The Christian Life
"Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart."
Proverbs 3:3
Some things in Scripture are joined so often that we ought to notice the joining. Mercy and truth is one such pair. They appear side by side again and again — in Proverbs, in the Psalms, in the prophets, and finally in a description of the Lord Jesus Christ Himself. They are never set against each other, and they are never commended separately, as though a person might specialise in one.
That is worth pausing over, because we do specialise. Every one of us leans naturally toward one side. Some of us are truth people: precise, principled, unwilling to let a thing pass. Others are mercy people: gentle, reluctant to confront, quick to smooth things over. Each finds the other exasperating, and each is convinced the other is the dangerous one.
God asks for both, from the same person, at the same time. This article is about why, and about what happens when either one is let go.
"Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: So shalt thou find favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man." (Proverbs 3:3-4)
Notice first the verb: let not... forsake thee. It is the language of desertion. These two are pictured as companions who may slip away — and the warning implies that losing them is easy and usually gradual. Nobody decides in the morning to abandon mercy. It simply is not there when the moment comes.
Notice next the two images, because together they cover everything.
Bind them about thy neck — the outward image. A necklace is visible; it is what others see. So mercy and truth are to be evident in a man's dealings, not merely held privately as convictions.
Write them upon the table of thine heart — the inward image. Not just performed, but engraved. Writing on a tablet was not casual work; it was cut in, permanently, with effort. This is a discipline, not a mood.
And the promise: favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man. Both. It is possible to be approved by men and not by God, and possible to imagine oneself approved by God while everyone who deals with us knows better. The man who keeps both mercy and truth is trusted in both directions.
The pairing is not stylistic. Each one, taken alone, turns into something God never asked for.
Truth is the commitment to what is actually so — to accuracy, to facts, to calling a thing what it is and not something more convenient. Mercy is the disposition to spare, to bear with, to give more than is deserved and exact less than is owed.
Now watch what happens when either is removed.
Truth without mercy is one of the cruellest things in the world, and it is especially dangerous because it can always defend itself. Every word of it is accurate. That is precisely what makes it so hard to answer.
It looks like this. A fault is real, so it is named — and named again, and remembered years later. The correction is technically justified, and it is delivered in the way most likely to wound. The person is discussed accurately, and the accurate discussion is had with everyone except him. Nothing false has been said, and yet a man has been destroyed with facts.
The religious world is particularly prone to this, because zeal for truth feels like faithfulness. But the Lord Jesus Christ reserved His sharpest words for men whose doctrine was largely correct and whose treatment of people was merciless. He told them they had omitted the weightier matters of the law — and He named them: judgment, mercy, and faith. Note that mercy is not listed as an optional softening of the weightier matters. It is one of them.
And there is a test that exposes this quickly. Truth held without mercy tends to produce a certain satisfaction when a fault is confirmed. If the discovery that someone has failed brings a small, private pleasure — a sense of being vindicated — that is not zeal for truth. Something else is wearing its clothes.
The opposite failure is gentler in appearance and does its damage more slowly, but it is a failure all the same.
Mercy without truth will not name anything. It calls a serious matter a misunderstanding. It urges everyone to move on before anything has been faced. It protects the comfort of the room at the expense of the person who needs to hear something.
This too can defend itself, and in our age it defends itself easily, because it uses the vocabulary of love. But it is not love. Real love tells a man his condition. A doctor who will not name the illness because the word is upsetting has not been kind; he has been useless, and the patient will pay for his gentleness.
And it is worth saying plainly: mercy without truth is not actually merciful to the person concerned. It is merciful to us — it spares us the difficult conversation. Silence that costs the silent person nothing is rarely the virtue it presents itself as.
Scripture never permits this. The same book that commands us to love our neighbour commands us to rebuke him rather than suffer sin upon him. The Lord Jesus Christ, who would not condemn the woman brought to Him, also said go, and sin no more. He did not choose between the two.
The deepest reason these two must stay together is that they are joined in God Himself, and the Bible shows us the place where they came together.
"Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other." (Psalm 85:10)
That is a remarkable line, and it describes something that could not have been arranged by us.
Truth about us required a verdict: we are guilty, and the penalty is real. Mercy toward us desired our rescue. Those two pulled in opposite directions, and no human arrangement could satisfy both — every court in the world must choose between letting the guilty go and giving the guilty what they deserve.
At the cross they met. The truth about our sin was told in full, and the penalty was exacted down to the last measure — nothing was minimised, nothing excused. And mercy was extended completely, because the penalty fell on a willing Substitute. God did not soften the truth in order to be merciful, and He did not withhold mercy in order to be truthful.
"By mercy and truth iniquity is purged: and by the fear of the LORD men depart from evil." (Proverbs 16:6)
This is why a Christian may never treat the pair as a balance to be struck, where more of one means less of the other. At Calvary there was no compromise in either direction. Both were total.
And then the Gospel takes the pair and attaches it to a Person.
"And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth." (John 1:14)
"For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ." (John 1:17)
Full of grace and truth. Not balanced between them — full of both, with no dilution of either.
Watch Him and you will see it. He told a woman at a well her entire history without softening a detail, and she ran back to her town calling Him the Christ — which is not how people respond to being humiliated. He called religious leaders whitewashed tombs, and He wept over the city that housed them. He said the hardest things ever said about hell, and He said them with tears. He never once chose between honesty and kindness, and He never once achieved one by sacrificing the other.
That combination is rarer than we think, and it is the standard.
Now to where this becomes practical, because most of us face this in one particular situation: we have become aware of a real fault in someone else.
Truth says: this is real, and pretending otherwise helps no one.
Mercy says: this is a person, made in God's image, with a history you do not fully know, and he is not the sum of his worst act.
Holding both produces a very particular way of proceeding, and it looks like this.
You go to him first, rather than about him. Truth requires that it be addressed; mercy requires that it be addressed to the person who can actually do something about it. A concern shared with everyone except the one concerned has mercy in its tone and none in its substance.
You establish the facts before you form the verdict. Not the impression, not the report, not one side of the account — the facts. This is truth's requirement, and it is also mercy's, because a man wrongly assessed is a man wronged.
You aim at restoration rather than removal. The whole New Testament pattern of dealing with a fallen brother has recovery as its goal at every stage. When correction has some other aim, it may still be accurate, but it has stopped being merciful, and Scripture will not call it faithful.
And you speak in a manner you would accept if it were addressed to you. That is not sentimentality; it is the Lord's own rule about the measure we use.
"Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering; Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye." (Colossians 3:12-13)
Note the standard at the end of that passage: even as Christ forgave you. Not as the person deserves. Not in proportion to his repentance. As you were forgiven — which was extravagantly, and while you were still in the wrong.
There are moments when something must actually be done about a situation — when a matter cannot simply be left. And it is precisely there that mercy and truth are most likely to be quietly dropped, because action creates urgency, and urgency makes shortcuts feel necessary.
So here are questions to put to any course of action before taking it. They are ordinary questions, and any honest person can answer them.
Has the person been told, plainly, and given a real opportunity to answer? Not informed after the fact. Not asked a question whose answer had already been decided. Truth cannot be established while one party has not spoken.
Would I be willing for this person to see every conversation that led to it? Whatever must be arranged in advance, out of the hearing of the one affected, should be examined very carefully. Light is not usually the enemy of a just process.
Is the stated reason the real reason? If the grounds given are not the actual motive, then truth has already been abandoned, however correct the procedure looks. And a reason that shifts when the first one fails is a strong indication that neither was the real one.
Is the outcome I want the same as the outcome that would be best for him? They need not be identical — sometimes a genuine wrong requires a genuine consequence. But if I would be disappointed by his repentance and restoration, then I am not acting in mercy, whatever I tell myself.
Am I applying the standard I would want applied to me?
Could I carry out this action and then embrace this person as a brother? If the answer is no, something in it is wrong — either the action itself or the spirit in which it is being taken.
A matter can be handled with complete correctness of form and still be, in God's sight, without mercy and without truth. The forms are not the test. These questions are closer to it.
The prophet reduced the whole requirement to a single sentence, and mercy stands at its centre:
"O man, he hath declared unto thee what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?" (Micah 6:8)
Notice the verbs, which are not interchangeable. We are to do justly — justice is a matter of action, of getting the facts right and treating people fairly. But we are to love mercy. Not merely to permit it when it cannot be avoided; to be fond of it, to want it, to be glad when it is possible.
There is a real difference between the person who grants mercy reluctantly, as a concession, and the person who is looking for an opportunity to show it. God asks for the second.
And the third clause guards the other two: walk humbly with thy God. The humble man remembers that he stands under the same assessment he is making. That memory is what keeps truth from becoming a weapon and mercy from becoming a pose.
As with any article of this kind, it must turn around here, or it will simply be used as ammunition.
So take the two in turn.
Where has truth slipped away from me? Have I described a situation in a way I know is not quite the whole of it? Have I let an impression stand because correcting it would cost me something? Have I avoided a conversation that honesty required, and called my avoidance peace?
Where has mercy slipped away from me? Is there someone I have written off entirely? Have I taken a private satisfaction in someone's failure? Is there a fault I would find difficult to forgive even if it were repented of? Do I recount a person's worst moment more readily than his best?
And the question that catches most of us: which of the two do I let go of first when I am under pressure? Everyone has a default. Knowing yours is the beginning of guarding it.
The writer of this article is under these questions with every reader. No one holds both of these perfectly, and the man who thinks he does has certainly lost one of them already.
The reason a Christian can be asked for this is that he has received it.
God dealt with us in complete truth. He did not minimise our condition, flatter us, or pretend the case was better than it was.
"For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23)
"For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." (Romans 6:23)
And He dealt with us in complete mercy, at His own expense, before we had improved by a single degree.
"But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans 5:8)
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)
"But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name." (John 1:12)
A person who has been handled that way, and knows it, has both the reason and the resources to handle others the same way. Where we find ourselves harsh, it is usually because we have forgotten the mercy we were shown; where we find ourselves evasive, it is usually because we have forgotten how truthfully God dealt with us and how well it turned out.
Truth alone will make a man exact and unbearable, and he will wound people while believing he is defending God. Mercy alone will make him agreeable and useless, and he will watch people destroy themselves while believing he is being kind.
Held together, they produce something rare: a person who can be trusted to tell you the truth and trusted not to use it against you. There are not many such people. Every congregation, every family, and every workplace is desperate for them.
They will not stay of their own accord — the verse assumes they may forsake us. They must be bound on, deliberately, every day, and written where they cannot be rubbed out.
And they are not finally two virtues to be achieved. They are two things that met at a cross, for us, before we ever thought of showing them to anyone else.
"Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other."Psalm 85:10
Our gracious heavenly Father, we come before Your throne of grace through the precious name and perfect merit of our Lord Jesus Christ, who alone has opened the way into Your presence.
We thank You for Your beloved Son, and for Him who came full of grace and truth, and surrendered neither. We praise You for Your preserved Word, which declares "Let not mercy and truth forsake thee" (Proverbs 3:3), and which cannot be broken.
We confess before You that we have chosen one and let the other go. Forgive us, we pray, and cleanse us, for You are faithful and just to forgive us our sins.
We beseech You for every soul reading these words who is yet without Christ. Send forth Your Holy Ghost to convince them of sin, and of righteousness, and of judgment; open their understanding; and draw them to Your Son before this day is done.
Strengthen Your people who read it. Comfort the discouraged, establish the wavering, and let none go away empty. And use this message to teach every reader to hold both, as Your Son held both, for Your glory and not for ours.
We pray all of this to You, O God, our Holy and Heavenly Father, in the precious name of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, by the power and anointing of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Before you close this page, one question matters more than everything you have just read: if you died tonight, do you know where you would be?
You cannot be saved by joining a church, by being baptized, by giving money, or by living a decent life. Salvation is not a wage that is earned; it is a gift that is received. Every one of us has sinned, the wages of sin is death, and there is a real hell prepared for sin — but the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died on the cross in the sinner's place, was buried, and rose again the third day.
If you know yourself to be a sinner, and you are willing to turn from your sin and trust Him alone, then speak to God now. There are no magic words — but if these words are the cry of your heart, pray them and mean them:
Dear Holy and Almighty God, I come to You just as I am. I confess that I am a sinner. I have broken Your law, I have gone my own way, and I deserve the judgment and the everlasting fire that my sin has earned. I cannot save myself, and I bring You nothing.
I believe that the Lord Jesus Christ is Your Son; that He loved me and died on the cross in my place, shedding His precious blood for my sins; that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day.
Here and now I turn from my sin, and I trust Him alone — not my works, not my religion, not my goodness — to save me. Lord Jesus, come into my heart, forgive my sin, and be my Saviour from this moment and for ever.
In the precious name of our Lord Jesus Christ I pray. Amen.
1. Tell somebody today. "That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved" (Romans 10:9).
2. Begin reading the Bible. Start with the Gospel of John, then Acts, then Romans. Read a little every day. "As newborn babes, desire the sincere milk of the word, that ye may grow thereby" (1 Peter 2:2).
3. Talk to your Father every day. You may now come boldly, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. No appointment is needed and no man's permission.
4. Find a Bible-believing church and be baptized. Not to be saved — you already are — but in obedience, and as the public confession of what has happened to you.
5. Rest in this, and do not be shaken by your feelings. "He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life" (John 5:24). You will still sin; when you do, confess it and go on — "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (1 John 1:9).