Proverbs 20:27-30

God has set a lamp inside every man — his own spirit, his conscience — and it searches the deepest, most secret folds of him, the inner eye that no closed door can shut out. A candle, mark you — not a self-originating fire, but a wick that must be lit. The granite, if you try to burn it, gives only a sullen resistance; the candle obeys the flame and shines — and whoever has the spirit of man is meant to be a candle of the Lord, lit by God. But do not over-trust this inner light, for every faculty fell in the fall: conscience is a dim candle indeed except it be kindled at God's own lamp, and it does its true work of direction, conviction, and consolation only when the Word and Spirit give it light. Unlit, it will mislead a man like a will-o'-the-wisp into the ditch. So it is the sinner's great mercy that he carries a lamp with him everywhere — and his urgent business to get it lit at the right fire.

A throne stands on two pillars — mercy and truth — and of the two it is mercy that finally holds it up. Truth commands a man's reverence, but mercy wins his heart; the king who would last must be most gracious as well as most mighty. And here the verse opens onto the highest throne of all, where these two perfections meet most gloriously — at the cross, in the work by which God "sacrificed even His beloved Son, that man might be saved without the tarnish of one spot upon His infinitely adorable name." There "mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other" (Psalm 85:10). The throne of the King of Zion is, above all, a throne of grace.

Each age has its own honor: the young man's glory is his strength, the old man's beauty is his grey head. But these describe the use of these gifts, not the abuse — strength wasted in wantonness becomes a young man's shame, and grey hair is a crown of beauty only when it is "found in the way of righteousness" (Proverbs 16:31). The church needs both: the energy of youth and the wisdom of age. Young man, consecrate your strength now, while it is unspent — who can measure the harvest when the firstfruits of a man's vigor are given to the Lord?

The chapter closes on the rod. A bruising blow can drive evil out of a man, and stripes reach the inner places that gentler means could not touch. This is the language of severe mercy — God's chastening, the lesser pain used to subdue the greater. When a light stroke will not do it, the wound that leaves a bruise is needful; an old believer's chains in Babylon were the very thing that kept him out of everlasting chains of darkness. Be clear how this differs from the clean heart of verse 9: there, the blood of the Son washes away the guilt of the sinner; here, the rod of the Father purges the child who already belongs to Him. He does not afflict willingly, He knows your frame, and not one stroke will fall beyond what the case truly needs — so that at the end the chastened child sings, "I know, O LORD, that thy judgments are right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me" (Psalm 119:75).