Female Scripture Biography, Volume II / Including an Essay on What Christianity Has Done for Women

by F. A. Cox

She was in the first place POOR--poor in the extreme; for when she cast in "two mites" it was "all her living" Poverty is helpless. It does not possess the means of alleviating its own distresses, much less of assisting others to any considerable extent. "Wealth," says Solomon, "maketh many friends, but the poor is separated from his neighbour"--separated by his neighbour's selfishness, who is too much occupied with his own concerns to cast his eyes beyond the narrow limits of personal interest--separated by his neighbour's insensibility, whose heart is often cold and motionless to pity as the stone which paves his doorway--separated by his neighbor's avarice, who idolizes gold, and grasps it with unyielding tenacity--separated by his neighbour's pride, who looks with contempt upon his unoffending inferior--separated by his neighbour's servility, who flatters greatness even by acquiescing in its unfounded dislike of the poor--ah! "the poor is separated from his neighbour!"

You plead poverty as an excuse for disregarding every claim upon you; but are you as destitute as this obscure yet excellent woman, who had but a farthing, and gave it even without solicitation? Be encouraged by recollecting who observes and who can repay you. Indeed the poor of every class were the particular objects of the Saviour's attention during his residence on earth; and he has rendered the tattered garment of poverty respectable by having worn it himself.

There is one consideration, above all others, which seems to appeal most forcibly to the inferior classes of society in behalf especially of the cause of Christ, and to urge some, even the smallest donations, to the treasurer, of the Christian temple, however incapacitated they may be for other benevolent exertions, namely, that poverty appears to be the peculiar object of divine complacency and provision. It is the common condition of the people of God, who "hath chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him." The vale of poverty seems to be the favourite walk of celestial mercy. Here she distributes her charities--here she spreads her table--here she sends her ministers of grace. It was here the Saviour "went about doing good." The discourses he delivered were adapted to the poor--he consulted their capacities, instructed their minds, felt for their circumstances, and relieved their necessities. Whom others despised he honored--whom others forsook he sought--whom others suffered without a sigh to perish, he supplied, and comforted, and saved!

The Gospel itself was expressly addressed to the poor, and is peculiarly suited to their condition; and the messengers of heaven are directed to go out into the highways and hedges to compel men to come in. The promises of Scripture are peculiarly appropriated to the necessities of the poor. They have no money; hence the blessings of the everlasting covenant are described as "wine and milk," and are to be procured "without money and without price." The poor are subject to fatigue through excess of labor; hence it is "the weary and heavy-laden," whom Christ invites to "come to him," promising them "rest." The poor, being deprived of those means of mental cultivation which the rich enjoy, are usually ignorant; hence the source of the Redeemer's grateful appeal to the Father, "Thou has hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes." The poor are the servants of others; hence we read of "the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free," and "if the Son make you free ye shall be free indeed." The felicities of the invisible state are represented in terms which form a complete contrast to the present condition of the poor. Are they now the tenants of the lowly cottage? "In my Father's house are many mansions"--"we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Must they now look on all the fields around them, and sigh to think that they belong to another?' Through the grace of the Gospel they anticipate "an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away." Are they now clothed in wretched attire?--they may expect to be adorned with "white robes" and "a crown of glory." Are they now in a state of obscurity--their names unknown--their condition mean and despised?--hereafter they shall have a "name better than of sons and daughters;" they shall "shine as the brightness of the firmament," and "as the stars, for ever and ever." Is their condition on earth eminently "the house of mourning?" Do a scanty meal, a starving family, a pining partner, a wasting disease for which poverty forbids their procuring the most skilful means, frequently excite the bitter, the burning, the unavailing tear? In heaven "the days of our mourning shall be ended," and "God himself shall wipe away all tears from our eyes."

Had this poor woman been disposed rather to have evaded the gift to the treasury than to have volunteered so large a donation as that of "all her living," the circumstance of her being A WIDOW would seem to have been a sufficient apology. No condition of life can be conceived more wretched. A widow is deprived; "of the object of tenderest regard, the soother of her cares, the defence of her weakness, and the staff of her life." She is left to bewail in solitude--to suffer alone; or, if her children surround her, by tracing in their features the resemblance of her departed husband, she perpetually opens afresh the wound that time was kindly healing, and blends her fond caresses with tears of unavailing regret. She must now support herself--and perhaps struggle to supply them, whose childhood both disqualifies them from affording any assistance, and renders the incessant vigilance of maternal care essential to their very preservation. If, in addition to this, her poverty incapacitates her for resisting the arm of oppression, or vindicating herself against the unmerited reproaches of the censorious and the impious, her situation is inconceivably deplorable. Some part of this description certainly applies, and perhaps all, to the character under consideration. She was a poor widow: and yet the miseries of her own state did not prevent her casting in a liberal supply, even "all her living," into the treasury of God. She trusted for to-morrow to that Providence which had supplied her to-day; a confidence which we cannot doubt experienced its appropriate reward.

In addition to these considerations, and as a reply to the sophisms already adverted to, by which so many in far superior circumstances to this good woman endeavour to fence themselves against the charge of illiberality, we remark--

1. It is by no means evident that you have absolutely nothing that can be applied to the purposes of a pious charity. In order to prove this, it would be requisite to show that all your labour is scarcely sufficient to procure your subsistence--a subsistence that does not require or admit the smallest redundancy or the least indulgence. You must prove that you never pamper one appetite or gratify one lust; and that, in compliance with the exhortation of Christ, you "take no thought for the morrow." This is a case of so extreme a nature that its occurrence seems a bare possibility, and will not surely exonerate those who, if they are but scantily supplied in comparison with the ample abundance which enriches the condition of others, have nevertheless the means of a sufficient and perhaps a comfortable support. From those who possess much, much is required; and of those who have little something--to prove that the spirit of benevolence is not extinct, nor the claims of humanity and religion disregarded. You may be unable to pour in gold and silver, but surely you can contribute two miles'. It is an excellent piece of advice, "If thou have but a little, be not afraid to give according to that little; for thou layest up a good treasure for thyself against the day of necessity."

2. Whatever may be our estimate of the merit or utility of a small donation, the most trifling addition is of some importance. The seed which is sown in the field of benevolence will bear some fruit and help to swell the harvest. The immeasurable extent of sand upon the sea-shore is made up of grains, and the loftiest mountains are composed of diminutive particles of dust. If the millions who are able to contribute their mites could be induced to do so, the treasury would soon be full; but if they withhold them, the uncertain, capricious, and ostentatious, though large contributions of the opulent, may fail to replenish it.

3. The habit of giving, however small the sum, is inconceivably beneficial to the contributor himself. It is an important means of cherishing in the breast that divine principle, which without exercise and use would be likely to languish: for whatever sentiments we feel, whatever theories we adopt, and in whatever eloquence of language and warmth of spirit we expatiate upon the excellences of liberality, unless we give to the necessitous ourselves, the heart will become hardened and cold; and a theoretical religion can never preserve us from a real impiety.

"The peculiar nature of our religion," observes Dr. Barrow, [[42]] "specially requires it, and the honour thereof exacts it from us; nothing better suits Christianity, nothing more graces it, than liberality; nothing is more inconsistent therewith, or more disparageth it, than being miserable and sordid. A Christian niggard is the veriest nonsense that can be; for what is a Christian? What but a man who adores God alone, who loves God above all things, who reposes all his trust and confidence in God? What is he, but one who undertaketh to imitate the most good and bountiful God; to follow, as the best pattern of his practice, the most benign and charitable JESUS, the Son of God; to obey the laws of God and his Christ, the sum and substance of which is charity; half whose religion doth consist in loving his neighbour as himself! What is he further, but one who hath renounced this world, with all the vain pomps and pleasures of it; who professes himself in disposition and affection of mind to forsake all things for Christ's sake; who pretends little to value, affect, or care for any thing under heaven, having all his main concernments and treasures--his heart, his hopes, and his happiness, in another world? Such is a Christian: and what is a niggard? All things quite contrary. One whose practice manifestly shows him another thing besides and before God; to love mammon above God, and more to confide in it than in him; one who bears small goodwill, kindness, or pity towards his brother; who is little affected or concerned with things future or celestial; whose mind and heart are rivetted to this world; whose hopes and happiness are settled here below; whose soul is deeply immersed and buried in earth; one who, according to constant habit, notoriously breaketh the two great heads of Christian duty, 'loving God with all his heart, and his neighbour as himself. It is, therefore, by comparing those things very plain, that we pretend to reconcile gross contradictions and inconsistences, if we profess ourselves to be Christians and are illiberal. It is indeed the special grace and glory of our religion, that it consisteth not in barren speculations, or empty formalities, or forward professions; not in fancying curiously, or speaking zealously, or looking demurely; but in really producing sensible fruits of goodness, in doing (as St. Paul signifies) things good and profitable, unto men."