“Wisdom calls aloud outside; she raises her voice in the open squares” (v. 20). Wisdom doesn’t whisper from hidden corners or confine herself to sacred spaces. She steps into the noise of public life. She speaks where decisions are made, where people pass by in haste, and where power gathers and ordinary lives unfold. At the crossroads and the city gates, Wisdom lifts her voice (v. 21), addressing not a select few but everyone within earshot. This isn’t esoteric knowledge reserved for the elite; it is divine truth made publicly accessible, pressing itself upon the world’s conscience. The tragedy isn’t that Wisdom is absent, but that she is disregarded. “ ‘How long, you simple ones, will you love simplicity,’” she asks (v. 22a). Her question is not contemptuous but grief-laden. It’s the ache of rejected mercy and the sorrow of truth ignored.
Wisdom’s call is fundamentally a call to repentance. “ ‘Turn at my rebuke’” (v. 23a). She doesn’t demand perfection before hearing; she invites turning while there’s still time. Her rebuke isn’t condemnation but correction, and neither is it rejection but restoration. She promises revelation to those who respond: “ ‘Surely, I will pour out my spirit on you; I will make my words known to you’” (v. 23b). This is nothing less than the work of the Holy Spirit through the Word, drawing sinners away from destruction and toward life. In this sense, Wisdom’s voice is inseparable from Christ Himself, for He alone has “the words of eternal life” (John 6:68).
Yet the passage grows sobering. There’s a point at which persistent refusal hardens into final loss. “ ‘Because you disdained all my counsel, and would have none of my rebuke, I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your terror comes’” (vv. 25-26). This isn’t cruelty but consequence. It’s the severe mercy of God allowing judgement to expose what was long ignored (cf. Psalm 2:1-6). The laughter here isn’t mockery but irony—the tragic reversal of those who scoffed at godly wisdom now overtaken by what they dismissed. The text confronts us with an uncomfortable truth: Delayed repentance can become impossible repentance. “ ‘Then they will call on me, but I will not answer; they will seek me diligently, but they will not find me’” (v. 28). These words are meant to unsettle, to awaken, and to strip away the illusion that there is endless opportunity for repentance.
Still, Wisdom’s voice hasn’t fallen silent—not yet. She speaks wherever the Scriptures are read, wherever the Gospel is preached, and wherever the conscience is pricked by God’s truth, whether it’s the offense of the Law or the balm of the Gospel. She speaks through prophets, pastors, parents, hymns, and warnings that refuse to leave us comfortable in folly. To turn toward Wisdom is to turn toward Christ, who is Himself “the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:24). He stood in public places teaching and healing. He wept over a city that would not listen (Luke 19:41-44). Even now, He sends His Word outward, calling, pleading, and waiting. But Scripture is clear: the invitation is urgent. “ ‘Today, if you will hear His voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion’” (Hebrews 3:15; cf. Psalm 95:7-8).
The final promise stands luminous against the warning: “‘But whoever listens to me will dwell safely, and will be secure, without fear of evil’” (v. 33). This isn’t a guarantee of ease, nor immunity from suffering. It’s the promise of a soul held fast when storms rage. To listen to Wisdom is to hear the Shepherd’s voice and follow Him through both valley and shadow. The wise are not spared the whirlwind; they are anchored within it (cf. Job 38:1; Psalm 46). Rooted in Christ, they’re not swept away but sustained (cf. Psalm 1:3-6). Wisdom cried out first. And those who hear her now will find, when all else gives way, that they were already being held.
The Lutheran Column 