Unseasonable kindness gets no thanks.

The old divine, Thomas Fuller, gave us this piercing truth: “Unseasonable kindness gets no thanks.” Though brief, the saying carries the wisdom of experience and the rhythm of the ages. It teaches us that kindness, though always noble in intent, may fail in effect if it is given at the wrong time, in the wrong way, or without heed to the season of the heart. Just as a farmer who sows seed in winter will find no harvest, so too one who offers generosity without discernment may reap no gratitude.

Kindness is not only about the act but about the moment. There are times when a gift, though valuable, may sting rather than soothe; times when advice, though wise, may wound rather than heal. To be truly kind is to understand not only what to give, but when to give. Fuller reminds us that timing is the hidden soul of charity. An unseasonable kindness may appear as intrusion, as pride, or as burden, and thus it gathers no thanks, even though the heart behind it was pure.

Consider the story of King Lear in Shakespeare’s tragedy. When he divided his kingdom, he sought declarations of love from his daughters. Cordelia, who truly loved him, refused to flatter him with empty words, and in that moment her honesty, though noble, was seen as cold. Her “kindness” was unseasonable, for it did not match the king’s frailty of spirit, and so it reaped not gratitude but banishment. Only later, when Lear’s pride was broken, did her steadfastness become clear. The lesson is plain: even truth, even love, must sometimes wait for the right season if it is to bear fruit.

History, too, bears witness. When Abraham Lincoln, in the midst of Civil War, announced amnesty to many of the Confederates, his kindness was mocked by some of his own countrymen. They called it weakness, too soon, too unseasonable. Yet Lincoln, perceiving a season beyond the present hour, persisted, and in time his mercy was recognized as wisdom. His experience shows us the fine line between unseasonable kindness that is wasted and prophetic kindness that sows seeds for a future harvest.

Thus, the wisdom of Fuller does not call us to withhold kindness, but to temper it with discernment. One must know the soil into which the seed is cast. For the proud heart, a gift may appear as insult; for the grieving heart, advice may feel like cruelty; for the hungry, a lecture on patience is no kindness at all. To be truly kind, one must listen, wait, and give in season. Kindness is not only in the hand that offers, but in the wisdom that waits for the right hour.

The lesson for us is clear: do not cease to be generous, but seek to be wise in your generosity. Ask yourself not only what is needed, but when. Do not rush to fix what must first be comforted. Do not lavish gifts where silence would heal more. Do not thrust yourself forward when the season calls for waiting. Remember always that unseasonable kindness gets no thanks, and may even turn the heart against you.

Practically, this calls for patience and attentiveness. Before acting, pause and discern: is this the right moment? Is this the right gift? Seek to understand the need before rushing to meet it. Practice the art of listening, for often the season of kindness is revealed not in your impulse but in their silence, their sorrow, their readiness. In doing so, your kindness will not be wasted, but will blossom in its proper time, bearing both fruit and gratitude.

Thus, Thomas Fuller’s words endure as a torch of wisdom: kindness, though noble, must be guided by season. For the seed cast in winter dies, but the seed cast in spring bears a harvest of thanks. Let us then be givers not only of gifts, but of wisdom, timing, and true understanding. In this way, our kindness will endure, and our love will not be wasted but will be received as blessing in its appointed hour.