This Man Cared
“I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there was no man that would know me: refuge failed me; no man cared for my soul” (Ps. 142:4).
It is to be feared that some Christians are idle because they have no concern for the needs of folk around them.
Over half a century ago there was a young surgeon beginning his practice in the city of London. He soon became interested in a rescue mission down in the slums, and went there after evening office hours. One night after the meeting was over, he discovered a ragged little boy lying asleep on one of the benches near the fire. The doctor gently woke him and told him it was time to go home. But the lad replied he had no home. Therefore the doctor took the lad to his own home and after they had eaten he asked: “Are there any other boys in London like yourself?”
“Lots of them,” said the boy.
“Will you show me some?” asked the doctor.
“Let’s go,” said the child. Soon after midnight they started treading their way through the streets and alleys and byways till they came to a wretched coal shed. “There’s some of ’em in there,” said the lad. The doctor entered and lit a match. Not a lad was to be seen. He thought he had been misled, but his boy-guide was not at all abashed. “Cops have been after ’em. They are up on the roof.”
So they climbed up the rickety shed to the top. There lay thirteen little homeless boys, cuddled close together on the tin roof in a vain attempt to keep warm. There in the darkness looking down at those sleeping waifs, the young doctor saw the vision of one of the greatest lives of service ever lived in this generation.
That young man was Dr. Bernardo, the founder of those homes for “nobody’s children” which at one time stretched like a line of lighthouses across the British Empire. It is said that some ten thousand British fighting men in World War I came from these homes.
Surely this is a demonstration that there is service for all who have nurtured a concern for the souls of those perishing around them.
It is to be feared that some Christians are idle because they have no concern for the needs of folk around them.
Over half a century ago there was a young surgeon beginning his practice in the city of London. He soon became interested in a rescue mission down in the slums, and went there after evening office hours. One night after the meeting was over, he discovered a ragged little boy lying asleep on one of the benches near the fire. The doctor gently woke him and told him it was time to go home. But the lad replied he had no home. Therefore the doctor took the lad to his own home and after they had eaten he asked: “Are there any other boys in London like yourself?”
“Lots of them,” said the boy.
“Will you show me some?” asked the doctor.
“Let’s go,” said the child. Soon after midnight they started treading their way through the streets and alleys and byways till they came to a wretched coal shed. “There’s some of ’em in there,” said the lad. The doctor entered and lit a match. Not a lad was to be seen. He thought he had been misled, but his boy-guide was not at all abashed. “Cops have been after ’em. They are up on the roof.”
So they climbed up the rickety shed to the top. There lay thirteen little homeless boys, cuddled close together on the tin roof in a vain attempt to keep warm. There in the darkness looking down at those sleeping waifs, the young doctor saw the vision of one of the greatest lives of service ever lived in this generation.
That young man was Dr. Bernardo, the founder of those homes for “nobody’s children” which at one time stretched like a line of lighthouses across the British Empire. It is said that some ten thousand British fighting men in World War I came from these homes.
Surely this is a demonstration that there is service for all who have nurtured a concern for the souls of those perishing around them.