We Love Being Simple

Wisdom is available, but we don’t change because we love being simple.

“How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple?
How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing
And fools hate knowledge?
If you turn at my reproof,
Behold, I will pour out my spirit to you;
I will make my words known to you.” (Prov 1:22-23)

Wisdom’s accusation is not that we don’t know enough, or that we’re underprivileged, or even that we’re not gifted with wisdom. Rather, she asks directly, “How long will you love being simple?” We like immaturity, and we choose to ignore wisdom. We don’t want to grow up. We refuse to take responsibility. We prefer to stay put.

Note that in the second and third lines of Prov 1:22 she switches from talking to the “simple ones” to talking about “scoffers” and “fools.” The simple one is not yet in the same class as a scoffer or a fool, but he will get there soon if he doesn’t do something. The key point here is that wisdom’s rebuke in this passage is not for those who have rejected her outright. She’s not talking to amoral heathen. She’s talking to religious people who hear her instruction regularly, but who haven’t yet assimilated it. She’s talking to those who are young in their faith or immature in their thinking. She’s speaking to those who, for one reason or another, love their current lives and don’t really want to change.

In Prov 1:23, she’s back to addressing the simple ones with “if you turn at my reproof.” Our greatest need is to turn. We have to stop doing what we’re doing, stop thinking what we’re thinking, and stop believing what we’re believing.

For example, maybe you talk too much (Prov 10:19). You know it, and everyone else sure knows it. If someone tells a story, you have to tell one, too. If there’s an issue to discuss, you’re compelled to make sure they understand you on it. When you start talking, people stop listening. Perhaps you’ve come to terms with it, even apologizing for it. Maybe you’ve given people freedom just to interrupt you if you’re talking too much. But the problem here is not that people aren’t honest enough with you. The problem is that you love yourself and you don’t want to change.

Or maybe you’re more of the quiet type (Prov 18:1). You’d never answer a question in a classroom setting. If people ask how you’re doing, you’ll generously drop a safe “fine” or the occasionally risky “pretty good.” If they want more details, they can ask. No one really knows you, but you’re okay with that. If they don’t know you, they can’t hurt your feelings the way others did in the past. You’ve accepted the fact that you’re just an “introvert”; it’s how God made you. You’re more of a behind-the-scenes person than an up-front person. But wisdom’s rebuke lands right in the middle of your excuses: Your life’s not changing because you don’t want it to change.

Personal Application

I need to hear wisdom’s rebuke just as much as anybody else.

I’m not very handy, partly because I grew up in a family that never owned a home. Whenever something broke, we’d call the landlords. My wife, however, grew up on a 9-acre lot in rural Pennsylvania. They never saw an improvement they didn’t like.

So when we got married, Erin had to persuade me to become a homeowner. She succeeded, and my life has lacked a comfort zone ever since. You see, I’m terrified of the unknown. When we bought our first home, fear gripped my heart so completely that when I went to unpack my office, I didn’t even know what to do. I looked around at all the boxes and got so depressed and overwhelmed by the whole thing that I just lay down on the couch and did nothing. When Erin came downstairs from her own unpacking and saw me lying there, she didn’t buy my excuse that “I didn’t know what to do.” She pointed to a box, said “How ‘bout we start with this one?” and began removing its contents.

The problem was not my upbringing, nor was it my personal preferences. The problem was that I loved being simple. I had never owned or maintained a home, I didn’t want to keep up a home, and I didn’t want to learn how to keep up a home. And I didn’t make those choices based on careful study of Scripture accompanied by Spirit-driven meditation. It’s not that I conscientiously believed renting a home would honor Christ more than owning a home would. No, I simply didn’t want to change. I didn’t want the increased responsibility.

When Jesus came, he looked for those with functioning ears to hear what he had to say (Matt 13:9, 13-17; see also Rev 2:7, 11, etc.). He cries out to us, calling us to repentance and faith that we might walk with him in his kingdom. Will you come to him, or love remaining simple (Matt 11:28-30, John 5:39-40)?

This post was first published in 2012.