Sorry, I Cannot Help You

It was the practice of Mr. Lavater to read several chapters of the Bible each morning and then select from them some particular passage upon which he might meditate during the day. One morning, after reading Matthew 5 and 6, he exclaimed, “How difficult to make a choice of any one portion here,” but asking the Lord’s guidance, he set about the day’s duties. At dinner time his wife asked him what passage he had upon his mind for the day. “Give to him that asketh of thee, and from him that would borrow from thee turn not thou away,” was the reply.

“And how is it to be understood?” asked his wife.

“Why, these are the words of Him to whom belongs all that I possess,” relayed Mr. Lavater. “I am but a steward.”

Lavater continued in his diary: This appeared to me to be so clearly the meaning, not only of this but other passages in the same chapters, that I replied with more than usual warmth. My wife made no reply other than she would lay it to heart as well. I had scarcely returned to my study after dinner when an aged widow was shown into the room. “Forgive me, my dear sir,” she said. “Excuse the liberty I am about to take; I am really ashamed, but my rent is due tomorrow, and I am six dollars short. I have been confined to my bed with sickness, and my poor child is nearly starving. Every penny that I could save I have put aside, and tomorrow is rent day.” Here she opened a parcel which she held in her hand, and said, “This is a book with a silver clasp, which my late husband gave me on the day we were married. It is all I can spare of the articles I possess, and sore it is to part with it. It is not enough, and I do not see how I can repay you, but, dear sir, if you can, do assist me.”

“I am sorry, my good woman, I cannot help you,” I said, and putting my hand in my pocket, I accidentally felt my purse, which contained about two dollars. These, I said to myself, cannot get her out of her difficulty. She needs six; besides, even if I could, I need them for another purpose. Turning to the widow, I said, “Have you no friend, no relative, who could give you this money?”

“No, not a soul, and I am ashamed to go from house to house; I would rather work day and night. The reason that I came to you was because people speak of your kindness, but if you cannot help me, please forgive my intrusion. God, who has never forsaken me, will surely not turn me away now in my sixty-sixth year.”

At this moment my wife entered the room. I was ashamed and vexed. Gladly would I have sent her away, for my conscience whispered, “Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee, turn not thou away.” My wife came up to me and said with much sweetness, “This is a good old woman, and she has certainly been ill of late; help her if you can.” Shame and compassion struggled in my darkened mind.

“I have but two dollars,” I said in a whisper, “and she needs six; I will give her a trifle and let her go.” Laying her hand on my arm and smiling in my face, my wife said aloud, “Give to him that asketh, and of him that would borrow from thee, turn not thou away.”

I blushed and with some vexation, said, “Would you give your ring for the purpose?”

“With pleasure,” she replied, pulling off her ring.

The poor widow was either too simple or too modest to notice what was going on, and she was preparing to leave when my wife told her to wait in the lobby. When we were alone, I asked my wife, “Are you in earnest about the ring?”

“Certainly,” she said, “How can you doubt it? Remember what you said at dinner time? Oh, my dear husband, let us not make a show of the gospel; you are generally so kind, so sympathizing; how is it that you now find it so difficult to help this poor woman? Why did you not give her, without hesitation, what you had in your pocket? Also, have you forgotten there are yet six dollars in the desk and that the quarter’s money will be paid to us in less than eight days?” She then added with much feeling, “Take no thought for your life—your heavenly Father knoweth.”

I kissed my wife while tears ran down my cheeks. “Thanks, a thousand thanks, for this,” I said, and turning to my desk, I took out the six dollars and opened the door to call the poor widow. Everything seemed to darken around me as I thought I had been so wrong and forgetful of the omniscience of God as to say to her, “I cannot help you.” Oh, thou false tongue, thou false heart. If the Lord should mark iniquities such as these, O Lord, who shall stand? “Here is what you need,” I said to the woman. At first she seemed not to understand, and thought I was giving her a small sum, for which she thanked me and pressed my hand.

When she saw, however, that I had given her the full amount, she could not find words to express her feelings. “Dear sir,” she said, “I cannot pay you back; all I have is this little book, and it is old.”

“Please keep your book and the money, too,” I replied, “and thank God, not me, for I deserve no thanks after having refused you in the first place. Go in peace and forgive an erring brother.”

I returned to my wife with downcast looks, but she smiled and said, “Do not take it too much to heart. You yielded to my first suggestion, but promise me so long as I wear a gold ring on my finger (and you know I have several besides) you will never allow yourself to say to a person in similar circumstances, ‘I cannot help you.’ I do not of course include idlers and those who prefer to live by begging.” Saying this, she fondly kissed me again and left me to myself, whereupon I at once sat down and wrote this account in my diary to humble my deceitful heart. I then read over the chapter which I had read in the morning, alas, with too little effect and felt more and more ashamed and convinced that there is no peace of heart where principle and practice differ. Dear Lord, send Thy Holy Spirit into this poor heart of mine, “Cleanse Thou me from secret faults.”

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