What the Sun Saw by An Observer

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D.C. · Apr 28, 1904

What the Sun Saw

By An Observer

AN OBSERVER

THE car was filled with people who were on the way to attend the funeral of an old acquaintance in the country. As they left the car, they grouped together pleasantly, and quietly talked as they walked across the fields to the suburban home where, sleeping in Jesus, lay the mother in Israel whom the Lord had permitted to live nearly as long as he had “kept alive” Joshua before he entered the land of Canaan. No one was mourning, for it had been a sweet release, and the happy future was assured. “Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord.”

Men and women—young, old, and middle aged—were there; mostly the latter. They all seemed acquainted and friendly with one another,—if the Sun might judge by their smiles, and nods, and conversation.

All, did I say? All?—No, not quite all. There was one old lady who was acquainted with nearly all, if not all; she had known some of the young people in their childhood and early youth, and the rest more or less intimately for many years. With her was a sweet-faced young woman, who took tender, loving care of her. But the rest ignored her—only that, nothing more.

But why?—She was not fashionably dressed. But these were not supposed to be fashionable people; and her attire was neat and plain, nothing to be ashamed of. Moreover, they all belonged to the church of which she was a member in good standing. Of course she was poor, and earned her own living, which was very scant at times. But she did not owe a dollar—not even a cent! for she made a point of doing without whatever she could not pay for, believing that God meant what he said in Rom. 13:8.

Well, whatever the cause might be, that was “what the Sun saw.” Fortunately, she did not mind it, for her life was “hid with Christ in God;” so it did not move her, as it otherwise might have done. But the Sun saw it, also! Do you suppose that by and by He will say, “Inasmuch,” etc.

In the same town from which all these persons came lives another woman, not quite so old, but with the freshness of her youth behind her. She is also poor, and works to earn the money she spends. Like the elder woman, she has seen better days. Both were well educated and moved in good society,—the old lady, however, among the literary and religious class; the younger among the rich and fashionable.

Will you believe it if I tell you that now the woman of the world is more tenderly regarded by her associates than is the Christian? To my certain knowledge no pains is spared to keep the former from feeling that she is in any sense “a back number.” Her clothing is for the most part donated, and rarely, if ever, new; yet no notice is taken of this. Clad in the cast-off finery of her friends, she goes to parties and gatherings of all kinds, invited as a matter of course, and is treated kindly and considerately. This is certainly very much to the credit of her fashionable friends. But how about the other?