After Queen Victoria’s death, a touching story was told. She visited wounded soldiers from South Africa and was moved by the suffering of one man. “Is there nothing I can do for you?” she asked. “Nothing, your Majesty,” he replied, “unless you would thank my nurse for her great kindness to me.” With tears in her eyes, the Queen turned to the nurse and said, “I do thank you with all my heart, for your kindness to this poor wounded son of mine.”
The soldier’s selfless thought for his nurse was beautiful. His gratitude sought honor not for himself, but for the one who comforted him. There is a rare charm in such self-forgetfulness — thinking only of others. Some people live entirely for the good of those around them: mothers who sacrifice endlessly, or quiet family members who give without asking anything in return. Outside the home, too, are those who live simply to comfort others.
There is no higher purpose than being a blessing in one’s own place. Many young people dream of doing great things, yet true heroism often goes unrecognized. A soldier may return from war to fame, while his brother, who stayed home caring for their mother, remains unseen — yet both are heroes in God’s eyes.
It’s not just what we do, but what we are, that makes a lasting difference. Some people are active and helpful, yet not comforting. Their pride or lack of gentleness keeps others at a distance. One man said of another, “He’s good and always offers help — but I could never go to him with sorrow.” There’s something in certain people’s religion that lacks tenderness. If we are to be a comfort, our lives must radiate love. A mother once said of her daughter, “She makes a beautiful climate for me.” That is what we should strive to create for others.
Paul, in one of his letters, speaks of certain friends who were “a comfort unto me.” He was in prison, and these friends cheered and strengthened him. He mentions Aristarchus, “my fellow-prisoner,” who perhaps chose to stay with Paul in his suffering — like a true friend, the kind who comes in when the world walks out.
Another was Mark. Years earlier, Mark had failed Paul, who would no longer work with him. But in time, Mark regained his confidence and affection — a reminder that even broken relationships can be restored. Paul also names “Jesus who is called Justus.” Nothing is said of what he did, but his presence, kindness, and friendship were evidently enough. Simply being there can be a profound comfort.
The word comfort comes from a root meaning “to strengthen.” It suggests more than sympathy — it suggests making someone braver, helping them endure. Paul’s friends didn’t remove his burdens, but helped him bear them with strength.
Paul himself was a great comfort to others. His presence, his friendship, and his example brought joy and inspiration. One man said of Phillips Brooks, “We didn’t know how much of God was walking with us.” Just so with Paul — those who knew him likely did not realize how deeply his life reflected God’s love.
In his famous chapter on love, Paul wrote, “Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.” This wasn’t just poetry — it was how he lived. If we truly lived this kind of love, we would be an endless comfort to those around us.
Some have love in their hearts but lack lovingness in manner or speech. Paul emphasizes not just kind hearts, but gracious behavior. We often condemn lying, but forget that rudeness, thoughtlessness, or a harsh tone are also sins. Religion should be beautiful and pleasant. We should aim to make our homes, churches, and workplaces gentler, more gracious places.
A boy once said of his sister, “She may enjoy her religion — but nobody else in the house does!” Sadly, many are like this — their religion is joyless, critical, or demanding. A faith that isn’t pleasant to live with is missing something essential.
One observer said, “Many a sister spoils her testimony in the church — by her tongue in the kitchen.” Another said, “Some people lead us heavenward — but stick pins in us all the way.” Real goodness must also be gentle. We may fulfill every duty, yet if we are not pleasant to live with, we fall short of Christlike love.
“Being pleasant to live with” is a final test of true Christian character. A loving, comforting presence is as much a gift as faithful deeds. The truly spiritual life blesses every space it touches.
Paul’s question remains for us: Are we a comfort to others? Do we bring peace to our families, kindness to our neighbors, and warmth to those around us? Christ never gave pain; even on the cross, he prayed for his enemies. To follow him is to live with such grace that we are a comfort not only to people — but to God.
J. R. Miller (1840-1912) was a pastor and former editorial superintendent of the Presbyterian Board of Publication from 1880 to 1911. His works are now in the public domain. This is an edited version of his original.
