The Beauty of Kindness'. 2

Next Part The Beauty of Kindness'. 3

A sailor boy brought home a fuchsia plant to his mother from some foreign cruise. She put it in a window-box and it grew, and by its beauty, drew attention to itself. Soon there were fuchsias in other neighboring windows and in countless gardens. Thus the one little plant which the boy brought from over seas, multiplied itself and spread everywhere. If on the judgment day the Master shows this boy fuchsias growing in gardens, in window-boxes, in conservatories in many lands, and says, "You planted all these; all this beauty is from your hand," the boy will be overwhelmed with surprise. He never saw these thousands of blooming plants. "Lord, when did I plant all these?" But we understand it. His hand brought one little plant, in love, from a foreign land, and the one has multiplied into all this vast harvest of loveliness.

So it is also with the little kindnesses we do. They may be very small in themselves—but they are the beginnings of long successions of good or beautiful things. No one can tell what the end will be—of any least act of love, any smallest good thing done in the name of Christ. It will be an astonishment to many a lowly believer in Christ, when at the end of time he is shown the full and final results of all that he did during his life. He will not recognize the splendid records of good deeds for which he receives commendation and reward, as truly his. "When did I do those fine and great things?" he will say. Yet all this widespread good is really the harvest from his sowing. If he had not done the one little thing, none of this would ever have had existence.

There is another and yet more wonderful interpretation of the value of kindness done in love for Christ, in our Lord's answer to the astonishment of the righteous. They were surprised when they were told by the King that they had fed HIM when he was hungry, given drink to him when he was thirsty, and cared for him when he was sick and a stranger. "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?" To their wonder his answer was, "I assure you—Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me."

One explanation of these words, is that Christ's own are so dear to him that whatever kindness is done to any of them, even the least, he accepts as done to himself. This is the experience of all true friendship. If a friend of yours is in need anywhere, sick or a stranger far from you, and one cares for him, shows him hospitality, supplies his needs, delivers him in danger, you appreciate the sympathy and interest—as if you yourself had received the help!

Also, throughout the New Testament we are taught that Christ is represented in this world, by his followers and friends. Even in the Old Testament we have hints of this identification of God with his people, as in the words, "In all their affliction—he was afflicted." It is made still more clear in the New Testament after the Son of God had become flesh, thus entering into our humanity. He and his followers are one. They are members of his body. He who receives one of them receives him. Saul was engaged in a relentless persecution of the friends of Jesus, and the glorified One whom he met in the way asked him, "Why are you persecuting Me?" And when the amazed persecutor asked, "Who are you, Lord?" he said, "I am Jesus whom you are persecuting."

He who harms one of Christ's people—harms Christ himself. Likewise he who anywhere shows kindness to one who belongs to Christ—shows the kindness to Christ himself. "And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is My disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward." He who warms and feeds a lonely, hungry heart—warms and feeds Christ.

This teaching helps us to understand the words of the King to the righteous, on the judgment day. In the hungry ones they had fed, in the thirsty to whom they had given cups of water, in the sick and suffering to whom they had shown kindness—they had ministered to the King himself. These needy and suffering ones whom they had served in his name, were his friends. They represented him. Those who received them received him. Those who relieved their distress relieved his—for in all their sufferings he suffers—and in their joy he rejoices.

The teaching of the New Testament is that the love to Christ is shown, shown unmistakably, in love to our fellow-men. Jesus himself gave as the test of discipleship—not love for himself in the abstract, not membership in the church, not the believing of a certain set of doctrines, but "By this shall all men know that you are my disciples—if you have love one to another." This love of men is essential. There is no such thing as love for God—which does not also include love to man. John puts the truth in a very strong statement, "He who does not love his brother whom he has seen—cannot love God whom he has not seen." We cannot love God—apart from loving his people. If we truly love Christ—our hearts will be full also of love for others—and this love will show itself in ministries of kindness wherever there is need.

We have a desire to see Christ. We long for visions of his beauty and glory. We wait in our place of prayer, hoping that he will reveal himself in some theophany. We sit at the Holy Supper and plead with him to show himself to us in some celestial brightness. We go apart into some sacred retreat, and pray and meditate, thinking he will come to meet with us there. But we are much more likely to have him come to us—in some human need to which we may minister, in some sorrow which we may comfort, or in some want which we can supply.

"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. . . Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me." This suggests to us the splendor of even the lowliest ministries wrought in the name of Christ. We are serving Christ himself when we show kindness to one of his people. The Master comes to us, in the suffering and needy ones, whom we meet in our common days. "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me."

If Jesus came to us in his own person, as he used to come to the people of Galilee, and if we knew it to be him—how eager we would be to minister to him! If he were hungry, we would share with him our last piece of bread. If he were thinly clad, we would take off our warm garments and put them on him. But we shall not have the opportunity to minister to him in person, in these ways, just now—for he is no longer on the earth in need. But in serving those he sends to us to be relieved or comforted or helped—we will serve Christ himself!

While we thus have a glimpse of the splendor of kindness, which is done in the name of Christ. We see also the danger there is in turning away from any human need or suffering, which may beseech to us. It may be Christ whom we are passing by and neglecting. The King shall say to those on his left hand, "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 . . . Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for Me either."

It may seem a small matter to pass by a human need—to fail to show a kindness that we have opportunity of showing, to refuse to relieve a distress that appeals to us. We may say it is not our concern—but if it is brought to our attention in any way, it probably is our concern. We may say that the person is not worthy—but our Father makes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust. The Master himself did not confine his doing good to those who were worthy, and we are to continue his ministry in the world. In passing by anyone who is in need—we may pass by Christ.

This does not mean that we are to give indiscriminately to all who ask us for alms. No Christian duty requires more care, more self-restraint, more wisdom—than that of relieving and helping others. No doubt money should be given only in rare cases. Thoughtful men and women soon learn that great harm is done by the over-helping of others. It may not be our duty to give any financial help even to those who ask for it, or to relieve directly the physical needs that make their appeal to us. But this we may be sure of—that everyone who comes before us in need, in distress, in sorrow, or in any want or trouble, should be helped by us in some way.

So far as we know, Jesus never gave any money—he did not have money to give. Yet he was the most munificent giver who ever lived among men. There was no life that ever touched his, that was not helped by him in some way. At the Beautiful Gate of the temple the lame man who asked alms of Peter and John, did not receive what he sought. These men had no silver or gold to give. But the poor man was not left unhelped. "I have neither silver nor gold," said Peter, "but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk!" Then he took him by the right hand, and raised him up. The man was helped in two ways. His lameness was healed by divine power. Then Peter gave him his hand, showing human sympathy and imparting strength. We are very sure that Peter helped the lame beggar in a far wiser and better way, than if he had put a coin into his hand. This, at the best, could only have supported his mendicancy a little longer, leaving him no better off in any way, no stronger, no less helpless, no more hopeful, than he was at the beginning. He would have had to return to his place at the gate tomorrow. But the help that Peter gave him made him able to take his place among men and care for himself. He did not need to be carried any longer to the temple morning by morning, to sit and beg all day.

The truest help we can give to anyone, is to make him strong so that he will not need to be helped any more. It is more loving—to make a man able to bear his own burdens, than it is to take his burden off his shoulder and bear it for him. We prove truer friend to a man when we encourage and inspire him to overcome his timidity and fear—and become brave and strong, than if in gentle pity we nurse him along in his weakness. A man's best friend—is always he who makes him do his very best. But what we are to remember, is that we are never to turn away from us a human need that appeals to us.

In our modern Christian civilization begging is in no case to be encouraged. Provision is made by our government, for those who are truly in need. Yet nevertheless are we to treat the beggar in a Christian way, as Jesus would. We are not to look at him with contempt. We may not rudely slam our door in his face. He has human feelings which will be hurt by unkindness, and would be wondrously comforted by courtesy and kindness. We may not give money to the mendicant on the street—but we may show him kindness—and that will be worth more to him than the largest alms. It will gladden and cheer his heart.

There come to us continually, those who are weak, unable to keep up in the march. They may be physically weak, or they may only be fainthearted. There is a way of seeming to help them which, will do them harm. There is a kind of sympathy which only makes such persons less strong, less able to go on with life's duties and struggles. We enter into their weakness—but do not lift them up out of it to any new strength. We listen to their story of discouragement and express our sorrow at the things which make life so hard for them, and sympathize with them—but say not a word to hearten them. We sit down with those who are enduring grief, and condole with them—but give them no comfort, saying not a word to lighten their gloom or to turn their thoughts toward hope.

The only true help in such experiences, is that which puts courage into men's hearts, and lifts them out of themselves. What the Master wants us to do for those he sends to us in need or distress—is to give them strength. If they come to us hungry, we are to feed them, that they may continue on their way with vigor and zest. If they are sick, we are to visit them. But we need to be sure that our visits shall really do them good, cheer their loneliness, and leave songs in their hearts. If they are strangers who come to us, we are to show them hospitality. All these acts of kindness suggest the imparting of joy and encouragement, so that those to whom we minister may overcome the hardness of the way.

If we neglect to show kindness to any one who comes to us in need or in distress—we may be neglecting Christ himself. It will be sad if we should hear the King say, "It was I who came to your door that day. I was heavy-hearted. I was weary and faint with my long journey and my heavy burden. I was yearning for sympathy, for love, for a word of encouragement. I came to you—and you did nothing. You shut your door upon me. You looked at me with bitterness and sent me away unhelped." When we are about to close our door upon anyone who needs help or craves love and cheer in Christ's name—let us beware lest we may turn away Christ himself.

Next Part The Beauty of Kindness'. 3

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