Wealth Well Willed.
It is hard to make a fortune, but it is still harder to make a wise use of the fortune; so that earnest and admiring consideration should be given to the remarkable will of John B. Pierce. Mr. Pierce made a fortune of more than five million dollars in the radiator business. In grateful recognition of the co-operation of his employees and business associates he left to more than four hundred of them, after suitable provision for his wife and relatives, shares in the business valued at a million dollars, besides annual payments for at least ten years, from the residue of the estate. Finally, a liberally endowed John B. Pierce Foundation is established, which is to promote research and education in the general field of heating, ventilation, and sanitation, for the increase of human comfort and welfare.
Thus personal and business ties are remembered, as well as the widest interests of mankind. Business conducted and riches gathered in such a spirit are a blessing to their manager and owner and a permanent enrichment of the world.
The Problem of Generosity.
I have received the following letter, which I give almost entire because it presents a difficulty that is felt by many:
"If one has a limited income, and can live comfortably with economy, and is tried by the long and severe illness of a daughter who is a chronic invalid, and has through that got heavily in debt through doctors, nurses, and hospital expenses, what proportion of the income should be given to the Lord? How much should we give to church, missionary, and charitable work, and can we keep anything for ourselves besides the actual needs of living? To pay all the debts would reduce the income so much that this would have to be the case. The debt was not incurred by extravagance, but through illness and hospital operations, and I hope by gradually paying small amounts to clear it up. In the meantime our pastor is constantly urging the claims of the church and denomination upon us. What should we do? How much should Christians spend on themselves and families; how much may we use for comforts or even luxuries, such as travel and amusements? The problem is a great distress to me.—PERPLEXED."
O, if only the right persons would worry about this matter of giving! But no; it is usually the poor widow or the aged Christian whose unnecessary anxiety is aroused by this question. The rich and prosperous, whom I should like to see struggling with the perplexity, are not worried by it at all.
But, since I am to answer this particular letter, I want to say first that money is by no means the only thing the Christian is to give, nor even the most important thing. Prayers are more important. Sympathy is more important. Good cheer is more important. Wise and kindly advice and guidance are more important. And all these can be given out of an empty purse, but with a full head and full heart.
And secondly I want to say that God counts the sincere desire to give as equivalent to the gift itself, if He has made the gift inexpedient.
And thirdly I want to recommend the exercise of cheerful Christian common sense. When you make a payment or a purchase ask yourself simply: “Is it God's will that I should do this? Is it for His glory and to please Him and not myself?" And if the answer of your conscience is in the affirmative, your conscience having been instructed in the Word and quickened by prayer, then make the payment or the purchase, and don't worry.
Live close to God—that is the secret of all wisdom and peace, in money matters as in all other matters whatever.
I am sadly conscious that this bit of comfort for those that want to give but have little or no money will be promptly accepted by those that ought not to accept it at all, those that ought to be making God a large return out of the many gifts He gives them; but such folks would find some excuse, anyway.
A Midnight Convention.
One midnight the contribution-boxes of our town held a convention in Central Church. In turn, they presented their complaints, as follows:
“I am half starved to death."
“I am poisoned with coppers."
“They give me all the bad coins in town."
“I am weighed down with silver, but no bills."
“People’s faces grow long at sight of me."
“They have adopted the envelope system, but only a third of the church have envelopes."
“I never feel prayers mingled with the money."
“They make me appear to be a beggar."
Thus spoke the representatives of the eight churches, and all the contribution-boxes testified their assent by pounding on the floor with their handles.
There was much discussion of ways and means. Finally a motion was unanimously passed petitioning that henceforth the gospel should not be free, but a systematic tax be levied on all that received its benefits.
“To whom is this petition to be presented?" asked the chairman.
There was no reply. The boxes had forgotten Who had made the gospel free.
Thereupon the meeting broke up disconsolately, and was considered an utter failure.
A Present Worth Having.
The steel magnate, Mr. H. C. Frick, once gave to the city of Pittsburg a piece of ground for a park, and the ground cost the respectable sum of half a million dollars. The occasion for the giving, which was even more notable than the gift, was this. Mr. Frick's daughter, Miss Helen Frick, made her entrance into society. At her coming-out party Mr. Frick asked her to name some present which she would like to receive from him, 'and her choice was that this park should be given to the city, and especially set apart for the delight of the children.
That is a choice as wise as Solomon's. A society career thus inaugurated should be very different from the ordinary society career, and far more blessed. Such a use of money, with the heart and the head, is the only possible justification of the enormous private fortunes that are one of the chief perplexities and perils of our day.
Contribution-Boxes and Plates.
The old-fashioned, long-handled, square, and unpadded contribution-boxes kept in the church closet were having a little conversation with the modern, padded contribution-plates.
Boxes: You must give stingily indeed nowadays. Why, in my time it took at least twice as long to take up the collection.
Plates: That is because you had only two deacons on the job, and two boxes; now we have eight deacons in all parts of the church, and eight plates.
Boxes: Our collections amounted to something, though; so heavy they made my sides ache. Yours are chiefly little paper envelopes; what do they amount to?
Plates: A lot, I tell you. You should see the checks and bills that come out of them, and all carefully thought out and promised beforehand; while your weight—honestly, now, wasn't it chiefly copper?
Boxes: Anyway, we weren't ashamed of it. Everyone gave openly, not hidden in an envelope.
Plates: One of those old-fashioned big pennies could be dropped into your boxes and make as much noise as a twenty-dollar gold piece, nor could even the deacon see which it was, if a man held his hand right.
Boxes: Well, anyway, our giving was spontaneous, and a good pleader in the pulpit could sometimes get a collection that was mostly silver.
Plates: So may our giving be as spontaneous as you please, and you will see a plenty of loose bills mixed with our envelopes. But we have decided that we'd rather have a little less spontaneity and $187.50 a Sunday than nothing but spontaneity plus a weekly offering of $18.75.
At this point the boxes drew themselves up very straight and refused to say another word.
The Hungry Contribution-Boxes.
Once upon a time the contribution-boxes held a convention to discuss their grievances. As a whole, they were threatened with starvation. Their rations had been so diminished that some of them could hardly keep breath in their bodies. Many were so emaciated and feeble that they had to be helped into the convention, and some of them actually fainted from exhaustion before they could reach their seats. On the contrary, a goodly number of the contribution-boxes appeared well nourished. They were stout and fat. They strutted confidently up the aisle, and were evidently prosperous and happy. Noting this, all the lean and hungry contribution-boxes began to inquire the reason for the marked difference; and, as is the way of human beings when they want to go to the bottom of a matter, they appointed a commission. This commission appointed committees, gave hearings, made exhaustive investigations, and at the end of six months called the contribution-boxes together again to listen to a report. The report, of course, was long, but when boiled down in the newspapers it amounted to this, that the contribution-boxes were well nourished in those churches where the people were well fed with the truth, and were starved where the people were starved. Like most reports of commissions this report ended here, without telling what could be done about it.
Thievery for Charity.
A man in New York, a gospel singer in a rescue mission, pleads guilty to stealing $1400. It was in jewelry, which he took from an apartment house. The thief enters the novel plea that he stole in order to give to the poor. In all, he stole $4000, and gave it all away except enough to pay for his own board. After the rescue-mission services he would stand in the doorway and hand coins to the men as they went out. The money he thus gave, he says, enabled them to get food and lodging. He doubtless expected his plea to be successful, but the hard hearted (or level-headed?) judge sent him to prison just the same.
Was the judge right?
He certainly was, for it is never right “to do evil that good may come." Nothing but evil does come to the malefactor or to those whom he thinks to make his beneficiaries.
The exploits of this New York mission worker are paralleled by the deeds of many a thieving millionaire who has gained a reputation as a philanthropist. He gives large sums to found a college or a museum or a library or an art-gallery, and he is hailed as a public benefactor. But the poison of its origin cleaves to his money. People do not forget that the institution he founded was built on robbery, was established on the misery of thousands. The apparent success of this iniquity, the good that seems to justify it, sends more souls on the downward path than will ever be lifted up by the supposedly beneficent institution. “Behold!" men say of the successful scoundrel, “his thievery wasn't wholly bad after all. See how much good has come from it."
No; you cannot get away from sources. Better the widow's mite, out of a pure and loving life, than the rich man's gift of millions that is born of unrighteousness. You may gild a snake all over, but a snake it will remain.
Sending Treasure Ahead.
Christ's saying that where our treasure is our heart also will be, is usually interpreted in action as meaning that we are to wait till our heart is in a good cause, and then send our treasure after it.
Christ's way, however, is to send the treasure where it ought to be, sure that the heart will not lag far behind. We are to give to missions, for instance, though we may not be interested in them, just because our mind and conscience tell us that missions are noble objects and need our money. Then, as we give often and liberally, we shall come to know more about missions, and knowledge will bring delight in them, our heart will be in them completely. If we had waited till our heart was there, neither it nor our treasure might have reached that blessed goal.
Those Noisy Contribution-Boxes.
We had in our church the old-fashioned wooden contribution-boxes. As the pennies and dimes and nickels fell into them they made such a racket that the sensitive among the brethren were disturbed in their devotions. Therefore they got a resolution passed in church meeting, and the contribution-boxes were padded with green baize.
Still, however, the pennies and dimes and nickels made a noise, though a subdued noise, and still the delicate auditory nerves of the brethren were set on edge. Therefore, another resolution was passed in the church meeting, and velvet bags were substituted for the old-fashioned wooden boxes.
Even then, however, the clink of the pennies, dimes, and nickels, as they fell against one another in the collection-bag, offended the tense nervous organization of the brethren, and they passed a resolution in church meeting and voted that there should be no more collections, but that all gifts for religious causes should be handed privately to the church treasurer.
Thereafter the services were conducted with perfect decorum, unmarred by the clash of lucre; until, that is, it was found necessary to close the church for lack of funds.
But the next year a revival struck the town, and the church was opened, and the old collection-boxes were brought out, and the lining was ripped out, and still the offerings were perfectly noiseless.
For everybody put in bills.