The Beauty of Kindness'.

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"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." Colossians 3:12

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness," Galatians 5:22

Nothing else we can do is more worth while than kindness. There is nothing that the world needs more, and nothing else that leaves more real and far-reaching good in human lives. Some day we shall learn that the little deeds of love wrought unconsciously, as we pass on our way, are greater in their helpfulness, and will shine more brightly at the last, than the deeds of renown which we think of, as alone making a life great.

Kindness has been called the small coin of love. The word is generally used to designate the little deeds of thoughtfulness and gentleness which make no noise and attract no notice—rather than great and conspicuous acts which all men applaud. One may live many years and never have the opportunity of doing anything great, anything which calls attention to itself, yet one may, through all one's years, be kind, filling every day with gentle thoughtfulnesses, helpful ministries, little services of interest, obligingness, sympathy, and small amenities and courtesies.

Kindness is beautiful. It is beautiful in its simplicity. It usually springs out of the heart spontaneously. The great things men do—are purposed, planned for, and are done consciously, with intention and preparation. Kindness as a rule is done unconsciously, without preparation. This enhances its beauty. There is no self-seeking in it, no doing something for effect, no desire for recognition or praise, no thought of reward of any kind. It is done in simplicity, prompted by love, and is most pleasing to Christ.

The world does not know how much it owes to the common kindnesses which so abound everywhere. There had been a death in a happy home, and one evening soon after the funeral the family was talking with a friend, who had dropped in, about the wonderful manifestation of sympathy, which their sorrow had called out. The father said he had never dreamed there was so much love in people's hearts as had been shown to his family by friends and neighbors. The kindness had come from all classes of people—from many from whom it was altogether unexpected, even from entire strangers. Neighbors with whom his family had never exchanged calls had sent some token of sympathy. "It makes me ashamed of myself," said the good man, "that I have so undervalued the good-will of those about me. I am ashamed also that I have so failed myself in showing sympathy and kindness to others about me in their sorrow and suffering."

No doubt it takes trouble or sorrow—to draw out the love there is in people's hearts. We all feel gently even toward a stranger who is in some affliction. A funeral of a person we do not know at all, makes us walk by the house more quietly as we think of those within, in their grief. It may require trouble in many cases, to call out the kindly feeling—but the feeling is there all the time. No doubt there is unlovingness in some human hearts—but sorrow makes us all kin. The majority of people have in them a chord of sympathy which does not fail to respond when another's grief touches it.

It has been noted that among the poor there is even more neighborliness shown, than among the rich. The absence of wealth makes the life very simple. The poor mingle together more closely and familiarly in their neighborhood life. They nurse each other in sickness and sit with each other in time of sorrow. Their mutual kindnesses do much to lessen their hardships and to give zest and happiness to their lives.

The ministry of kindness is unceasing. It keeps no Sabbaths—it makes every day a Sabbath. It fills all the days and all the nights. In the true home, kindness begins with the first waking moments in the morning, in pleasant greetings, in cheerful good wishes, and then it goes on all day in sweet courtesies, in thoughtful attentions, in patience, in quiet self-denials, in obligingness and helpfulness.

Out in the world, kindness goes everywhere with happy cordiality, its gladness of heart, its uplift for those who are discouraged, its strengthening words for those who are weary, its sympathy with sorrow, its interest in lives that are burdened and lonely.

Some of us, if we were to try to sum up the total of our usefulness would name a few large things we have done—the giving of money to some benevolent object, the starting of some good work which has grown into strength, the writing of a book which has made us widely known, the winning of honor in some service to our community or to our country. But in every worthy life, that which has really left the greatest measure of good, has been its ministry of kindness. No record of it has been kept. People have not talked about it. It has never been mentioned in the newspapers. But where we have gone, day after day—if we have simply been kind to everyone, we have left blessings in the world which in their sum far exceed the good wrought, the help imparted, and the cheer given, by the few large, conspicuous things we have done, of which we think and speak with pride.

It is remarkable that our Divine Master, in telling us of the coming judgment, makes the final destiny of all men to depend upon whether in this world they have exercised or have not exercised the grace of kindness. For we are not done with life as we live it. We shall meet it all again, not only the great things we do—but the little things. Even our lightest words take their place among the fixed things of life and will be recalled in the judgment. Jesus said, "Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment." He does not say every wrong or evil word—but every useless, purposeless, or frivolous word. The meaning is—that the smallest things in life, both the evil and the good, will be taken account of in the judgment.

In the great separation which will take place on that Day of days, the dividing line will be the attitude of men to Christ, how they have regarded him, how they have treated him in this world. But the revealing of this relation of men to Christ, it will be seen in that day, is not made by their creeds, by what they say about Christ—but by their lives, by what they do, by the spirit they show.

To those who are on his right hand, the King says, "Come, you who are blessed by My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you took care of Me; I was in prison and you visited Me." Matthew 25:34-36. That is, the King had once been in need—hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or sick—and these had shown him kindness. Thus they had proved themselves the King's friends.

To those on the left hand, the King says, "Depart from Me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the Devil and his demons! For I was hungry and you gave Me nothing to eat; I was thirsty and you gave Me nothing to drink; I was a stranger and you didn’t take Me in; I was naked and you didn't clothe Me, sick and in prison and you didn't take care of Me." Matthew 25:41-43. That is, when the King was suffering, or in need, or sick—they had neglected him. They had not treated him cruelly or roughly—they had done nothing to harm him or injure him—they had simply failed to show him the kindness which he needed. Neglecting love's duties is a sin quite as serious and as far-reaching in its consequences, as the direct doing of things which are wrong in themselves.

The meaning of all this is—that always and everywhere, Christ is the touchstone of human lives. Wherever he goes, men are infallibly divided by him into two classes. Wherever he appears, separation always follows. There are those who are attracted to him, drawn about him, and become his friends and companions. Then there are others who are repelled and driven from him, sent away by the mere power of holiness in him. Their thought of Christ, their feeling toward him, divides men in this world. The question, "What do you think of Christ? How do you regard him?" tells instantly where each one belongs. The final separation will be no haphazard one.

The deciding of the question of future destiny is settled in this world—we are settling it as we go—on these plain, common, uneventful days. Our treatment of Christ as he comes to our doors and asks for our love, our obedience and service—is fixing our destiny. The final separation of the people of all nations will not be an arbitrary dividing. Each man will go to his own place, the place he has chosen for himself, and for which his own life has prepared him. Every day, is a day of judgment for us.

The righteous were surprised when the King told them of the kindness he had received from them. They did not remember ever having seen him or having had the opportunity of doing for him any of the kindnesses he said he had received from them. "Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You something to drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or without clothes and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison, and visit You?"

For one thing, those who love their fellow-men and are genuinely interested in them, are not themselves conscious of the one-thousandth part of the ministries of kindness which they perform. Like their Master, they continually go about doing good. They are always helping somebody. Everyone they meet carries away from them some cheer, some encouragement, some new inspiration for brave and beautiful living. Other people note the value of their lives and speak of their great usefulness. But they themselves are unaware of the beneficence of their ministry.

It is said in Revelation, of the redeemed in heaven who serve Christ and see his face, that "His name shall be on their foreheads." One has noted that, being on the forehead, the shining of the divine glory is visible to all who look on them—but will be unseen by themselves. No man sees his own face. The suggestion is very beautiful. The unconsciousness of the radiance on the face, is part of the splendor—being aware of it would dim the brightness. When one is aware of the beauty or refinement marked on his face—much of the beauty or refinement is gone!

Self-consciousness also mars spiritual loveliness. When a man knows that he is humble—he is no longer humble. When a Christian becomes aware that he is kind and useful—much of the charm of his kindness and usefulness is gone. "The best men, doing their best—know perhaps least of what they do."

We can think, therefore, of the righteous as in their lowliness and humility—not being conscious of the splendor and worthiness of the service they had rendered. They even thought there must be some mistake in what the King said to them, for they were not aware that they had ever done anything so noble and beautiful as that—they could not remember ever having been kind to the King. But there was no mistake. The King has eyes to see in humble deeds of kindness—a beauty which no other eyes can see. He sees the heart, the motive, the spirit which animates the deeds—and therefore he beholds in the most commonplace acts, a divine splendor. There are self-denials and sacrifices, which love makes for the sake of others, which shine with the glory of heaven as the Master sees them, and yet have no splendor in them to other eyes—as they are so common.

Many of the achievements of men which are now regarded as great, when they were wrought in life's common ways—did not appear to have anything remarkable in them. Their authors did not themselves, dream of the far-reaching importance of what they had done, or of the fame which in after ages would gather about their names. Many discoverers andinventors would be bewildered if they were to come back to earth today, and find their names perpetuated in halls of fame, and see how large a place the things they did now fill in the world's life. Many of those to whom the world owes the most—worked obscurely, in poverty, ofttimes, sacrificing themselves, toiling, struggling, suffering, in order to perfect their invention or complete their discovery. They saw nothing great or splendid in what they were doing. In many cases, their lives seemed failures, for they were only pioneers and achieved nothing themselves. Others came after them and carried to perfection, what they had striven in vain to accomplish. Today the things they dreamed of—but never realized—are among the world's finest achievements, its most useful inventions. If they are told in the judgment that these great things were wrought by them, they will answer that they never saw them. It will be true, too, for what they saw were only the merest beginnings, the first crude attempts, from which the finished product came only after years of experimenting. No wonder they cannot recognize in the splendid results—the little that their hands actually wrought. Yet all this is really their work, was born in their brain, and made possible only through their dream and self-denying devotion.

So it is, of the deeds of kindness which people do. Those who do them, never think of them as worthy of commendation, much less of record. They are plain people, with only commonplace gifts, with no aspiration for fame, with no thought that anything they do is of any special importance, or will ever be heard of again. Yet in many of these lowly ministries, Christ sees the beginning of something that will shine at length in heavenly splendor. A simple word of cheer—puts hope into a discouraged heart, saves a life from despair, and starts it on a career of worthy service.

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