Compassion in Christian preaching emphasizes active love and empathy toward those in need, reflecting Christ's heart for the hurting (Matthew 25:35-40). Illustrations often use vivid pictures of practical kindness—feeding the hungry, comforting the sorrowful, and bearing one another's burdens—to show how small acts of mercy embody God's grace and build bridges of reconciliation.
Sometimes silent caring comforts more than theological answers in deep grief.
Once a young couple lost their only child, a beautiful three-year-old daughter, as a result of a freak accident. Unable to justify this tragedy with their concept of a loving God, they went to their minister for help. "Why?" they asked. "It was God's will," the preacher told them.
The couple just couldn't accept that the passing of their little daughter could somehow serve God's will, and they sought out another preacher friend. He quoted yards of Scripture, trying to give them comfort, but his verses fell on deaf ears.
Finally, the young couple turned to a frail elderly woman in their church. Surely, she could give them a reason for the child's death, but the old woman didn't utter a single word. Instead, she tenderly wrapped her arms around the heartbroken couple's shoulders, and together they cried the hurt away.
Sometimes when theological answers are not easy to the complex misfortunes of life, perhaps we just need to hush our babblings. Sometimes when answers aren't easy, our best statement is silent caring. Which Was Neighbor?
A certain woman went down from Washington to Richmond and ran over a spike which punctured her tire and left her stranded by the side of the road. After raising the hood of her car and tying a scarf to her radio antenna, she locked the door handles and sat in the car, praying for the Lord to send help!
By chance, there came a limousine that way with a bumper sticker that read, "Smile, God Loves You!" When the occupants saw the stranded woman, they passed by in the far lane-without smiling.
And likewise, there came a sports car with a CB radio and a bumper sticker saying, "Honk If You Love Jesus!" The man who was driving passed by in the far lane without honking and without using his CB to tell the Highway Patrol about the woman's dilemma.
But a certain working man, as he traveled to his job, came to the spot where the woman was and, when he saw her raised hood, white scarf, and flat tire, he had compassion on her. He stopped his old beat-up pickup-which had no bumper sticker-and crossed the four-lane highway, and offered to change the tire. The woman opened the door and gave him the key to the trunk. The man took out the spare tire, jacked up the car, removed the flat tire, and replaced it with the spare.
When he had finished, the woman tried to pay him. He refused the money, saying, "If my wife were stranded on the highway with a flat tire, I'd want some Good Samaritan to stop and help her out."
He returned to his bumper-stickerless truck, smiled, honked at her, and went his way.
Which of these three was neighbor unto her who had a flat tire? When Someone Is Needier Than You
In a leper colony clothes arrived for distribution among these outcasts of life.
One little leper boy was asked what he needed most. He replied, "My hands are still good so I can mend my clothes when they need it, but there are some lepers who have no fingers, and some whose hands are so crippled or sore that they cannot use them. When their clothes get holes in them, they cannot mend them but must see the holes get bigger and bigger. I am thankful for my good hands, so please give the clothes to those who cannot mend their own. They are more needy than I."
How we need such unselfishness. We should never complain when we know that there are others who are needier than we are.
Small acts like removing broken glass protect and show care for vulnerable children.
A plainly dressed woman was noticed picking up something on a poor slum street where ragged barefooted little children were accustomed to play. The policeman on the beat noticed the woman's action, and watched her very suspiciously. Several times he saw her stoop, pick up something and hide it in her apron. Finally he went up to her, and with a gruff voice demanded, "What are you carrying off in your apron?" The timid woman did not answer at first, whereupon the policeman, thinking she must have found something valuable, threatened her with arrest if she did not show him what she had in her apron. The woman opened her apron and revealed a handful of broken glass. "What do you want with that stuff?" asked the policeman. The woman replied, "I just thought I would pick it up so the glass would not hurt the children's feet."
Sharing uneaten food under a tree helps feed hungry children at school.
Woman's Day magazine told of a strange happening on the campus of Green Acres Elementary School near Santa Cruz, California. One year a tree on that campus began to bear strange fruit, mostly sandwiches, but sometimes a cookie, a cupcake, an apple or an orange.
It came into being through the efforts of two teachers, Sophie Farrar and Sandra Enz, who were upset at the quantities of uneaten sandwiches discarded by the children. They suggested that the unwrapped sandwiches be placed under what the children began to call the free-food tree, for students who had come without a lunch or who had lost or forgotten their lunches. The idea was very popular among the children. Some youngsters asked their mothers to pack an extra sandwich so they would have one to put under the free-food tree.
Every Christian can encourage others through simple acts of kindness and prayer.
Took the time to go see someone who lives alone?
Wrote a letter to someone who crossed your mind?
Read the Bible to someone too ill to read for themselves?
Encouraged someone who was having a hard time being a Christian?
Prayed earnestly for someone who was faltering?
Tried to have a Bible study with someone you knew was lost?
Told a teenager that you were proud of his efforts to live for the Lord?
Spent more time on your knees praying than on the telephone talking?
EVERY CHRISTIAN CAN DO SOMETHING TO ENCOURAGE SOMEONE ELSE!
Small gestures like smiles, calls, or prayers can brighten someone's day.
O let me shed a little light
On someone's path I pray;
I'd like to be a messenger
Of happiness today!
It may be just a phone call,
A smile, or a prayer,
Or a long neglected letter
Would lift the edge of care.
I want to spread some happiness
In what I say or do,
Make life a little sweeter
For someone else! Don't you?
Giving what you have to help others can have lasting impact on their lives.
A young man named John saw some ragged boys and invited them to Sunday school. One boy said he would go, but he had no coat. John gave him his coat and went in with him. Years afterward, a teacher of a Bible class told the story. A man in his class said, "I was that boy, and Dr. John G. Patton, one of the most famous missionaries of the ages, gave me his coat."
True compassion involves sorrow and tears for those who are lost or suffering.
The St. Bernard dogs in the Alps who seek out travelers lost in a storm take their mission very seriously. One of these dogs returned late one afternoon, wearied from fighting his way through the drifts. He went to his kennel, lay down in a corner, and acted thoroughly despondent, despite the efforts of his master to encourage him. Was he sick? Well, no-not in body, but in heart. He had failed to find anyone to help and had come back ashamed. It is such sorrow of heart, resulting in outbursts of tears on behalf of others, that should characterize the Christian. An Overcoat of Love
I've been on both ends of this experience-the receiving and the giving. I remember when I first came to the United States from a warm climate. It was cold and I had no overcoat. How grateful I was to that servant of Christ, Melvin Wampler, who took off his coat and placed it on my shoulders. He went without so that I could be warm. In a similar manner I have often endeavored to do this for others. Believe me, however, there is more joy in giving and going without, than receiving and possessing.
Don't judge others harshly without understanding their struggles and sins.
Pray don't find fault with the man who limps
Or stumbles along the road,
Unless you have worn the shoes he wears
Or struggled beneath his load.
There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,
Though hidden way from view,
Or the burden he bears, placed on your back,
Might cause you to stumble, too.
Don't sneer at the man who's down today,
Unless you have felt the blow
That caused his fall, or felt the same
That only the fallen can know.
You may be strong, but still the blows
That were his, if dealt to you
In the self-same way the self-same time,
Might cause you to stagger, too.
Don't be too harsh with the man who sins
Or pelt him with words or stones,
Unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,
That you have no sins of your own.
For you know perhaps, if the tempter's voice
Could whisper as soft to you
As it did to him when he went astray,
T'would cause you to falter, too.
Kindness and gentle correction can restore relationships and promote peace.
"I once lived in the country," said a preacher, "next to a very excellent man who, nevertheless, had his weaknesses. I recollect an occasion on which he became angry and manifested his displeasure in a striking manner. Wanting a place to hang up a trowel in my yard, I drove a nail into the fence between his yard and mine. It went through on the other side. One day I heard a racket in my yard and looking to see what was the reason, I found my trowel ringing over the pavement. My neighbor with his hammer had hit the nail and sent the trowel and everything else flying. My first feeling was to fire the trowel over at him and give him a piece of my mind, but my second thought was, 'Well, that's the way he is, but he is a very good fellow, a quiet neighbor so I won't say anything about it.' I was going to be satisfied; but then I decided I had better say something to him. I stepped in and said, 'I ask your pardon, sir. It was thoughtless my driving that nail through the fence, and I am glad you reminded me of it.' He shook hands with me and said, 'Well, well, let us not say anything more about that.' The result showed the wisdom of treating the matter in a spirit of simple kindness. It was evidently the course of conduct that was best for him."
Compassionate presence comforts the dying more than words or deeds alone.
During the hard days of the Civil War, President Lincoln made frequent visits to the hospitals that were always overcrowded with the suffering.
On one occasion he stopped to speak to one of the patients, a mere boy of 16, who had been mortally wounded and was nearing death.
President Lincoln, taking the thin, white hand, said, "My poor boy, what can I do for you?"
With a beseeching look the fellow turned his eyes to the homely, kindly face and asked, "Will you write to my mother for me?"
"That I will," answered the President, and calling for a pen, ink and paper, he seated himself and wrote a long letter. When it was finished, the President rose, saying, "I will mail this as soon as I get back to my office. Now is there anything else I can do for you?"
In some way the boy had come to know it was the President, and so, looking at him in the most appealing sort of way, he asked, "Will you stay with me till it is all over? I will not be long, and I want to hold onto your hand."
That was too much for the great-hearted President to resist. The tears came to his eyes, and he sat down by him and took hold of his hand. The fellow did not move or speak a word. This was some time before four o'clock, and it was long after six before the end came. A Superior's Superior Attitude
Bruce Barton told of an incident in the life of Abraham Lincoln which illustrates a winning spirit. Lincoln, in search of firsthand information on the progress of the Civil War, sought out his general, George B. McClellan. McClellan was not at home when the President and a cabinet member arrived, so Lincoln waited an hour. At last the general returned, but instead of greeting Lincoln, he went upstairs and retired for the evening, sending a servant to explain that he was too tired to see the President.
Lincoln's companion exploded in rage, but the President laid his hand gently on the man's shoulder: "There, there, do not take it so hard. I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us victories."
In his words we hear echoes of Paul's comment: "...I will not be enslaved to anything" (1 Corinthians 6:12).
Righteous anger motivated intervention to help a suffering widow unjustly evicted.
One of the late Dr. Spencer's parishioners in Brooklyn, N.Y., met him hurriedly urging his way down the street, one day; his lip was set, and there was something strange in that gray eye. "How are you to-day, doctor?" he said pleasantly. He waked as from a dream, and replied soberly, "I am mad!" It was a new word for a mild, true-hearted Christian; but he waited, and, with a deep, earnest voice went on: "I found a widow standing by her goods thrown in the street. She could not pay the month's rent: the landlord turned her out; and one of her children is going to die. And that man is a member of the church! I told her to take her things back again. I am on my way to see him!"
A wounded Confederate officer is moved by compassionate care from a former enemy.
A delegate of the Christian Commission, passing among the wounded at Gettysburg, said to a wounded Confederate officer, "Colonel, can I do any thing for you?"—"No!" was his defiant reply. The offer was repeated, after a time, with like result. The air became offensive from heat and wounds. The delegate offered to put cologne on his handkerchief. The officer, bursting into tears, said, "I have no handkerchief." — "You shall have one," said the delegate, wetting his own, and giving it to him. The subdued rebel said, "I can't understand you Yankees: you fight us like devils, and then you treat us like angels. I am sorry I entered this war."
An old woman’s compassion and care saved a dying soldier’s life against all odds.
PHILANTHROPY, Example of In 1862, there lay in the hospital a poor emaciated soldier, whose bones had worn through so that great sores covered his back. One day, an old colored woman saw and pitied the dying soldier. She went to the doctor, and said, "Let me bring this man to my bed." The doctor said, "The man is dying: he will be dead tomorrow." On the morrow, old Hannah came again, and the soldier was still alive. She got help, took her bed, and, laying the man on it, carried him to her shanty. Then she washed him as she would a baby, fed him with a spoon, and fought death hand to hand day and night, and beat him back, and saved the soldier's life. The soldier obtained a furlough to visit his friends in Indiana, and wanted his colored rescuer to go with him; but old Hannah could not spare time from her washing. She went with him to the steamboat, fixed him to her mind, and then kissed him. As she left, the man wept like a child.
Reproving a brother is like helping a wounded person to heal and recover.
To reprove a brother is like as, when he has fallen, to help him up again; when he is wounded, to help to cure him; when he hath broken a bone, to help to set it; when he is out of the way, to put him into it; when he is fallen into the fire, to pluck him out; when he hath contracted defilement, to cleanse him. P. Henry.
Peter the Great encouraged seeing the good in others rather than spreading slander.
When any one was speaking ill of another in the presence of Peter the Great, he would shortly interrupt him, and say, "Well, no; but has he not a bright side? Come, tell me what have you noticed as excellent in him! It is easy to splash mud; but I would rather help a man to keep his coat clean."
True sympathy acts quickly and instinctively to help others in danger or need.
Sympathy is as the lightning; it is quick as thought; it waits not to make its selections; it is irrespective of considerations, and of partialities, and of tastes, and of cold prudence. If the stone on which I have set my foot proves to be loose, I catch hold of my companion's arm; and I do so without ceremony or the intervention of a thought. Or, if I see that my companion is in danger of a fall, I catch hold of his arm, to save him, without ceremony or the intervention of a thought. Or if, on my path, I find some one—a stranger—who has just fallen, and has broken a limb, and is bleeding, I start forward without ceremony or the intervention of a thought (on the supposition that I am no descendant of the Priest or of the Levite).
— Isaac Taylor
Some people naturally respond with deep sympathy at the slightest sign of suffering.
Like the sea-anemone, which feels the first returning wave upon the rock, and throws out all its tendrils; so the tender nature of some individuals will give forth all its sympathies at the slightest intimations of woe. Rev. J. Everett.
Feeling sympathy without practical help is insufficient to truly aid those in need.
A poor woman was reduced to extreme poverty by the loss of her cow, her only means of support. A neighbor, who was unable to give aid, personally went round to different ones to solicit money to buy another one. He went from one to another, and told the pitiful tale. Each offered sorrow and regret, but none practical assistance. He became impatient after being answered as usual by a plentiful shower of feeling, and exclaimed, "Oh, yes! I don't doubt your feeling; but you don't feel in the right place." — "Oh!" said he, "I feel with all my heart and soul." — "Yes, yes," replied the solicitor, "I don't doubt that either; but I want you to feel in your pocket."
A judge offers to die with his condemned father, moving others to mercy.
While Octavius was at Samos, after the battle of Actium, which made him master of the universe, he held a council to examine the prisoners who had been engaged in Antony's party. Among the rest, there was brought before him an old man, Metellus, oppressed with years and infirmities, disfigured with a long beard, a neglected head of hair, and tattered clothes. The son of this Metellus was one of the judges; but it was with great difficulty he knew his father in the deplorable condition in which he saw him. At last, however, having recollected his features, instead of being ashamed to own him, he ran to embrace him. Then turning towards the tribunal, he said: "Caesar, my father has been your enemy, and I your officer; he deserves to be punished, and I to be rewarded. One favor I desire of you; it is, either to save him on my account, or order me to be put to death with him." All the judges were touched with compassion at this affecting scene; Octavius himself relented, and granted to old Metellus his life and liberty.
Poor Turkish villagers share food generously, demonstrating remarkable hospitality.
Mr. Arundel, in his Discoveries in Asia Minor, says: We dismounted at the Oda, a lodging house for travellers, in the village of Cooselare, or Coselare. It was certainly not a palace, for we shared it with our horses, and there were holes, called windows, without glass or shutters; but the hospitality of our hosts more than compensated for every thing else.
We had trakana soup, pilau, cheese, and petmes, and surprised were we to see our table-cloth, or table-skin, soon after laid, the pancake bread placed all around, and the smoking viands in the midst. It was the more surprising, since we were unexpected guests; and, as the village seemed wretchedly poor, we ventured to ask an explanation; and we learned that our fare was the contribution of many families: the trakana soup was supplied by one, the pilau by a second, the petmes by a third, the bread by a fourth; but all were emulous to feed the furnished strangers with as little loss of time as possible: and these were Turks!
Empathy varies greatly; true compassion measures the depth of feeling for others.
A respectable merchant of London, having been embarrassed in his circumstances, and his misfortunes having been one day the subject of conversation in the Royal Exchange, several persons expressed great sorrow; when a foreigner who was present, said, "I feel five hundred pounds for him, what do you feel?"
Pinel advocated compassion by removing chains from the mentally ill in Paris.
TICS.—In 1792, Pinel, who had been for some time chief physician to the Bicetre, or mad-house of Paris, begged repeatedly of the public authorities, to let him remove the chains from the furious. His applications having been unsuccessful, he presented himself before the commune of Paris, and repeating his objections with increased warmth, urged a reform of such monstrous treatment. "Citizen," said one of the members to him, "I will to-morrow go to visit the Bicetre; but wo betide thee, if thou deceivest us, and concealest any of the enemies of the people amongst thy insane."
This member of the commune was Couthon. The next day he went to the Bicetre. Couthon was himself as strange a spectacle as any whom he visited. Deprived of the use of his lower extremities, and compelled to be borne on the arms of others, he appeared, says Pinel, a fraction of humanity implanted on another's body; and from out of this deformity, pronounced in a feeble and feminine voice, merciless sentences proceeded, sentences of death; for death was the only logic that then prevailed.
the success of my prescription, but refused the fee.
Kindness and prayer can reach even the most violent and desperate sinners.
CIOUS PRISONER.—The power of kindness is seen in the case of Haynes, executed in 1799 at Bristol, Eng. He was heavily ironed, yet so extremely turbulent and outrageous, that the other prisoners stood in fear of him, and were obliged to be constantly on their guard. It became necessary even to call out the military; but this only irritated him, and made him worse. He would expose his naked breast to the soldiers'
bayonets, dare them to run him through, and say he would rather be shot dead than surrender himself to them. Yet, when force failed, remonstrance succeeded; for he actually delivered up to the persuasions of a gentleman, a weapon which a file of soldiers were unable to take from him. A pious minister by the name of Bundy, used to visit him, and at length told the keeper he wished to spend the night with the felon. He was warned of his danger; but, moved with compassion, he persisted, and entered the prisoner's cell. Finding him prostrate on the floor under the weight of his irons, he persuaded the keeper to let him have one hand and foot at liberty. The keeper retired late at night, locking after him three massive doors;
and Haynes, immediately lifting up his liberated hand, and reaching a clasped knife he had concealed, rushed fiercely towards him, exclaiming with the voice and looks of a demon, "Now thou art in my power, I will kill thee." The man of God thought his end had come; but suddenly recalling the passage, "thou canst have no power over me unless it be given thee from above," was instantly raised above all fear, and calmly met the enraged culprit, to whom he kindly said, "Now, my friend, what harm have I done you, or of what service would my death be to you?" He then spoke of the love of Christ, and assured the felon, that he was ready to receive all, even the most wicked, who came to him. These words of kindness softened the culprit's heart; he threw down the knife, acknowledging his guilt, and burst into tears. Deeply convicted at length of sin, he asked if it was possible for such a sinner as himself ever to be saved? The anguish of his mind was extreme; he would often weep bitterly in view of his sins; and there is reason to hope that he died a sincere penitent.
Kindness and forgiveness can transform a profane, hardened man into a changed person.
When Isaac Hopper lived in Philadelphia, his attention was drawn to a colored waiter, called Cain, who was remarkable for profanity. Neither persuasion nor rebuke had any effect to change this bad habit. One day Hopper encountered him in the street, quarreling and pouring forth volleys of oaths that made one shudder. Having faith in fines and constables, Hopper took him before a magistrate, who fined him for blasphemy.
Twenty years after, Isaac met Cain, whom he had not seen for a very long time. His outward appearance was much changed for the worse; his garments were tattered, and his person emaciated. This touched the Friend's heart. He stepped up, shook hands, and spoke kindly to the forlorn being. "Dost not thou remember me," said the Quaker, "and how I had thee fined for swearing?" "Yes, indeed, I do; I remember what I paid as well as yesterday." "Well, did it do thee any good?" "No, never a bit; it made me mad to have my money taken from me."
Hopper invited Cain to reckon up the interest on the fine, and paid him principal and interest. "I meant it for thy good, Cain, and I am sorry I did thee any harm."
Cain's countenance changed; the tears rolled down his cheeks; he took the money with many thanks; became a quiet man, and was heard to swear no more.
True compassion acts immediately to save those in danger, unlike indifferent religious leaders.
At a festival at Ganesa's (Gumputtee's) temple in Ceylon, while the multitude of worshipers, assembled at the temple, were engaged in boiling their rice for an offering, one of them who went for water, fell into the well. As soon as the circumstance was made known to the crowd, they rushed to the well, and among them was the pandarum (priest) of the temple, who, as soon as he had gratified his curiosity, returned to the temple. None among them manifested the least concern for the unfortunate man who was sunk in the water. They looked into the well, and talked about the man in such imminent danger with the most perfect indifference. Not an individual seemed to think assistance could or ought to be rendered, till one of the headmen came to the spot: he exerted all his influence to induce some one to dive into the water, which any person accustomed to swimming might have done with perfect safety, but his efforts were in vain. He then sent for the priest, who was known to be an expert swimmer. At the command of the headman he came, but excused himself from the act of mercy required of him, by saying that he could not absent himself so long from the duties of the temple without sustaining a loss. Just at this moment came to the place a young man, unknown to the crowd, who, as soon as he learned that a fellow being was drowning, threw aside his garment, and leaped into the well. After repeatedly diving, he found the body, and raised it to the surface of the water, from which it was taken by the by-standers. As soon as the noise and confusion occasioned by taking out the lifeless body had subsided, a loud whisper passed along the crowd, "Who is that young man? Who is that good man?" They were not a little surprised, and some of the enemies of Christianity confounded, when they were told that this good Samaritan was Azel Backus, a Christian! This event did not a little towards stopping the mouths, and weakening the strength of some who were arrayed against Christians and the cause in which they are engaged; and is to all, who have any knowledge of Scripture, a striking comment on the words of inspiration, "Overcome evil with good."
True appreciation shows by discerning needs and praying for those who minister to us.
One way the man of God can show appreciation, by ascertaining the deepest needs of those who have ministered to him and praying God for them
Kindness and acknowledging God can turn enemies' plans to our favor.
David rewards Saul good for evil. If we acknowledge God in our ways, He will baffle designs of enemies for us and turn their counsels in our favor
Henry VIII’s prison experience led him to show compassion to prisoners in need.
The story goes that Henry the Eight, wandering one night in the streets of London in disguise, was met at the bridge by some of the watch, and not giving a good account of himself, was carried off to prison, and shut up for the night without fire or candle. On his liberation, he made a grant of coal and bread for night prisoners. Experience brings sympathy.
King Henry VIII learned sympathy by experiencing hardship and then helped prisoners.
The story goes that Harry the Eighth wandering one night in the streets of London in disguise, was met at the bridge-foot by some of the watch, and not giving a good account of himself was carried off to the Poultry Compter, and shut up for the night without fire or candle. On his liberation he made a grant of thirty chaldrons of coals and a quantity of bread for the solace of night prisoners in the Compter.
True altruism means living to bless others, even at the cost of self.
* * * * *
The flower blooms not for itself at all,
Its joy is the joy that diffuses:
Of beauty and balm it is prodigal,
And it lives in the life it freely loses;
No choice for the rose but glory or doom,
To exhale or smother, to wither or bloom.
To deny
Is to die.
True charity teaches mercy and responsibility beyond mere utility or self-interest.
See OTHER SIDE, THE.
CHARITY, LOGIC OF
Put a Chinaman into your hospital and he will get treated. You may lie awake at night drawing up reasons for doing something different with this disgusting Chinaman--who somehow is in the world and is thrown into your care, your hospital, your thought--but the machinery of your own being is so constructed that if you take any other course with him than that which you take with your own people, your institution will instantly lose its meaning; you would not have the face to beg money for its continuance in the following year. The logic of this, which, if you like, is the logic of self-protection under the illusion of self-sacrifice, is the logic which is at the bottom of all human progress. The utility of hospitals is not to cure the sick. It is to teach mercy. The veneration for hospitals is not because they cure the sick, it is because they stand for love, and responsibility.
— JOHN JAY CHAPMAN
Genuine charity commands respect even from hostile people, showing religion's essence.
It is reported that during the late disturbances in southern China consequent upon the French expedition to Tonquin, a small Wesleyan mission station at Fatshan was at the mercy of a riotous mob. The chapel was wrecked. The hospital for days was menaced and was hourly expected to fall, but here, for the first time, the rioters appeared to hesitate. Some of the sick were removed before their eyes; others, they knew, could not leave the building. They constantly threatened assault, but the blow never came, and amid their angry menaces the doctor was allowed to pass freely to and from the hospital. A finer touch than that which compelled a kindred feeling between this rabble and its foreign benefactors does not exist in nature. The Chinese mob probably did not include many acute controversialists in theology, but it did, as a whole, recognize the presence of that charity which is rightly regarded as the essence of religion.--London _Lancet_.
A caliph learns duty means caring for his people’s needs and bearing responsibility before God.
Calif Omar, with his venerable teacher, Abou-Zeid, walked forth in the darkness of the night, far from his palace gate, where he saw a feeble fire burning. He sought it and found a poor woman trying to bring a caldron to the boiling-point while two wretched children clung to her, piteously moaning. “Peace unto thee, O woman! What dost thou here alone in the night and the cold?” said the calif. “I am trying to make this water boil that my children may drink, who perish of hunger and cold; but for the misery we have to bear, Allah will surely one day ask reckoning of Omar, the calif.” “But,” said the disguised calif, “dost thou think, O woman, that Omar can know of thy wretchedness?” She answered: “Wherefore, then, is Omar, the calif, if he be unaware of the misery of his people and of each one of his subjects?” The calif was silent. “Let us go hence,” he said to Abou-Zeid. He hastened to the storehouses of his kitchen, and drew forth a sack of flour and a jar of sheep’s fat. “O Abou-Zeid, help thou me to charge these on my back,” said the calif. “Not so,” replied the attendant; “suffer that I carry them on my back, O Commander of the Faithful.” Omar said calmly: “Wilt thou also, O Abou-Zeid, bear the weight of my sins on the day of resurrection?” And Abou-Zeid was obliged to lay the jar of fat and the sack of flour on the back of the calif, who hastened to the woman by the fire, and with his own hands did put the flour and the fat into the caldron over the fire, which fire he quickened with his breath, and the smoke whereof filled his beard. When the food was prepared, with his own breath did he cool it that the children might eat. Then he left the sack and the jar and went his way saying: “O Abou-Zeid, the light from the fire that I have beheld to-day has enlightened me also.”--JAMES T. WHITE, “Character Lessons.”
Rescuing a man in danger illustrates prioritizing saving lives over questions of origin or cause.
See COLORS AS EMBLEMS.
EMERGENCY
Men who had been with Mr. Hearst in San Francisco were reminded of the night he came into _The Examiner_ office and heard of a man that had been seen on a half-submerged rock in the bay, with the tide rising and certain to overwhelm him. In the office they were wondering how he got there.
“What difference does it make how he got there?” Mr. Hearst cut in. “Get him off first and find out afterward. Charter tugs, call for volunteers, and save his life--that’s the main thing.” They went out with the tugs (it was a wild night), and rescued the man just before the seas rose over the rock. (Text.)--CHARLES R. RUSSELL, _Harper’s Weekly_.
A father’s love compels him to tirelessly save his own son from drowning.
Dr. Cortland Myers, of Boston, relates the following story, as told by a ship’s surgeon:
On our last trip a boy fell overboard from the deck. I didn’t know who he was, and the crew hastened out to save him. They brought him on board the ship, took off his outer garments, turned him over a few times, and worked his hands and his feet. When they had done all they knew how to do, I came up to be of assistance, and they said he was dead and beyond help. I turned away as I said to them, “I think you’ve done all you could”; but just then a sudden impulse told me I ought to go over and see what I could do. I went over and looked down into the boy’s face and discovered that it was my own boy. Well, you may believe I didn’t think the last thing had been done. I pulled off my coat and bent over that boy; I blew in his nostrils and breathed into his mouth; I turned him over and over, and simply begged God to bring him back to life, and for four long hours I worked, until just at sunset I began to see the least flutter of breath that told me he lived. Oh, I will never see another boy drown without taking off my coat in the first instance and going to him and trying to save him as if I knew he were my own boy.
A father searches and calls for his lost son, illustrating God’s loving call to sinners.
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There was once a Quaker, John Hartman, whose son enlisted in the army. Not long after he had marched away as a soldier, a battle was fought. In the list of the missing appeared the Quaker’s son’s name. The father went to the field of carnage, and scanned the many upturned faces. He listened to the faintest cry of the wounded to discover if it were the voice of his son. More than one lying in the agony of death thought, “I wish that were my father.”
After the darkness of night fell he lighted his lantern and continued his search. Then the wind began to blow and his light went out. A new thought came to him. Forming a trumpet of his hands he called, “John Hartman, thy father calleth for thee.” There was no answer. Going on farther he called again, “John Hartman, thy father calleth for thee.” There was a faint moan and a “Here I am father.” How gladly that father hastened forward and brought his son home!
Many are being beaten down in the fierce battle of sin and evil. They have fallen in the darkness and are perishing. The loving heavenly Father is calling to them. If they make the faintest cry of response, “Lord, here I am,” how gladly will He hasten to their relief. (Text.)
A mother sheep’s call to lost lambs illustrates God’s loving call to repentant sinners.
I was watching the sheep, and two little lambs got lost from their mother. They were black lambs, and didn’t know they were lost; but I did, and so did the mother. I stood and watched while the old mother sheep called and called and called. But the little black lambs didn’t answer--they didn’t know they were lost. So I continued to watch, and directly the lambs heard the mother calling. And there must have been something in the mother-voice that told the lambs they were lost, for they began bleating and crying and running about as if mad, so frightened were they. Finally, the mother and the lambs saw each other, and truly it was a poem of nature to see the mother leaping toward the lambs and the lambs running toward her! It reminded me of the meeting of that old father and the prodigal son when the boy came back home from the far country. And do you know that meadow scene made me turn my eyes everywhither--earthward, skyward, spaceward! And I said, “Oh, my soul, if lambs hear and answer the voice of their mother, wilt not thou hear and answer the voice of thy Father? Oh, soul, lambs are not afraid when mother is near. Why shouldst thou be afraid when thy Father is near, and God is everywhere?” (Text.)
— F. F. SHANNON
True compassion helps others regardless of their background or status.
The following is a Hindu version of the parable of the Good Samaritan given by a schoolgirl in the mission at Sukkur:
There was once a rich merchant going home through a forest. He was suddenly attacked by robbers, who beat him and robbed him of all his money, leaving him half dead. A Brahman passed by, and seeing the man, said to himself, “He is only a sweeper,” and went away. A Mohammedan also came that way, but he said, “This man is no relation or friend of mine; why should I have any concern for him?” and so he went away. At last a Christian came, riding on horseback, and taking pity on the poor man, bound up his wounds with strips of cloth torn from his own turban, and placing him on his horse, took him to a hospital, and, giving the doctor sahib two rupees, said, “Make this man well, and when I return, you will get from me twenty rupees more!”
True graciousness shows in humble kindness and recognizing shared human trials.
Some club women interested in civic reform were gathered in the office of a city executive waiting for an interview. They were charming, clever women, well drest, and at ease in any surroundings. As they waited they chatted of various things, and one told that her little son had been quite badly burned a few days before. The others spoke sympathetically. On the opposite side of the office sat a poor, battered wreck of womanhood, there on an errand widely different from theirs.
“The next time your little boy gets burned you put linseed-oil and lime-water on it. You ought to keep it handy. There ain’t nothing like it to take out the fire,” said the poor creature.
It was her assertion of sisterhood in the common trials of humanity.
Most of the women froze instantly, indignant that she had dared address them in a familiar way. But the one faced her frankly. “Yes,” she said, “that is good. It is just what the doctor told me to use. It is kind of you to tell me about it.”
There was no familiarity in her manner, nor was there a hint of superiority. She, too, recognized the universal sisterhood, and spoke to the woman across from her on that level.
She was one of the women who always do the gracious thing because of an abiding grace within. There are too many women who appear charming in their own circle, but who must snub those they consider inferior. Manners at their best are but a poor substitute for the real graciousness that comes from the heart that has kindly thoughts for all.--_The Housekeeper._
True greatness is recognized in kindness and genuine personal character, not just appearance.
Mr. Moore, writing in _The Congregationalist_ on “The Benediction of a Statue,” says:
The man was only one of the thousands that have stopt for a moment or two at least in front of the Phillips Brooks statue during the past week. He was a working man of about fifty, with a strong, square-jawed, bronzed face. He had evidently come over to look at the statue during the noon hour, for he had on his blue flannel shirt and carpenter’s overalls. He gazed a moment and then brushed his eyes rather furtively.
“How do you like the statue?” he was asked.
“It’s fine, but isn’t quite Phillips Brooks. It’s a strong face like his, but I sort of miss the light in the eyes. It isn’t as kind-looking as Phillips Brooks.”
“You knew him, then?”
“Yes, I knew him well. I have talked with him many times. He always spoke to me on the street. He used to always ask about the wife and baby, and now--the wife has gone on beyond, too.”
He took a last look at the statue and then hurried away, for it was almost one o’clock. Just then a colored man of about forty joined the group.
“Know him? Why, I knew him as well as I know my wife. I used to be charman of a house just a few doors away from his on Clarendon Street. He always said, ‘Good-morning, John,’ to me when he met me, as he was going over to the church in the morning. Of course, when I knew him he was older than the statue shows him. He never spoke to you like he was saying, ‘I’m the rich Mr. Brooks.’ He treated you just like you was as good as him.”
Two messenger-boys stopt for a moment. “Who’s that man?” one asked the other.
“Why, that’s a great preacher that used to preach in that church. They say he was an awfully good man. They say he could preach like anything, and yet he was just as common with folks as anybody.”
An intelligent, rather elderly Hebrew was criticizing the statue very severely to several people, but he said: “I used to go to school with him. He was certainly a wonderful preacher and a very, very good man. He surely deserved the best statue Boston could ever put up for him. But I dislike the background and the other figure in this very much.”
Kindness must be exercised with wisdom to avoid unintended negative consequences.
Men ought not only to be kind and friendly, but to be judicious in the way they manifest their regard.
At the camp-fire and dinner of the Eleventh Army Corps in New York recently, Gen. James Grant Wilson, as reported in _Tobacco_, told how General Grant became the inveterate smoker that he was. He said that after the Fort Donelson fight the newspapers all over the North were filled with the story of how the silent captain had fought that fight with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. “Up to that time,” said General Wilson, “General Grant never smoked more than two cigars a day in his life. When the people of the North found that their commander evidently liked cigars, loyal souls from every great Northern city sent in cigars to Grant’s headquarters until he had piled up in his tent 20,000 cigars. He felt that it would not be polite to return them or to give them away, so the only thing to do was to smoke them. That was the beginning of it, and it ended with the smoking of something like a bunch of cigars every day.”
True compassion transcends divisions, blessing even those we might oppose.
Father Mathew was going among a large number of his temperance converts, signing the cross on their foreheads, when a man on his knees looked up and said, “Father, here am I, an Orangeman, kneeling to you, and you blessing me.” “God bless you, my dear, I didn’t care if you were a lemon-man,” said Father Mathew.
A child's lantern and encouragement can brighten a weary heart and lighten burdens.
The Rev. C. A. S. Dwight says:
“During a damp, foggy evening along the New England shore, a summer resident who had been skirting the beach in a row-boat, was struggling at the oars, trying to drive his little craft through the waters despite the drag upon it of a heavy object towing on behind. It was a dismal evening, and he was tired and weary of his attempted task. But just when his depression was greatest he heard the voice of his little boy hailing him from the beach. Looking through the gloom he could discern the faint glow on the shore, while his boy called encouragingly, ‘Papa, I’ll cheer you with this lantern!’ The heart of the father was gladdened, and his work after that seemed light, for so great is the power of loving sympathy that it illumines all shadows and lightens all tasks.
“I’ll cheer you with this lantern!” We all of us hold in our hands some instrument of blessing, whether it be a lantern or not, by the use of which, if we are alert to note the changing necessities of those about us, we can every now and then cast a gladdening or directing ray over life’s dark waters, or extend some other “help in time of need” to a troubled brother.” (Text.)
Kindness and encouragement open hearts and improve relationships like oil on creaking hinges.
See EVANGELISM, UNHERALDED.
LUBRICATION EFFECTIVE
An old Quaker was once visited by a garrulous neighbor, who complained that he had the worst servants in the world, and everybody seemed to conspire to make him miserable.
“My dear friend,” said the Quaker, “let me advise you to oil yourself a little.”
“What do you mean?” said the irritated old gentleman.
“Well,” said the Quaker, “I had a door in my house some time ago that was always creaking on its hinges, and I found that everybody avoided it, and altho it was the nearest way to most of the rooms, yet they went round some other way. So I just got some oil, and after a few applications it opened and shut without a creak or a jar, and now everybody just goes to that door and uses the old passage.”
Just oil yourself a little with the oil of kindness. Occasionally praise your servants for something they do well. Encourage your children more than you scold them, and you will be surprized to find that a little sunshine will wear out a lot of fog, and a little molasses is better than a great deal of vinegar.
Music can soften hearts and break down barriers between hostile people.
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During the Civil War a Union regiment was camping in a Southern town, and the people stubbornly refused to fraternize with the men. Houses and shops were closed to them, and the citizens kept inside. The commanding officer ordered his band to strike up “Dixie.” Instantly, as if by magic, doors opened, shutters came down, and soon the street was alive with men, women and children--all merry and hospitable.
The music had unlocked their hearts.
Appreciate and help friends while they live, not just after they are gone.
Mrs. Marion M. Hutson writes a lesson as to appreciating the troubles of friends while they live:
Somewhere in the future, soon or late,
My weary feet will reach the outer gate,
Where rest begins, and earth’s long highway ends,
And then, perhaps, through misty eyes my friends
Will see how rough the path has been, and say,
“Would we had tried to smooth the rugged way.”
Oh, friends and loved ones! do not wait, but give
A little help and comfort while I live.
The hare’s self-sacrifice in legend symbolizes the excellence of giving oneself for others.
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Equally famous with the man in the moon and the woman in the moon is the hare in the moon, says Garrett P. Serviss in his “Astronomy with the Naked Eye.” The original is a Buddhist legend. The god Sakkria, disguised as a Brahman, pretended to be starving and went to the animals for help. The monkey got him a bunch of mangoes; the coot picked up a fisherman’s neglected string for him; the fox stole him a pot of milk. At last the god approached the hare. “I have nothing but grass,” said the hare, “and you can’t eat that.” “But your flesh is good,” suggested the pretended Brahman. The hare assented. “Then,” said the Brahman, “I’ll kindle a fire at the foot of this rock, and you jump off into it. That’ll save me the trouble of killing you.” The hare assented again, but as he leaped from the rock the god caught him in his arms and then drew his figure in the moon as a perpetual reminder of the excellence of self-sacrifice. (Text.)
True compassion involves practical help, not just feeling sympathy.
A gentleman was one day relating to a Quaker a tale of deep distress, and concluded very pathetically by saying, “I could not but feel for him.” “Verily, friend,” replied the Quaker, “thou didst right in that thou didst feel for thy neighbor, but didst thou feel in the right place--didst thou feel in thy pocket?” (Text.)
Tenderness combined with skill builds trust and confidence in care.
Years ago, in Central New York, lived a Dr. Delamater, a noted surgeon. It was before the days of anesthetics. A woman patient consulted him, and after examination he told her, with tears in his eyes, that a painful and dangerous operation was necessary. “Proceed,” said the woman. The surgeon’s success was complete. “Weren’t you afraid when you saw the surgeon affected so?” she was asked later. “No,” she said, “that was what helped me. Those tears assured me that the doctor was as tender-hearted as he was skilful. I could trust such a man.” (Text.)
True artists feel deep sympathy and affection for their own creations and characters.
A writer in _The Critic_ says:
I once saw it recorded of George Eliot, as a thing marvelous, incredible, and unique, that she actually wept over her own creations. This fact, so stated, made me wonder at the ignorance of the writer. Does anybody suppose that a moving situation was ever yet depicted, the writing of which did not cost the author anguish and tears? How could he move his readers if he were not first moved himself? It is an elementary maxim; you may find it in Horace. But it is a sign that one possesses imagination if one can laugh over the fortunes of one’s own puppets.
