p. 749 | None of My Business

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 11, 1884

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 10, No. 47.

"None of My Business."

In a flourishing inland city, there is a large and wealthy church; it matters not of what denomination. The clergyman in charge teaches his people to love God and their neighbors, and the people have, apparently, endeavored to learn the lesson. They are generous in their gifts to church work, to the poor, and to charitable organizations. It is a congregation, too, in which there is much refinement of taste, culture, and kindly feeling, and hence but little gossip.

A few months ago a young lad came to this city from the country, and found employment in a flour-and-feed store. He had no friends, had brought no letters of introduction. His first week in town was lonely enough. He worked all day, slept and ate in a cheap boarding-house with twenty other lads, all "a little fast."

When Sunday came, in accordance with a promise to his mother, he went to church—his heart full of homesickness—remembering, with a thrill of pleasure, the pretty little village chapel where all the friends and neighbors worshiped, side by side, and the cordial greeting among them when service was over.

Doubtless it would be the same in the city church. The people of God were alike everywhere. Somebody would notice the poor, strange lad, and would hold out a friendly hand to him, possibly ask him to his house, and make life seem a little less bare, and duty easier.

He went, but nobody seemed to see him at all, though the crowds of well-dressed people, when service was over, smiled and spoke to each other as they passed from the doors of the sanctuary.

He was a stranger in a strange land, and felt it more bitterly in this house of God than in his boarding-house. Among the crowd were kind, fatherly old men, sweet-faced matrons, with sons of their own. He watched them eagerly, but they brushed past him in silence.

Nobody even asked him to come again. But he did go again, occupying the same seat during the winter. Some of the members of the church noticed him at last, and asked who he was. One even said, "Somebody should ask him to join a church society," but added to himself, "Brother A— will see to it. It's none of my business." Brother A— had the same vague idea, but left it to Brother D—, it being none of his business.

The lad, finding no welcome in the church, made acquaintance with the boys in his boarding-house, went with them on Sunday to the park, to a boat-race, and at last to a dog-fight. In the fall, one Sunday, a group of drunken young men gathered in front of the church; among them was our country lad, his face pale, his eyes dull from the effects of liquor, his steps unsteady.

"Is not that the young man who used to sit next to us?" said one lady. "Poor fellow! he's on the downward road! If somebody would speak to him, even now, it might do some good."

She hesitated. The boy looked at her wistfully, thinking she was a little like his mother. But she hurried into church, thinking that really it was none of her business after all.

What should be the motto written over the altars of such churches—the words of Jesus, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself?" or the words of Cain, "Am I my brother's keeper?" —Youth's Companion.