April (and Everyday) Fool

There’s a word in Hebrew—nabal—that’s used in Psalm 14:1 where it says, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’” It’s not talking about someone with low intelligence. This kind of “fool” isn’t dumb. They’re just closed off. Shut down. Disconnected from something deep and holy and real. The word carries this sense of someone who’s lost their grip on reason—not in a crazy way, but in a way that refuses to even entertain the truth of God. That’s not wickedness so much as it is heartbreaking.

It makes me think of Nabal in 1 Samuel 25. His name literally means “fool,” and that’s exactly how he lived—arrogant, unteachable, dismissive of David, who had done him no wrong. He couldn’t be reasoned with. And while it’s easy to shake our heads at people like that, it’s worth noticing how sad that is. A life cut off from wisdom. A heart locked from grace. That’s not someone to mock. That’s someone to mourn.

The Hebrew Scriptures talk about fools as people who don’t fear the Lord—who live as if there’s no higher truth, no divine love shaping the world. And here’s what hit me: if wisdom is a gift from God, then the absence of it isn’t just a personal failure. It’s a spiritual poverty. It’s not something we should sneer at. It’s something that should stir up pity, compassion, even a little holy sorrow. Because when someone doesn’t recognize God, they don’t just miss out on rules or religion. They miss out on love. On purpose. On hope that outlives the grave.

We, as believers, sometimes forget that. We see nonbelievers as adversaries or lost causes or even enemies. But what if we saw them the way God sees them? As people He created. People He loves. People He died for. What if we looked at their rejection of God not as rebellion to punish, but as pain to be healed? Because honestly, who among us didn’t have a season of blindness before grace found us? Who among us would dare to claim we came to Jesus on our own brilliance?

Psalm 14 doesn’t just say the fool denies God. It says they’re corrupt and their deeds are vile. But again, that should move our hearts to ache, not harden. A person living without God is living without the One who brings beauty out of ashes and peace in the middle of chaos. They're walking through life without the anchor we cling to. And that’s not something to gloat over. That’s something to weep over.

So the next time we encounter someone who dismisses our faith, mocks our hope, or just plain doesn’t care, let’s remember this: they're not our enemy. They’re not beneath us. They’re just far from home. And instead of waving our fists or wagging our fingers, maybe we could whisper a prayer that their eyes might open and their hearts might soften. Maybe we could live in a way that shows them the wisdom they’re missing isn’t harsh or cold—it’s tender and full of grace. The God they’ve denied is still standing with open arms.