The Scottish preacher John Watson, known by most under his pseudonym Ian Macleran, wrote in 1903 these powerful words, “This man beside us also has a hard fight with an unfavouring world, with strong temptations, with doubts and fears, with wounds of the past which have skinned over, but which smart when they are touched. It is a fact, however surprising. And when this occurs to us we are moved to deal kindly with him, to bid him be of good cheer, to let him understand that we are also fighting a battle; we are bound not to irritate him, nor press hardly upon him nor help his lower self.”
Over the years, this sentiment has been distilled into the timeless saying, “Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
The call to show kindness may sound simple and quaint, but that doesn’t make it less critical. In a world of power moves and selfish autonomy as the greatest good, kindness seems to be in short supply. And yet, I think this is a beautiful blessing for the Christian. A blessing to know that wherever you turn, wherever you go, there will be an absence of and, therefore, a need for kindness. All around us, everywhere we go, we are surrounded by those who are caught up in, as Watson said, “a hard fight with an unfavouring world.”
And those fights can be overwhelming. Further, what may seem small and insignificant to you is defeating to another. Things that bring you to your knees in doubt and remorse are hardly noticed by those close to you. The battles are intensely personal and complex. And maybe kindness isn’t the cure, but it may be the salve that produces hope. The hint amid the grind is that you are not alone and not forsaken.
These were my thoughts after a strange exchange the other night at a local watering hole I enjoy. Later in the evening, I walked down to the bar and figured I’d have a bourbon on the rocks before walking home. The place was pretty crowded, but I found a nice spot along the bar and settled into the usual routine. The bartender knew my order, placed a coaster before me, and prepared the drink. When she put it in front of me, she said in a hushed tone, “I don’t want to bother you, but I know that you’re a pastor, and I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favor.” With an apologetic air, she told me about a friend and regular patron who was struggling because she had to put down her beloved dog in the morning. This dog had been her companion through some tough times and a constant source of comfort and endless love that dogs seemed ready to give. And come tomorrow morning, this companion and friend would be dead. She asked me if I might go and say a prayer with her.
I had barely taken a sip of my drink and didn’t want to do any such thing in a place like this, but she pointed her out to me as she was sitting at a table with tears-stained eyes, clutching a cocktail. “I’d be happy to help if I can,” I said. And so I went over, was introduced, took her hand, and prayed that the God of heaven and earth, the one who sent his Son to die in our place, might grant her some measure of peace and assurance. These times of grief and turmoil are only temporary for those who trust in the promises of Christ.
It was odd, to be sure. She cried, thanked me, and we had a moment at the back of the bar. Then I went back to my drink. This wasn’t some good work on my part, nothing to boast of, but it was a time when I (for reasons unknown to me) chose kindness. Kindness amidst just wanting to drink my bourbon and also wanting to get through it as quickly as possible.
But then, as I was finishing, I looked over at her. She was around some friends, and they were laughing and giving condolences, and I could hear her talking about me. About the strange pastor in the bar who prayed with her about her dog.
This may be something we can learn from. Amid all the bullshit that consumes our days, there remain countless opportunities for kindness. Kindness to your spouse, kindness to friends, and kindness to strangers in a bar. It won’t fix the world, but it just might make it much more tolerable.
