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| Artwork Credit: The Lamp Lighter (1870s) by William P. Chappel (1801–1878). Public domain image accessed via Artvee.com. |
He was not the sort of man anyone would remember. His face bore no scars of battle, his hands no callouses from field or forge. His name has long been lost, as forgotten as the dust that lined his empty house. He lived alone on the edge of a village, old, bent, and quiet.
The children, with their uninhibited tongues, called him “the watcher.” They thought him strange. Not angry. Not harmful. Just odd. He would sit at the window each night, oil lamp burning, though no visitors ever came. The same lamp. The same vigil. The same stillness. Some laughed, others speculated. And a few pitied him.
One boy once dared to ask, “Why do you keep your lamp lit? Who are you waiting for?”
The old man smiled. “Someone already came,” he answered, “and He said He would return.”
The boy ran off, unimpressed. The story never spread. It was not scandalous or sweet enough to last.
But one morning, the lamp did not shine. And the window seat had no movement. They found him in the same spot, body lifeless, but hands at rest. His Bible was open on his lap. The oil was gone, the flame long out, but the wick had darkened with use.
No funeral followed. Only the gravedigger and the clerk saw him to the earth, and then left. There were no titles to declare. No children to speak. His name was not written anywhere except in a town record. He was folded into the earth with barely a sound.
Years passed. The house gave in to wind, rain, and silence. The village changed. But sometimes, late in the evening, some would walk past the ruins and remember the man at the window, and how his lamp had never failed to burn.
Perhaps we live in a time when lamps are considered useless. The world prefers torches that draw attention or bonfires that gather crowds. But the Lord has not asked us to be spectacular. He has called us to be faithful.
The parable of the ten virgins in Matt 25:1–13 speaks plainly. Some kept oil in their lamps. Others did not. All slept. But when the cry rang out, “Behold, the bridegroom is coming,” only those prepared were welcomed in. The oil was not personality. Nor natural skill. Nor even religious busyness. It was the inward supply of grace, the Spirit’s indwelling, and the daily faithfulness of those who walk with Christ even when the door seems shut and the wait too long.
It may be easy to start well. A season of revival. A burst of conviction. A fresh stirring of the soul. But will we keep our lamp burning when nothing extraordinary happens for years? Will we open our Bibles when our hearts feel dry? Will we pray when we are misunderstood and alone?
The old man in the tale may never have been praised, but Scripture calls such souls “wise.” Not because they kept busy, but because they kept watch. The world may never understand those who live for the return of Christ, but heaven knows them. “Therefore you also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect” (Matt 24:44, NKJV).
If the fire in us burns low, we must not pretend it is fine. We must come again to the Giver of the oil. Christ does not despise the smoldering wick (Isa 42:3), but He will not spare the foolish who delay repentance. This may not drive us to despair. But it may drive us to the Savior.
Let our lives not be bright for a moment and dark the next. May we, by His grace, carry lamps that do not die, even if no one sees them but Him.
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