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That is not egotism. It is not the utterance of a puffed-up spirit. Egotism is too frequently the child of the shallows. Rarely, if ever, does it issue out of a deep and troubled heart. Egotism flourishes best where profound sorrow is least known. And here is a man who is overwhelmed with sorrow. Death has darkened every window in his home, and he is burdened with the weight of an almost intolerable grief. This is no place in which to find light, egotistical speech. Whatever words this man may speak will be crushed out of him by the very burden of his grief. It is a man going into his yesterdays to find some solace for the sorrow of today. He is calling upon memory to provide a little heart's ease for his present bitter distress. Thrice happy the man who can call such memories to help him in the hour of his distress! "The poor that cried," and "the fatherless," and "those ready to perish," and the "widow" and the "lame" and the "blind" still make their appeals in the land, and it is true today as ever that the only Christian response is the one that was made by the patriarch Job. I have noticed that controversy about the distressed and the unfortunate is often regarded as a substitute for their relief. Abstract discussions often result in misty speculations which only obscure one's personal duty. It is often the case that controversy abounds where sympathy should reign. Again and again we find this illustrated in the experiences of our Lord. You find controversialists discussing the abstract question why such and such a man was born blind, while the blind man himself was soliciting practical aid. I believe that there is a vast amount of suffering and distress which might be effectually checked by some rearrangement of our social and economic conditions. I do not think that in these matters legislation is altogether impotent. At any rate, we can see to it that legislation puts a premium upon virtue, and not upon vice. But when legislation has done its utmost, misfortune will still be with us. In the presence of these things, surrounded by them on every side, what is the Christian attitude? The attitude of the patriarch Job. Christianity is a gospel of compassion and practical help, and to be devoid of these things is to be altogether an alien from the commonwealth of Israel. This is not new. The youngest child in this assembly could tell us that Christianity without helpfulness is a great absurdity. But while we all know these things, the danger is that we have got the right ideas without the correspondingly right feelings. It is so easy to be orthodox in mind but heterodox in heart; to have Christian ideas, but non-Christian feelings. Our Christianity may be intelligent but not sympathetic. What we want is the orthodox feeling united to the orthodox thought. How is this to be attained? I do not think we shall ever have a really deep feeling for our fellow sufferers until we have deeply suffered too. You begin to pray for the sailors when your own boy is on the deep. When you have a crippled child what a heart you have for the maimed! It sometimes seems as though God cannot draw us together in common feeling without taking us through a common sorrow. There is nothing so welds hearts together. I know of nothing more pathetic in the life of Browning than the reconciliation of himself and the great actor Macready. They had been close and intimate friends, but for some trifle or other they quarrelled, and each went his own way, and for years their helpful intercourse was broken. Then came a great trouble. About the same time they lost their wives, and a little while after, as each was walking out in his loneliness in a quiet way in a London suburb, they suddenly met face to face, and Browning, with a great burst of emotion, seized his old friend's hand, and said, "Oh, Macready"; and Macready, with an aching heart, replied, "Oh, Browning." That was all they could say to each other, and in the fires of a great and common grief the two severed lives were welded again. But if we have not been deepened by suffering, we can do something to deepen ourselves. Let us get face to face with realities. First of all we can remember the old trite commonplace that "truth is stranger than fiction." We can find more pitiful things to weep over in any one street in this city than in all the works of fiction which may issue from the press in the course of the year. I don't know what Christ will have to say to people who weep over their novels, but who never weep over the great cities as He did because of their distresses and their woes.

(J. H. Jowett, M. A.)

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KJV: Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him.

WEB: Because I delivered the poor who cried, and the fatherless also, who had none to help him,