Doing Good

Francis Bourdillon, 1873

"I've never done anybody any harm!" How common a saying is this! How many try to stifle conscience thus, and perhaps to stop the mouths of those who would tell them the truth! Often is this said even on a death-bed—a time when the voice of conscience is apt to be louder than before. "I don't know that I've ever done harm to anyone," the sick man will say when spoken to about his sins. Perhaps he goes a step further and says, "I've never hurt anybody but myself." This is what drunkards especially are fond of saying at all times.

Now is there any truth in this saying, "I've never done anybody any harm"? Or is there any real excuse in it? There is neither the one—nor the other. It is not true; and if it were, it would be no excuse, nor would it make a man safe.

You say you have never done anybody any harm; or, at all events, not anyone but yourself. I meet you on that point—I say you have. Not that I know you, or anything about you personally—how could I? But I judge of you by your own words. You say (and of course you say the best you can for yourself) that you have never done harm to anyone, or at all events to anyone but yourself. You do not pretend to have done any good, and you do not deny that in some respects you have been your own enemy. Very well. Then I venture to maintain that what you say is not true—you have done harm to others besides yourself.

A man must be doing either good or harm; and if he is not doing good—then he certainly is doing harm. He may not mean to do harm; perhaps he does not think at all about the matter. But his example, his influence, his words—go for something; and if they do no good, they do harm.

"Yes!" I think I hear you say, "I can believe that about the rich and great, who have numbers of servants and all sorts of people looking up to them—but what does it signify what a poor man like me says and does?"

It signifies a great deal. Just as much, in proportion, as what the rich and great say and do. Are there none who look up to you, or ought to do so? Have you no wife and children, no brothers or sisters, no neighbors, no workmates? Do not you live near other people and see this man, and speak to that man, and work with another? You do not live like a hermit in a cave, with nobody to speak to from morning until night. No, you go in and out among your fellow-creatures; and, whatever you may think, they are the better or the worse because of your influence. You are doing them good—or doing them harm, setting them a good example—or a bad one; helping to lead them aright and make them happy—or helping to lead them astray and make them miserable.

I spoke of drunkards. How fond they are of saying, "I'm nobody's enemy but my own!" Why, of all men in the world, a drunkard has the least right to say that. Everybody knows how one leads on another to drink. There are very few who will sit and get drunk by themselves. Most do it in company, and it is the company that chiefly leads them on. However fond a man may be of a glass of beer, he would generally (I do not say always) leave off drinking in time—if he had no one to drink with. Every drunkard therefore has a hand in making other drunkards. Every drinking man, though he may not say a word to persuade them—is helping to turn others into drinking men. He is their enemy as well as his own; he is doing them harm.

It is just the same with other things. How do people learn to swear? By hearing others do it. Then every swearer has a hand in this teaching. Others will copy the sin from him. Mean it or not mean it—every profane swearer is a teacher of that dreadful art. He is doing what in him lies to make his hearers swear too. He may be what is called a good-hearted fellow, too good-natured to wish to hurt anyone; but he does hurt people for all that, and that his own friends and companions. If he makes them swearers like himself—does he do them no harm?

And so it is with the Sabbath-breaker. Look at that man lounging at the corner of the street. It is the morning of the Lord's day, and yet there he stands in his shirt-sleeves, with his pipe in his mouth, just as if it was a week-day, except that he does not work. Perhaps he is waiting until the ale-house is open; or it may be that he means, when he has smoked his pipe out, to make himself tidy and go off by a cheap excursion train, or make one in a party down the river.

One thing I am sure of by his look—he is going neither to church nor chapel; Sabbath-breaker is written on his face. And do not other people see that too? His neighbors, his workmates, the young men and lads who work at the same place or know him to speak to or even pass along the street—do not they see and know how he spends his Sundays? And does it not impact them? Is not this one more example on the wrong side? Is not that man doing harm?

Thus the saying, "I do no one any harm but myself," is not true. It cannot be true. Everyone who leads an ungodly or careless life—does harm to others. They see how he lives. His influence, be it much or little, is for evil.

But suppose it were true—even then it would be no excuse for a useless life. Grant for a moment that you do no one any harm—do you do any good? Is any man, woman, or child the better for you? This is what God requires of us all—to do good. Whether He has given us much or little—we are to do good with it. We are His stewards. What we have—money, power, strength, health, time—is in fact His; it is not given to us as our own, but put into our care to use for God; and we shall have to give account of it hereafter.

Many people never think of this. Such a thought never crosses their minds! They look upon all they have, as quite their own. They imagine that they may spend their money as they like. They imagine that they may use their health and strength as they please—that their time is their own to do just as they like with. They have to work for their bread perhaps, but in other respects they know no rule but to please themselves. Thousands are living so—men and women, old and young, rich and poor; without the least thought of doing good with what they have, or of the great account which they must one day give.

"But what good can I do?" asks the poor man again; "It is as much as I can do to get bread for my family—what more can be expected of me?" A great deal more; as much, in your way—as from the richest person in the land.

You speak of your family. Well then, let us begin with them. Are food and clothing the only things your children need? Or even a little schooling besides? No, there is another thing, even more important than schooling—a parent's good example. Here then already is one way of doing good—you are to set your children a good example, to spend part of your time and strength in leading them aright, to use all your influence with them (and a parent's influence is great) for good.

But step outside your door and come with me a little farther; let us see whether you can do any more good. Here we are at the next house. The people who live here are your neighbors. You see them almost every day. You cannot help it, if you would. Is there no good you can do them, no kindness you can show them? Are they never in need or trouble? Does sickness never enter their house? Surely you have but to think a moment, in order to see that you may do good to your next-door neighbor, if you are so inclined.

But most likely you have a neighbor on the other side, and another beyond him, and so on perhaps down a whole street. They are all your neighbors; you see them continually; can you do them no good? And even if you do not live on a street—yet you must have neighbors. The other people in the village or the family across the common, or the widow in that little cottage among the trees—they are your neighbors; there must be ways in which you may do them good if you will. The will is the thing lacking, not the way. "Where there's a will—there's a way." This is an old saying and a true one; and as true about doing good to others as about anything.

Let a man once feel that he is bound to do good and heartily desire to do it—and he will find more ways than he could have thought of before. It is surprising how much a poor man may do for the glory of God and the happiness of his fellow-creatures. His influence may reach far beyond his children and neighbors. All around him may feel the better for him, and even those afar off may share in the benefit.

Have you ever watched a stone flung into a pond? Just where it sinks into the water, a little circle is formed, then another around that, and another and another, almost as quickly as the eye can follow them, until the whole surface is moved, and the last circle breaks in a little ripple on the shore.

Such is a good man's influence. He knows not where it may end. His example impacts another; the example of that other influences more, and theirs more still; the circles become more and greater, like those in the pond; and long after the good man has gone to his rest, the influence of his example is felt still.

But the man whose heart is set on doing good will do more than merely set a good example. As far as circumstances allow—he will be active in helping and comforting others and in leading wanderers into the right way. It is not the rich and learned only who can do this—the poor man may do much too. What do you think of a laboring man reading a good book or tract to his workmates as they sit at dinner? I know such a man. He is no great scholar, but he is just scholar enough for that; and what little learning he has, he uses well. Who can tell what good those readings may do?

Sarah Martin was nothing but a poor dressmaker at Yarmouth, earning her bread by her work; but she devoted herself to doing good among the prisoners in the jail, and for years spent all her leisure time in visiting them. Many a broken spirit was she the means of cheering; many a hardened sinner did she see softened through her exertions, and many a youthful criminal did she lead back into the right way. Few men or women have done more good to others, than this humble dressmaker.

John Pound was but a poor shoemaker; yet he was the beginner of ragged-schools. He used to get round him while he sat at work, a number of boys and girls who were running wild about the streets, and teach them. He did not know much, but what he did know, he taught them; and it is wonderful what good he did. After a time he became known, and people helped him, as was the case with Sarah Martin too. But at first the humble dressmaker and the poor cobbler did their work all alone.

So you see that poor men and women can do a great deal of good—if only they have the heart for it. And what a happy thing it is to do good: to help the needy, to comfort those who are in trouble, to lead wanderers into the right way, to teach a fellow-sinner the way to Christ! Why, this last is a greater work than to conquer kingdoms! It does more good and will last longer and has more real glory in it. It is a work that angels delight in and God approves. It is indeed a work of God—a work that He sets every servant of His to do according to his means. Happy they who are doing it with all their might!

One more instance I will give you of what a poor man may do. I will give it in the very words in which I once read it myself:

"One day last spring, strangers who passed through the town of Bilston were surprised to see the shops closed, the factories emptied, and an unusual concourse in the streets. The town had not presented so solemn an aspect even on the fast-day, when the cholera was decimating its inhabitants. The people, the magistrates, the clergy of all denominations, were attending a funeral—and of whom?

"A petty tradesman, whose humble dwelling was pointed out at the corner of the street—the same in which he had been born and in which he died. There he kept a small hardware shop and sold frying pans, Bibles, maps, kettles, spelling books, marbles, spinning-tops, and gospel tracts. His personal expenses were limited to some nine or ten shillings a week; the rest of his small earnings and the whole of his spare time during a long life—he devoted to the service of others. He was the general counselor, the general peace-maker, the general comforter of the town.

"During church services, he used to go about the streets and talk with the loiterers whom he met, with an inquiry why they were not at church. In answer to the usual excuses, he would take them by the arm and lead them to the nearest church, and there having secured them a comfortable seat, leave them to look for others. He would speak plainly to those whose consciences he desired to awaken—yet never met an insulting word in reply; and it is said that many an idler who was lounging in the sun with his dog and pipe, would slink out of the way if he saw the valiant old man approach.

"There may have been some eccentricity in portions of his conduct; but the excellence of his judgment, not less than the sincerity of his zeal, is proved by the love and respect of the public, in whose daily sight his long life had been spent, and who followed him as a father to the grave. We have pleasure in recording the name of John Etheridge. We are not aware that as yet he has found a biographer, and we regret that our notice of him must be so brief" (Quarterly Review, January 1858, page 167).

Reader, you see what a poor man may do; "Go and do likewise." It may not be in your power to do just what that farm-laborer does, or what John Pound or Sarah Martin or John Etheridge did—for different people have different abilities and opportunities; but at least you may copy them in spirit.

What was it that made them live and act as they did? A wish to do good. And what made them wish to do good? Love to God. That love might have led them to do good in very different ways, if their means and opportunities had been different from what they were. But, as it was, John Pound was led by the love of God to teach little ragged boys and girls; Sarah Martin to visit the prisoners, and John Etheridge to go about among the Sunday-idlers and to make peace among his neighbors.

Is there no good you can do? Have you no abilities, no means, no opportunities? Look around, look within, and look up before you give an answer. Look around you and see how much need there is—how much sin and sorrow. Look within and consider what means of doing good God has given you—what powers of mind, what talents and opportunities—and what use you have made of them hitherto. Look upward to God, your Father, your Savior; consider what you owe to Him who has given you all that you have, who provides for all your needs, who defends you from danger, and who blesses you in a thousand ways known and unknown; above all, who has redeemed you from Hell by the gift of His dear Son. Do you owe Him nothing in return?

Christian reader, be you high or low—determine that by God's help you will not live without doing some good. Perhaps you have long been selfish and useless—living only to yourself, a cumberer of the ground. Resolve, in the strength of God, that you will be so no more. Much time has been lost, many talents wasted, and many opportunities missed—yet something may still be done. Now begin to live to God and for others.

Has your heart been touched with a sense of the love of God? Then, for His sake, try to lead others to know His love. Have you yourself fled for refuge to the Lord Jesus? Speak to those who are yet in danger, of the safety and peace that are to be found in Him. Are you living in the light of God's reconciled countenance? Be not content that others should be still afar off, while you have a heart to feel and a tongue to speak.

You have heard the expression, "The luxury of doing good!" It is full of truth and meaning. There is a luxury in doing good, a luxury that the poor may have as well as the rich—their only luxury perhaps, but the best. How sweet the first taste of this pleasure! How happy the first thought, "I have brought comfort to a wounded heart! I have helped one in need! I have spoken words which seemed to touch the heart!" How great is the goodness of God in employing such as we are, in works which angels might delight to do—in making use of redeemed sinners to teach and comfort their fellow-sinners, in sending the poor and needy—to the poor and needy's Helper.

Reader! By the love of God, by the gift of Christ, by the grace of the Spirit (ready to be bestowed to help and strengthen you in the work), by your own blessings, by the need all around, by the shortness of time, and the night coming on in which no man can work—I urge you in God's name, be up and doing!

But I have been writing as if all to whom these words may come were under the influence of the saving love of God, and only needed their zeal to be stirred up. Alas, it is not so. I know not whether this chapter will be read by many or by few, but this I greatly fear—that there will be among its readers, those who are strangers to the redeeming love of God, and far from Christ and His salvation. I would say a word of earnest and loving exhortation to such.

It is a solemn thing to live as you do—not only doing no good to others, but not even embracing and accepting the good which God would do to you. Do you understand what I mean? There are some of God's gifts which you cannot help accepting and enjoying: air and light and food and clothing and countless other mercies of the same sort—these you do enjoy, though you take them as matters of course, without thanks or return.

But there is a far better gift which you are neglecting every day. Jesus Christ died for sinners—but you turn away from Him; He offers you salvation—but you will not have it; the Holy Spirit is promised to all who seek—but you will not seek. Now compare such a life as this—with what your life ought to be. You ought to have your heart filled with the deepest sense of your own unworthiness and of the love of God; you ought to be living a life of faith, resting on your Savior's merits, filled with love to Him, and chiefly desirous to serve and glorify Him; your heart given to Him, your warmest affections set on Him, your will subdued to His, and your time and strength and means all used in His service, and for the good of others for His sake. And all this, from gratitude and love. This is what you ought to be, as one to whom the message of God's love has come—this is what He requires of you.

Now look again at what your life is. Where is your sorrow for sin? Where your faith? Where your love to God? Where your service to others? Can you point to any feeling in your heart or any employment of your life that agrees with the picture I have drawn? Alas, what a contrast! And what does this striking contrast show you, if not this—that you are in the wrong way?

I do not write this to pain you. On the contrary, it is my earnest desire to do you good. But you never can receive good to your soul, until you see yourself as you are. May the eyes of your understanding be opened, to see your guilt and your need of God's love in Christ! May you embrace His great salvation! Pardon and grace are ready for you. Pardon for all the past, the wasted talents, the unprofitable years, the slighted message. And grace for all the future, to break the force of long habit, to overcome strong temptations, to lead you in the right way, and to make you at length one of those who are doing good. All this, and more, is ready to be given you, for Christ's sake. Ask, and you shall receive!