Key Verse: “Without wise leadership, a nation falls;
there is safety in having many advisers.” (v.14)
Big Idea: Wisdom multiplies when power listens—and collapses when it doesn’t.
The marble steps of the government building felt cold, even in late afternoon. Flags snapped in the wind like restless nerves. Inside, the lobby hummed with echoing footsteps, metal detectors chirping, the smell of floor polish and old paper. I’d come here out of a vague irritation—another headline, another decision that felt made in a room without windows.
Solomon was already there, sitting on a bench beneath a mural of idealized figures shaking hands. Silver-streaked hair tied back.
He tapped the bench once as I sat. “Today’s passage is Proverbs 11:12–21,” he said gently. “It’s about mouths and hearts, trust and force, leaders and crowds. I stitched these lines together because communities rise or fall on how people use influence.”
We watched a small group of interns hurry past, lanyards bouncing. One slowed, phone pressed to her ear, eyes wet. She whispered, “I told them the data,” then disappeared into an elevator. When the doors closed, the lobby felt emptier.
Solomon leaned in. “In this section, I contrast two kinds of people: those who belittle and those who build; those who keep counsel and those who leak it; the proud who rely on strength and the humble who rely on wisdom. I was writing about neighborhoods, councils, families—any place where decisions ripple out to others.”
He opened his weathered leather notebook and slid it forward. On the page: a simple sketch of a bridge. On one side, a single thick cable. On the other, many thinner strands braided together. The single cable was frayed.
“When I wrote, ‘Without wise leadership, a nation falls,’” he said, tapping the frayed line, “the word I used for leadership wasn’t about titles. It meant guidance—counsel—the kind that steers, not shouts. And ‘many advisers’ isn’t chaos. It’s shared sight. No one sees the whole river alone.”
I crossed my arms. “But too many voices slow everything down. Someone has to decide.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Decide, yes. Decide alone, no.” His voice carried authority shaped by regret. “I ruled when my words were law. I also watched my certainty calcify. I ignored warnings because they bruised my ego. The day I stopped listening was the day cracks started forming—long before anyone noticed.”
The world seemed to slow. The HVAC hum faded. Even the flags outside went still in my mind.
A security guard approached, nodding politely. “Sir, we’re closing this wing.”
Solomon smiled at him, warm and disarming. “We’ll move along.” The guard hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, then thought better of it and walked away. When he was gone, Solomon murmured, “Notice how often people stay silent—even when they have something wise or important to say—because someone with higher status, authority, or rank is present.”
We relocated to a window overlooking the plaza. Below, a small protest gathered—handwritten signs, uneven chants. Across the street, a suited man spoke animatedly into a camera, face polished, words sharp.
“Verses 12 and 13,” Solomon continued, “warn against contempt and careless speech. Any leader who disregards dissent silences the very counsel that could save them. And gossip—leaked conversations—poisons trust. That’s how communities rot quietly.”
He looked at me—uncanny, like he could read the headline scrolling in my head. “You’ve been frustrated with decisions at work, haven’t you? Meetings where the outcome was decided before anyone spoke.”
I nodded. Too quickly.
He quoted the key line again, steady as stone: “Without wise leadership, a nation falls; there is safety in having many advisers.” Then softer: “Safety doesn’t mean comfort. It means durability.”
“But what if advisers are self-interested?” I pushed. “What if listening just amplifies bad motives?”
He turned the notebook and added a small circle at the bridge’s center. “That’s why this passage keeps going. It talks about righteousness bearing fruit, about the violent trusting force and losing, about the wicked being caught by their own schemes. Character filters counsel. Leaders don’t just collect voices—they cultivate virtue.”
A woman from the protest broke away, arguing with a friend. Solomon watched, sadness flickering. “When people stop believing they’ll be heard, they shout. When leaders stop listening, they build walls.”
I thought of the intern’s watery eyes. Of meetings I’d tuned out. Of times I’d chosen speed over wisdom.
“As I learned,” Solomon said quietly, “listening saved me when I let it. And when I didn’t—well, the consequences were loud. Power that won’t listen eventually listens to collapse.”
We stood. The lobby lights dimmed. The building exhaled.
He summarized with a final tap of the notebook. “Three things to keep: First, steering matters more than shouting. Second, many advisers create strength when character sets the tone. Third, silencing voices today creates fractures tomorrow.”
Outside, the flags snapped again. I walked away thinking less about nations and more about my own small circles—where I lead, where I speak, where I listen.
What? Proverbs 11:12–21 teaches that communities thrive when leaders guide with humility, guard trust, and seek counsel; they fall when pride silences wisdom.
So What? In a loud, polarized world, durability comes from shared insight and character—not force or certainty.
Now What? This week, before making one decision, invite two voices you usually overlook—and listen without defending yourself.
No comments:
Post a Comment