The Beauty of Kindness
J. R. Miller, 1905
"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 and
inventors 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.
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.
This representation of the way the account for judgment
day is made up, shows us how full all life is of Christ. Even our smallest
acts have reference to him. The kindnesses we do—are done to him. When we
neglect any one—it is Christ we neglect. We cannot get away from his
presence, go where we may. Everywhere there is somebody who needs love,
hospitality, a visit in a sick room, a cup of the cold water of kindness, or
a word of encouragement. And it is Christ! He is always coming to us needing
something.
Twice Jesus asked for water—once at the well, when he
said to the woman who was about to draw water, "Give me drink," and again on
his cross, when he said, "I thirst." But now every day he comes to us with
like longings. Physical thirsts are not the only thirsts. Not all
people about us are poor, hungry, or homeless—but there are few we meet any
day, who do not need something—cheer, hope, a brother's hand, companionship,
friendship, joy. In everyone of these the King comes to us, saying,
"Inasmuch as you show kindness to the least of these—you show it unto me!"
Let us never fail him, so that he shall say, "I turned to you in my need—and
you did nothing for me!"
This parable of the judgment shows us how full of
splendor is the simplest, plainest life of the quietest, commonest days. The
righteous thought that there must have been some mistake—they could not
remember having done such deeds of kindness to the King. But they had done
these things to his friends—and he counted them as done to himself. We must
not miss the significance of this—some of us think our lives dreary and
commonplace—but here we see what splendor is veiled in the simplest
kindnesses. In the light of the judgment day, we shall see the tasks we
fret over today, the serving of others, which sometimes grows irksome,
blossoming into divine beauty and radiancy!
"When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the
angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory. All the
nations will be gathered before Him, and He will separate them one from
another, just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put
the sheep on His right and the goats on the left. Then the King will say to
those on His right, ‘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.’
"Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘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?’ "And the King will answer them, ‘I
assure you: Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine,
you did for Me.’ Then He will also say to those on the left, ‘Depart from
Me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the Devil and his
angels! 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.’ "Then they too will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry,
or thirsty, or a stranger, or without clothes, or sick, or in prison, and
not help You?’ "Then He will answer them, ‘I assure you: Whatever you did
not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for Me either.’ "And
they will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal
life." Matthew 25:31-46.