to the rooftop garden above the old downtown museum today. It felt like a different world. Late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across brick and ivy. The air smelled like warm stone and rosemary. Below us, traffic hummed—steady, impatient, mechanical.
Solomon stood near the railing, sleeves of his linen shirt rolled to his forearms, silver-streaked hair tied back. Handmade boots planted steady. He looked like a man who had seen both palaces and prisons.
He didn’t greet me with a smile today. Just a long look.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I’ve been thinking about money,” I replied. “And how much I don’t have.”
He nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer.
“In this passage,” he said, tapping the stone ledge lightly, “I contrast wealth and poverty. But not the way people usually do. I’m not impressed by numbers in an account. I’m concerned about what they do to the heart.”
He turned toward me fully. “Let’s walk through it.”
We paced the perimeter of the rooftop as he summarized. In these verses, he explained, that he wrote about integrity, impulsive desires, quick tempers, favoritism toward the rich, the corruption that comes when influence bends toward wealth. He talked about how the poor are often ignored, how fools speak too much, how power can distort justice.
“It’s a warning,” he said. “Not against money itself—but against what happens when money becomes your god. When wealth has taken the place that belongs to your Creator alone—your ultimate source of security, identity, trust, and decision-making authority.”
He stopped walking.
Then he quoted it, steady and clear:
“Better to be poor and honest than to be dishonest and a fool.”
The city noise seemed to lower. A helicopter passed somewhere in the distance, but it felt muted.
I exhaled. “That sounds noble,” I said. “But being poor doesn’t feel noble. It feels stressful.”
“I know it can feel that way.” He replied softly.
And that surprised me.
“I had more wealth than any king before me,” he continued. “Gold stacked like firewood. Silver so common it lost its shine. I built gardens, fleets, trade routes. I chased abundance like it could satisfy the ache in my chest.”
He looked out over the skyline.
“And I learned something the hard way.”
His voice wasn’t dramatic. Just honest.
“Money gained without integrity always demands a payment later. Sometimes that payment is peace. Sometimes it’s trust. Sometimes it’s your ability to look at yourself in the mirror.”
A couple emerged from the museum stairwell and wandered past us. Designer clothes. Loud laughter. The man’s phone was pressed to his ear even as he walked. “Just move the funds,” he said sharply. “No one’s going to audit that.”
Solomon’s eyes followed him briefly—not judgmental, just observant.
“Riches gained dishonestly carry weight,” he said quietly. “They feel light at first. But they grow heavy in the soul.”
I felt defensive. “Easy to say when you’ve had money. Some people cut corners because they’re desperate.”
“Yes,” he said. “Desperation tempts. But dishonesty reshapes you. It teaches your heart that truth is flexible. And once that happens, you don’t just bend facts. You bend yourself.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“The Hebrew word I use for ‘fool’ here isn’t about intelligence. It’s about moral dullness. A person who loses the capacity to feel the sting of wrong. That is far more dangerous than being broke.”
I stared at the rosemary bushes lining the walkway. I’d been tempted recently—to exaggerate on a contract. Nothing huge. Just enough to close a deal faster.
“It’s not like I’m stealing,” I muttered.
Solomon’s glance was sharp now. Not harsh. Just penetrating.
“Ethan,” he said, “integrity doesn’t collapse in one dramatic moment. It erodes in quiet compromises.”
The wind picked up slightly, tugging at his tied-back hair.
“I’ve seen poor men sleep deeply,” he continued. “And wealthy men pace marble floors at 2 a.m. wondering who they can still trust.”
He rested both hands on the railing.
“Money amplifies what’s already in you. If integrity is present, wealth can become a tool for good. But if deception is present, wealth becomes gasoline.”
I swallowed. “So what? We’re supposed to just accept being poor?”
“No,” he said gently. “Work hard. Build. Create. Invest. But refuse to trade your soul for speed or your honesty for assets. And, you must deliberately trust God—not money—as your ultimate source of security, and practice integrity and generosity even when it costs you financially.”
He turned back toward me fully.
“The Creator is not impressed by your net worth. He cares about the kind of person you are becoming.”
That landed heavier than I expected.
“The tragedy,” Solomon added, “is that dishonest gain rarely delivers what it promises. It says, ‘You’ll finally feel secure.’ But security built on lies is fragile. It cracks under pressure.”
The couple from earlier disappeared down the stairs.
“I wrote this,” he said quietly, tapping his chest, “because I learned that success without integrity is just a dressed up form of failure.”
I felt that in my gut.
“So how do I know if money’s becoming my god?” I asked.
He smiled faintly—warm now.
“Ask yourself: What am I willing to sacrifice to get it? My honesty? My relationships? My sleep? My time with God?”
He paused. “And if losing money terrifies you more than losing your character… that’s your answer.”
We stood in silence for a moment. The sun dipped lower, casting gold across the city.
“Here’s what I want you to remember,” he said at last. “Wealth is a tool. Integrity is your foundation. Tools can be replaced. Foundations cannot.”
As I walked down the museum steps later, I felt both exposed and relieved. The contract waiting in my inbox suddenly felt heavier. Not because of the money—but because of the choice attached to it.
Maybe being honest costs something. But maybe dishonesty costs everything.
What? This passage teaches that integrity is worth more than wealth, and dishonest gain ultimately turns a person into a moral fool.
So What? In a world obsessed with success and speed, it’s easy to justify small compromises—but those compromises slowly reshape your character and steal your peace.
Now What? Identify one area where you’re tempted to cut corners for financial gain, and choose honesty there this week—no matter the short-term cost.
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