To help a friend in need is easy, but to give him your time is

The words of Charlie Chaplin—“To help a friend in need is easy, but to give him your time is not always opportune”—strike with a force that pierces the heart. For is it not true, that men will open their purse more readily than they will open their hours? Wealth can be replenished, possessions regained, but time once given is forever lost to the giver. Thus Chaplin, a man who knew both the poverty of the streets and the wealth of fame, revealed a truth that cuts across centuries: generosity of coin is simple, but generosity of time is the higher, rarer gift.

To the ancients, friendship was sacred, a bond woven not by words alone but by deeds. To offer food to the hungry or shelter to the weary was noble; yet greater still was to sit with them, to share their silence, to listen to their burdens when life pressed them down. The one act could be done swiftly and forgotten; the other demanded patience, endurance, and the willingness to set aside one’s own pursuits. In Chaplin’s words lies a quiet warning: the true measure of friendship is not in the ease of our giving, but in the sacrifice of our hours.

History itself bears witness to this truth. Consider the tale of Abraham Lincoln, who even in the most harrowing days of the Civil War, when the fate of a nation trembled on the edge of ruin, would walk to the bedside of soldiers in hospitals. He did not bring them riches, nor could he cure their wounds; but he gave them his presence, his hand, his listening ear. For the dying soldier, a few words and moments from his President meant more than gold or honors. Lincoln’s wealth was meager, but his time, scarce as it was, became the balm that comforted men facing death. Thus we see: time, more than treasure, is the currency of love.

Yet how often do we withhold it? We tell ourselves we are too busy, that the hour is ill-suited, that tomorrow we will call, tomorrow we will visit, tomorrow we will listen. And while tomorrow is promised to none, friendships grow faint, hearts grow cold, and the bonds of trust weaken. It is easy to send aid from afar, but harder to sit in the ashes with one who suffers. This is the burden and the glory of Chaplin’s words: friendship is tested not in ease, but in inconvenience.

Beloved listener, remember this: when your friend is in need, he may not hunger for bread or silver, but for your ear, your presence, your time. To give that is harder, for it interrupts the flow of our own ambitions. Yet therein lies the true gift, for when you give your time, you give a portion of your life, never to be reclaimed. What gift can be more sacred?

The lesson is plain, yet it demands courage. If you would live as one who honors friendship, then set aside the excuse of busy hours. Make time for those who call upon you. A meal shared in silence, a walk taken in conversation, a simple presence beside one who grieves—these are acts greater than coin or crown. The world teaches us to value gold, but the heart values time.

So let this wisdom be your guide: do not measure your love by what you give from your hand, but by what you give from your hours. For time is fleeting, and to bestow it willingly is to declare, “You are worth part of my life.” Do this, and you will leave behind not only friendships but legacies of love, which even death itself cannot erase. To give time is to give eternity, in the only form we mortals can shape.