1730. A Cure For Unsavoury Foods: or, Salt For The White Of An Egg

No. 1730-29:385. A Sermon Delivered On Thursday Evening, July 5, 1883, By C. H. Spurgeon, At The Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington.

Can what is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg? {Job 6:6}

1. This is a question which Job asked his friends, who turned out to be so unfriendly. So he battles with those “miserable comforters” who inflamed his wounds by pouring in verjuice {a} and vinegar instead of oil and wine. The first of them had just opened fire upon him, and Job by this question was firing a return shot. He wanted the three stern watchers to understand that he did not complain for nothing. If he had spoken bitterly, it was because he suffered grievously. He was in great bodily pain; he was enduring great mental depression; and at the same time he had been struck with poverty and bereavement; he had, therefore, reason for his sorrow. He had no comforts left, and every arrow of grief was sticking in his flesh: if he did groan, he had something to groan about. His were not sorrows which he had imagined; they were real and true, and hence he asks this question first, “Does the wild donkey bray when he has grass? or does the ox low over his fodder?” If these creatures lift up their notes of complaint, it happens when they are starving. When the wild donkey cannot find a mouthful of grass anywhere, then his complaint is heard far and near. When the ox at the stall has no fodder — when he is fastened there, and no farmer brings him provision — then he lows, and there is good reason for his bellowing. Job seems to say, “I do not complain for nothing. If I still enjoyed my former comforts, or even a tithe of them, you would hear no voice of murmuring from me. But I am tried to the utmost. I am grievously afflicted, and there is more than enough reason for my moanings.” He had lost all desire to breathe; the zest for life was gone; no joy remained to make existence worth the having. He was like one who finds no flavour in his food, and loathes the morsel which he swallows. What was left to him was tasteless as the white of an egg; it yielded him no kind of comfort; in fact, it was disgusting to him. He was fed, he says, upon food which yielded him no solace. “The things that my soul refused to touch are as my sorrowful food.” Therefore, he virtually asks his friends, “How can you expect me to eat such food as this without sighs and tears? Can what is unsavoury be eaten without salt? Is there any taste in the white of an egg?” He means that everything about him had lost its flavour, and life had become dull and dreary for him, and therefore they must not wonder that he uttered words of complaint.

2. The speech, also, to which Job had listened from Eliphaz the Temanite did not put much sweetness into his mouth; for it was devoid of sympathy and consolation. If you read it at home you will see that it was worthy to be the first of an exceptional selection of galling utterances. Job, we must admit, was sufficiently acid himself, and abundantly sarcastic; but his friends produced the irritation, and took care always to repay him double for all his wormwood. For every harsh speech of his they returned compound interest. They grieved and vexed his upright soul until he said no more than the truth when he cried, “Miserable comforters are you all.” Here he tells them that Eliphaz had administered to him unsavoury food without salt; — mere whites of eggs, without taste. Not a word of love, pity, or fellow-feeling had the Temanite uttered. He had spoken as harshly and severely as if he were a judge addressing a criminal who was suffering no more than he deserved. Looking at the speech, and looking at all his surroundings, poor Job feels that he has very unsavoury food to eat, and he asks them whether they expect him to eat it without salt. They have given him something that is no more gratifying to him than the white of an egg, and he enquires if they really think that he can accept this from their hands, and thank them for their treatment.

3. We may now forget the much tortured patriarch Job, and apply this text to ourselves. “Can what is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg?” Three thoughts arise out of it.

4. I. The first point will be this that A LACK OF SAVOUR IS A VERY GREAT LACK in anything that is meant for food.

5. I am not going to deliver a cookery lecture, and so I shall not enlarge upon the passage so far as it refers to the bread upon our table, or the food which we eat and drink. Everyone knows that all kinds of animal life delight in food that has a flavour in it; and even “dumb, driven cattle” will turn away from dry, flavourless food, and will go a long way to find something that has a juice and a taste in it which suits the palate which God has created in them. It is exactly the same with regard to the food of our souls. It is a very great fault with a sermon when there is no savour in it. It is a killing fault to the people of God when a book contains a good deal of what may be true, but yet lacks holy savour — or what, in other words, we call “unction.” Someone says, “Tell us what unction is.” I can much more easily tell you what it is not. You know a discourse when there is savour in it; and you also know when a sermon is dry, sapless, marrowless; and yet you could not state the difference in words. Some sermons could not even be suspected of anything like unction, their authors would sneer at you if you accused them of it; but salt is still to be had; the fat things, full of marrow, are not sold out in the market yet. But what kind of savour is what we expect in a sermon?

6. I answer, first, it is a savour of the Lord Jesus Christ. Years ago, before ministers grew so wise as to question the inspiration of Scripture, and renounce the doctrine of atonement, there used to be men in the country whose ministry was full of savour for the people of God. There were numbers of Christians in London who would go to the north, or go to the south, or go to the east, or go to the west to hear such preachers, and consider it a great feast to listen to them. What was there about them? Were they great critics? I do not suppose that the good men ever read a work on criticism. Were they profoundly learned? Assuredly they were not. Profoundly learned brethren were preaching in churches and chapels where there were more spiders than people. Those who displayed their learning and rhetoric had empty places, but these men were followed by multitudes, and wherever they spoke the places were too small for them. Those who did not know the reason said to each other, “What is there about these men? We do not see any particular talent.” And there was not much. “We do not see any profound learning.” And there was none to see. “We do not hear anything of advanced thought and liberal ideas.” No, these good men were innocent of these modern diseases. Yet there are people of God tonight, now grey-headed, who remember the happy hours they spent, and the joyful seasons they knew while hearing these men, and how they journeyed home perhaps seven or eight or ten miles from such a sermon, and only wished they could go again the next night, when their labour was done, to be fed again. What was it that made this preaching so attractive, so edifying? What drew the Lord’s people so far? What evoked such enthusiasm? Why, it was that the preacher spoke of his Lord, and never wandered from the cross. When we were children we learned Dr. Watts’s catechism of the Bible; and I remember one question — “Who was Isaiah?” and the answer was, “He was that prophet who spoke more about Jesus Christ than all the rest.” Who were these men, then, who were followed by God’s people so earnestly? They were men who spoke more about Jesus Christ than all the rest. You have read Dr. Hawker’s “Morning and Evening Portions,” perhaps? I do not suppose that you have learned much of fresh exposition from them, or that you have been struck with any great originality of idea in them; but if you have read them profitably you have said to yourself, “Well, this one point there is in Hawker, his subject is Christ on the first of January, Christ on the last of December, and Christ all the other days of the year.” He speaks of nothing else but Christ. He seems to bring out the Lord Jesus in his portions every day as a matter of course, just as your maid always puts the bread on the table, whatever else she does not place there. So it was with Hawker and men like him, Christ crucified, was their all in all. Their dear Lord and Master was never long absent from their discoursing. If they preached doctrine, it was “the truth as it is in Jesus.” If they preached experience, it was “to know him and the fellowship of his sufferings.” And if they went into practice, as they did, their idea of holiness was to be made like Jesus and to follow him outside the camp, bearing his reproach. Now, I do not believe a sermon can have savour in it unless it has Christ in it, for he has the savour of all good ointments, and there is no sweetness without him. What shall we say of him? “Your name is as ointment poured out; therefore the virgins love you.” His name is so fragrant that it perfumes heaven itself: Jehovah smells a savour of rest in the name, and person, and work of his well-beloved Son. Therefore an essential to savoury food is that it shall have Christ in it. He has said, “My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed,” and there is no meat and no drink that has such savour in it as this. Oh, that we might hear more of a crucified Christ in all our places of assembly!

7. The next necessity to secure savour is a devout spirit in the preacher — a savour of devotion. I am trying to explain savour by not attempting a definition, but by noticing its accompaniments. Why, those men who have now gone to heaven, whom you used to hear, seemed to be praying while they preached: their sermons were devotions as well as discourses; their rhetoric was rapture, their oratory was emotion. Their preaching came from the heart; but it came also from “the deep that lies under,” that secret reservoir of everlasting truth which is opened up by the Spirit to those who know the Lord, and to no one else. They could say, “All my fresh springs are in you”; they drew up the truth which they preached out of this deep, out of the very heart of God. They preached the gospel of grace us men who knew it, loved it, lived on it. It was no irksome task for them to speak of Christ, and grace, and pardon, and covenant faithfulness. You could not always see traces of elaboration or even of preparation about their utterances; but you could see something better — the sparkling salt of grace. If the midnight oil had not smeared their sermons, the unction of the Spirit had anointed them. Their heart was inditing a good matter, for they spoke the things which they had made touching the King. They spoke with such cheerfulness and reverence that it was good to hear them. They spoke with profound belief that what they said was infallibly true, for had they not received it fresh from the Spirit of God? Coming from their heart, it went to your heart, and by their believing faith you were helped to believe it joyfully. It is a bad sign when the teacher of truth does not believe it himself; for thus he becomes a virtual spreader of error. David said, “I believed: therefore I have spoken.” Do you not believe, brother? Then go home and be quiet until you do. At least, do not come into the pulpit until you know what your Lord would have you say. Woe to the man who lets the smoke of wet wood come from off his hearth and blow into poor seekers’ eyes. We need live coals from off the altar, and the less smoke of doubt the better. Where a man has evidently been with God to learn the truth, and has been baptized into the everlasting spirit of that truth, and therefore speaks what he knows and testifies to what he has seen in the fear of the living God, there is a savour about his witness, and the saints discern it gladly. This holy savour cannot be imitated or borrowed; it must come from personal assurance. It is a holy thing, and its composition is known only to the great Giver of all spiritual gifts, the Lord himself. It is a holy anointing oil, which does not come on man’s flesh, and is far removed from all carnality. It never comes on any man unless as it descends from him who is “the Head,” and so drops even to the skirts of his garments. From Christ alone the true anointing comes, and blessed is he who is made partaker with him.

8. Very well, then, just as food without savour is an evil and undesirable kind of food, so is all Christian teaching unacceptable if it lacks the savour of Christ and of devotion.

9. Another matter goes to make up sweet savour in a discourse, and that is, a savour of experience. You used to delight in those men because they had tasted and tested the doctrines which they preached. The younger brethren were somewhat at a discount, because you said, “That good brother speaks fluently, but he cannot have experienced so much as the man of God under whom I have now sat for many years.” You prefer to have the truth spoken to you by one who has felt for himself the renewing, upholding, and comforting power of divine grace; and I cannot blame you for your liking. If the preacher has done business on great waters, in deep soul-trouble, or personal affliction, so much the better for you. If he is one who loves much because much has been forgiven him, so much the better for you. If he is a man conscious of his own infirmity and weakness, who speaks humbly concerning himself as out of the very dust, though he speaks confidently the word from heaven, so much the better for you. Such experience puts a kind of spice into the food which he presents to you. It is so in all our communications to each other. We do not speak with certainty of edification unless we speak of what we have enjoyed ourselves. I have been greatly blessed by hearing an aged blind man stand up and tell about the faithfulness of God to him. I have been much encouraged at times by hearing a poor but gracious woman near to the gates of death telling with tears in her eyes about the goodness of the Lord to her. Testimonies from such people have weight in them. These people do not play at religion. Poor and tried people, people with aches and pains, people who have none of this world’s comforts, people on the borders of the grave, tell us about the great Father’s love, and when they do so there is great force of conviction in their testimony. We attach weight to every word they say because their experience is taken into consideration. I never heard a man who spoke more to my soul than dear Mr. George Müller. The sermon that I heard from him was like an address to a Sunday School, it was so simple and unadorned; but then there was the man behind it — that simple-hearted child of God, who has believed the promises, and has gone on doing wonders such as astonish all beholders. That man has no more doubt about God’s answering his prayers than he has about two times two making four — why should he have? He acts out the truth which he has received — why should he not? Entertaining no modern questions and no ancient questions either, he triumphs by knowing the truth and living the truth, and rejoicing in the truth. Such a man is a pattern and example for us all, and there is a precious savour in what he utters, because he speaks from experience concerning the truths which he has carried out in his own life.

10. So three things help to make up savour in sermons — Christ as the doctrine, devotion as the spirit, and experience as adding weight to testimony.

11. But these three things are not everything. There is a sacred something: it is not nameless, for I will name it eventually: it is a heavenly influence which comes into man, but which has no name among the things that belong to men. This sacred influence pervades the speaker, flavouring his subject matter, and governing his spirit, while at the same time it rests upon the hearer so that he finds his mind awake, his faculties attentive, his heart stirred. Under this mysterious influence the hearer’s spirit is in a receptive condition, and as he hears the truth it sinks into his soul as snowflakes drop into the sea. He finds himself warmed, and cheered, and comforted, and stirred up, as fainting men are accustomed to be when refreshed after a long fast. Now, what is this? Where does this savour come from? In a word, it comes from the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit bears witness with the word upon the quickened heart and conscience of the people of God, and that word becomes life, light, and power to them.

12. All this we greatly need; and if we do not have it, what shall we do? I have often trembled as I have come to preach here lest I should have to speak among you without the help of the divine Spirit. It would be much better to be silent. I could almost wish that we had the liberty of our Quaker friends just to sit still until we feel that we are moved to speak; for sometimes we might do better to wait without a spoken word for the hour and a half rather than for one of us to talk without the guidance of the Spirit of God. Pray much, beloved, that there may be a great deal of dew around — so that heavenly showers may fall on us and on all the churches of God. Let our belief in the Holy Spirit never become a mere compliment which we feel bound to pay to him; but in deep and reverent sincerity may we admit that he is the great worker in the church — the real actor and doer of the wondrous works of quickening, saving, and comforting. Let us wait upon him with lowly spirits, feeling that we can do nothing without him, but that if he is with us then all is well.

13. Take away from any preaching or any teaching Christ as the subject, devotion as the spirit, experience as the strength of testimony, and the Holy Spirit as being all in all, and you have removed all the savour; and what is left? What can we do with a savourless gospel? “Can what is unsavoury be eaten without salt? Is there any taste in the white of an egg?” They said of a brother the other day, that he liked savoury doctrine. “He had a sweet tooth,” they said. It was said in scorn; but if there is anything to be scoffed at in that matter I desire to be a partaker in the reproach, for I have a sweet tooth myself. I like such books as have savour in them; and I protest to you that whatever scorn it brings upon me, that the majority of modern books seem to me to be fit for nothing but to be burned. The old theology has the sweetness and the savour in it which the people of God delight in, and I for one intend to stick to it; for I cannot eat the white of your eggs; I cannot endure your unsavoury food. I must hear of the electing love and covenant purpose of the Father — this is savoury food such as my soul loves. I must have teaching full of Christ and the doctrines of grace and the Holy Spirit, or my soul will die of famine. This is my first point.

14. II. Our second remark is this. I find a rendering given to the text, which, if it is not absolutely accurate, nevertheless states an important truth, namely, that WHAT IS UNSAVOURY FROM LACK OF SALT MUST NOT BE EATEN. I shall only mention this second point as a note of caution. A word to the wise suffices.

15. There is a great deal in this world which is unsavoury for lack of salt: I mean in common conversation. Alas, it is easy to meet people — and even people wearing the Christian name — whose conversation has not a particle of salt in it. Nothing that tends to edification is spoken by them. Their talk has an abundance of gaiety, but no grace in it. They exhibit any amount of frivolity, but no godliness. In other conversation there is information weighty and solid upon common matters; but there is a lack of that spirit which God’s people desire to live in, for the Lord Jesus is forgotten. Someone said to me the other day, “When we were young people, we knew many good old folk who used to meet together and talk about the Lord Jesus Christ by the hour, and we used to sit and wonder whether we should ever join in such talk as that. But where do you hear it now?” So I said to him, “I hope that we can hear it in a great many places.” “Ah,” he said, “I do not find it. I find that the ordinary talk among professors does not have much in it for the helping of souls onward towards heaven.” I do not profess to form a judgment on this matter, but I will say this — that it is a great pity if holy conversation is a scarce commodity; and it is good for you and me to get away from that conversation which does not profit us. If there is no salt in conversation, it will be unsavoury for a true Christian spirit, and the less he has of it the better.

16. Again, there is some talk in the world — I hope not among professors — which has no salt in it even of common morality; and consequently it corrupts, and becomes impure and obnoxious. Old Trapp says, somewhat roughly, that it is full of maggots, and that is perhaps what Job meant. That is to say, many people use coarse allusions, and evil suggestions: plug your ears to such things. Things are often said which sparkle, but the flash is born from decay. The wit which owes its pungency to sin is of the devil. The brilliance which comes from corruption is not for holy eyes. Oh, child of God, never tolerate it in your company! If it is not in your power to stop foul conversation, remove yourself out of their reach. It is not for us to associate with those whose lips are cankered with lascivious words. We have enough within these gunpowder hearts to make us afraid to go near the forge when the sparks are flying around. Let us keep ourselves from ever permitting corrupt communication to proceed out of our own lips: that would be horrible indeed. Let us avoid all company in which the purity of a renewed heart would be in danger of being tainted. Yet I fear that in our daily vocations we shall have grave cause to watch against the things which are unsavoury and corrupt, for the preserving salt is not so abundantly used in these days as it ought to be.

17. Now, the same thing is true, not only of common conversation, but of a great deal of modern teaching. Have nothing to do with teaching that is tainted with heresy, brethren. If a man’s discoursing does not have salt enough in it to keep false doctrine out of it, it is not the kind of food for you. Clean provender is not so scarce that you need to eat carrion. Some like their meat rather high, and there are hearers who are inclined to a preacher who has a whiff of heresy about him; but, as for us, our taste conducts us where salt is found. Where grace is lacking we are not eager to be feeding. The banquets of truth need not be supplemented by the tables of error.

18. But I shall not dwell upon this, because I require all my time for the third point.

19. III. The third point is, that THERE ARE CERTAIN THINGS IN THE WORLD WHICH NEED SOMETHING ELSE WITH THEM. “Can what is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg?”

20. There are many things in this world which we cannot tolerate by themselves: they need seasoning with them. One of the first of these may teach us a lesson of prudence; that is, reproof. It is a Christian duty to reprove a brother who is in a fault, and we should speak to him with all gentleness and quietness, so that we may prevent his going further into evil, and lead him back to the right way. But will you please remember, brothers and sisters, that the giving of reproofs is dainty work, and needs a delicate hand. It was said of good Andrew Fuller that frequently he gave a rebuke so severely that it reminded you of one who saw a fly upon his brother’s forehead, and seized a sledge hammer to knock it off. It is the habit of some brethren to do everything forcibly; but in this case one needs more love than vigour, more prudence than warmth, more grace than energy. Some people have a very keen eye for the faults of others, and they have a quick tongue to comment upon them when they perceive them; to all which they add a tendency to exaggerate the importance of the fault. Now, these brethren always reprove in a wrong way. Listen. One of them cries, — “Come here, brother! Come here. Let me take that beam out of your eye.” The aforesaid “beam” is really only a mote; and the brother who is addressed becomes indignant at such injustice, and will not have his eye touched at all. Why destroy your own influence by such foolishness? If the mote can be removed, well and good; but if you will ruin the eye in the process, would it not be better to leave it alone? We have known people who, to spread truth, have killed love, which is truth’s life. They wish to set a brother right in doctrine, and, in order that his sight may be clearer, they knock his eye out, and call it “controversy.” It is one thing to be “valiant for the truth,” and quite another thing to be bitter for your own opinion. Rebuke, however kindly you put it, and however prudently you administer it, will always be an unsavoury thing: therefore, salt it well. Think it over. Pray it over. Mix kindness with it. Rub the salt of brotherly love into it. Speak with much deference to your erring friend, and use much tenderness, because you are not faultless yourself. Speak acknowledging all the excellencies and virtues of your brother which may, after all, be greater than your own; and try, if you can, to wrap up what you have to say in gentle words of praise for something else in which the friend excels. Express the rebuke in one of your Master’s sentences, if you can find one that will exactly fit. Give your patient the sugar-coated pill with gentleness; it will be received all the more willingly and have none the less efficacy. If you speak unkindly, the reproved one may turn around upon you in anger, and if you ask him why he is angry, he may answer, “Can what is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg?” Do not expect your neighbour to eat your eggs without salt. Do not expect him to receive your words of rebuke without the true kindliness of voice and spirit which will act as salt. Do not be silent about sin, but do not be harsh in your rebuke of it. Savour your admonitions with affection, and may the Lord make them acceptable to those who need them.

21. Now for other matters which many people do not like by themselves; I mean, the doctrines of the gospel. The true doctrines of the gospel never were popular, and never will be; but there is no need for any of us to make them more distasteful than they naturally are. The human heart especially revolts at the sovereignty of divine grace. Man is a king, so he thinks, and when he hears about another king he immediately grows rebellious. Man would have God bound hand and foot to give his mercy as man likes; and when the Lord defies the bond and declares, “I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion,” man burns with anger. When the Lord says, “It is not of him who wills or of him who runs, but of God who shows mercy,” man is up in arms. He will not tolerate the divine prerogative. It becomes us who preach this doctrine to take care that we do not add needless offensiveness to it. Not one of the doctrines of grace is palatable to man naturally. He does not like the truth of total depravity. Over that he grows extremely angry. He calls it a libel upon the nobility of human nature. I have often read of human nature as a noble thing; but I am sorry to say that I have never seen it in that aspect. I am told that our fallen nature is sublime, and that we defame mankind when we speak of them as altogether fallen and say, “There is no one who does good, no, not one.” It is little wonder that this is unsavoury to carnal pride. As for the doctrine of justification by faith alone, Mrs. Too-Good stamps her foot at such teaching — is she to be none the better for all her good works? Mr. Good-Enough gnashes his teeth at the idea that human merits cannot save. He cannot endure to hear that we must be saved by faith in Jesus Christ, and that the most moral and excellent need Christ quite as much as the most depraved and abandoned. Carnal minds have no taste for the gospel: they rave against the system of theology that glorifies God. Man wants to be the great Man, and he would have God to be the little god, and then he will be satisfied; but if God is set on high as filling all in all, then immediately many are offended.

22. Brothers and sisters, since we want people to receive these doctrines, what must we do? We must mix an abundance of salt with them. If the gospel is distasteful we must add a flavouring to it. What shall it be? We cannot do better than flavour it with holiness! Where there is a holy life men cannot easily doubt the principles out of which it springs. If it is so that men and women are kindly, generous, tender, affectionate, upright, truthful, Christ-like, because of the doctrines they hold, then the world begins to think that there must be truth in those doctrines. The evangelical school must always draw its strongest arguments first from the gospel, and next from the lives of its believers; and if we cannot point to those who profess this faith as being famous for holiness, what will the world say? In former ages holy living has been our battle-axe and weapons of war. Look at the Puritan age. To this day it is the stumbling-block of infidelity. In these times it is very common to laugh at the Puritans, and to say that their faith is worn out, and that we have gone beyond their teaching; and yet the very same men who say this cannot read Carlyle’s writings without marvelling at Oliver Cromwell, and the great men who trooped around him. Do they never say to themselves, “Upon what food did these men feed that they have grown so great?” They cannot turn to the lives of the Puritans without reading how they saturated all England with godliness, until as you passed down Cheapside in the morning you would have noticed that there was scarcely a single house in which the blinds were not drawn down because the inhabitants were at family prayer. The whole land felt the force of truth and righteousness through these men — these poor, benighted, foolish Puritans, whom our boys fresh from college call by bad names. In their contests for truth the Puritans were as mighty as Cromwell’s Ironsides in the days of battle, when they drove the foe before them like chaff before the wind. Then there followed an age of drivelling, in which our Nonconformity existed, but gradually dwindled down, first into Arminianism, and then into Unitarianism, until it almost ceased to be. Men know that it was so, and yet they would do it all over again. They read history, and yet demand that the old doctrine should again be given up, and the experiment be tried again of starving our churches with human philosophies. Oh, fools, and slow of heart! Will not history teach them? No, it will not if the Bible does not. If they do not hear Christ and his apostles, neither will they believe even though another Unitarian spirit should pass before their eye. Surely evil days are near, unless the church shall again clasp the truth to her heart.

23. But I diverge. The point I had in hand was this — that in the case of the Puritans their doctrines were rendered respectable and forceful by their glorious lives; and it must be so now. Holy living must salt our doctrines. We must be like Christ so that men may believe what we have to say about Christ.

24. Now, a third egg which cannot be eaten without salt is affliction. Afflictions are very unsavoury things. I think I hear one say, “I should not mind any affliction except the one which now oppresses me.” Brother, you speak as other foolish brethren have done before you. This has been my language in my turn. Someone sitting next to you would not mind your affliction at all; at least, he thinks so; it is his own cross which is so galling. The loads borne by people in that street have no great weight for you; but if you had to carry a sack of flour yourself, the sack would prove very heavy. We all know the weight of our own burden, but we underestimate that of others. People in trouble know where their own shoe pinches; yet other people’s shoes pinch too, and other people’s crosses are weighty. “No affliction for the present seems to be joyful, but grievous.” Afflictions are unsavoury food. What is to be done with them, then? Why, let us salt them, if we can. Salt your affliction with patience, and it will make a royal dish. By grace, like the apostle, we shall “glory in tribulations also.” Look at those who endure constant infirmities. Do you know any? I do. A dear sister has been blind for many years, and yet I do not know a happier woman than she is. She has more visions of joy than most of us, though her eyes are closed to the light of the sun. I know a brother in the ministry who has lost his sight almost entirely; but he preaches more sweetly than he ever did; he has become a seer in our Israel, enjoying a depth of insight into truth which few possess. Truly the lame take the prey! Some who are deaf hear the voice of their Master better than others. And so infirmities become things to glory in, since Christ’s power rests upon us all the better.

25. It is so when the Lord gives grace to the poor man and he becomes contented with his lot. Does he not have far greater joy than the rich man who still craves for more? Many of God’s poor prisoners in the martyr days were happier in prison than they ever were outside of it: in the days of the Covenanters, when they worshipped God on the bleak hill or by the moss side, the Lord was especially near to them. When those times had passed away, and they went to church decorously, and sat with the congregation undisturbed, they said, “Ah, man, the Lord was not here today as he was out on the slope and on the hill-side.” The Master was transfigured before his disciples among the mists of the glens. Then he wore no veil over his face, but he revealed himself so clearly that the sanctuary among the hills was none other than the house of God and the very gate of heaven. The Lord salted their afflictions with his presence, and with the abundant power of the Holy Spirit, and so they enjoyed a sweet savour in them. It is even so with you and me.

   I can do all things, or can bear
   All sufferings, if my Lord be there:
   Sweet pleasures mingle with the pains,
   While his left hand my head sustains.

26. There now, brother, do not go on eating that egg without salt; no longer say to yourself, “Here is nothing but the white, with no taste in it. I cannot bear to eat such loathsome food.” Put the salt in, brother: put the salt in, sister. Have you been forgetting that salt? Have you failed to ask for grace from the Lord equal to your day? — grace to see that “all things work together for good to those who love God?” Do not be forgetful any longer, but throw in a pinch of salt; then the tasteless thing will go down comfortably enough, and you will bless the name of the Lord for it.

27. I will not detain you longer to speak about persecution, though that is another unsavoury article, with which salt of consolation is much to be desired.

28. But, lastly, there is the thought of death. Is death not an unsavoury thing in itself? The body dreads dissolution and corruption, and the mind recoils from the prospect of leaving the warm precincts of this house of clay, and going into what seems a cold, rarefied region, where the shivering spirit flits naked into unknown mystery. Who likes to sit down and think of his last hour, — the corpse, the coffin, and the shroud? The spade, and the mattock, and the falling clods make poor music for carefree minds! Who cares for graveyards? Oh, but dear friends, thoughts of death, when they are salted, are among the richest, daintiest things that ever come to the believer’s table; for what is it to die? Is it not to end our pilgrimage, and come to the place where the many mansions are? Is it not to leave the storm-tossed seas for the Fair Havens where all is bliss for ever? Death strips the soul of its garments, and by itself this seems a trying process; but season it well, and you will long for evening in order to undress, so that you may rest with God. Salt it well, and you will almost grow impatient with your length of days, and look for your last hours as children do for their holidays, when they may go home. Salt it well, and your heart will grow like hers whose husband is away, and she calculates how long it will be before he will come home again to her house and to her heart. You will cry, “Why are his chariots so long in coming?” I have known saints to salt their thoughts of death until they were transfigured into foretastes of heaven, and they began to drink of that wine of the kingdom which the Beloved will drink new with us in the day of his appearing. Oh, happy spirits who can do this! “What salt,” you say, “shall I mingle with my thoughts of death?” Why the thought that you cannot die: since because he lives you shall live also. Add to it the persuasion that though you are dead, yet you shall live. Thoughts of the resurrection and the swinging open of the pearly gates, and of your entrance there; thoughts of the vision of the Well-Beloved’s face; thoughts of the glory that shall be yours for ever and ever at his own right hand — these are the things with which to savour your meditations among the tombs.

29. As for you who are not in Christ, you must eat this unsavoury food, and there will be no salt with it. I see you put it away from you. You say, “No, I do not intend to think of death.” Oh, man, but you will have to die, and it may be very soon. Oh, woman, you will have to die; the seeds of death are in your heart now. As surely as you live, you will have to die; and after death the judgment. This is the food which will be laid in your dish, and there will be no leaving it. This is the white of the egg, and you must eat it whether you wish to or not. It has no taste which your palate can enjoy; it has no savour about it but that of fear. Ah, when your conscience awakens, what will you do with the burning thought that, dying, you must go where hope can never come? Oh soul, if you pass out of this world as you are, you can never see the face of God with joy, but you must be driven from his presence and from the glory of his power to know what that means — “Where their worm does not die, and their fire is not quenched.” They say that everlasting does not mean ever lasting. What then? Are the righteous to perish after a while? In these two sentences the same word must mean the same thing — “These shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal.” If eternal life lasts for ever, so must eternal punishment. When the righteous cease to be, the wicked will cease to be; when the godly cease their joy, the ungodly will cease their misery; but not until then. That is unsavoury food for you. May the Lord help you to salt it, even yet, by believing in Jesus, and so finding eternal salvation. Amen.

[Portion Of Scripture Read Before Sermon — Ps 116]
{See Spurgeon_Hymnal “The Christian, Privileges, A Happy Portion — ‘Say Ye To The Righteous, It Shall Be Well With Him’ ” 758}
{See Spurgeon_Hymnal “Spirit of the Psalms — Psalm 34” 34}
{See Spurgeon_Hymnal “The Christian, Joy and Peace — Joy And Peace In Believing” 716}

{a} Verjuice: The acid juice of green or unripe grapes, crab-apples, or other sour fruit. OED.

The Christian, Privileges, A Happy Portion
758 — “Say Ye To The Righteous, It Shall Be Well With Him”
1 What cheering words are these!
      Their sweetness who can tell?
   In time and to eternal days,
      ‘Tis with the righteous well.
2 Well, when they see his face,
      Or sink amidst the flood;
   Well in affliction’s thorny maze,
      Or on the mount with God.
3 ‘Tis well when joys arise,
      ‘Tis well when sorrows flow,
   ‘Tis well when darkness veils the skies,
      And strong temptations blow.
4 ‘Tis well when at his throne
      They wrestle, weep, and pray,
   ‘Tis well when at his feet they groan,
      Yet bring their wants away.
5 ‘Tis well when they can sing
      As sinners bought with blood,
   And when they touch the mournful string,
      And mourn an absent God.
6 ‘Tis well when on the mount
      They feast on dying love,
   And ‘tis as well in God’s account,
      When they the furnace prove.
                           John Kent, 1803.

Spirit of the Psalms
Psalm 34 (Version 1)
1 Through all the changing scenes of life,
   In trouble and in joy,
   The praises of my God shall still
   My heart and tongue employ.
2 Of his deliverance I will boast,
   Till all that are distress’d
   From my example comfort take,
   And charm their griefs to rest.
3 Come magnify the lord with me;
   With me exalt his name;
   When in distress to him I call’d
   He to my rescue came.
4 Oh make but trial of his love;
   Experience will decide
   How blest are they, and only they,
   Who in his truth confide!
5 Fear him, ye saints, and you will then
   Have nothing else to fear;
   Make you his service your delight,
   He’ll make your wants his care.
                     Tate and Brady, 1696.

Psalm 34 (Version 2)
1 Lord, I will bless thee all my days,
   Thy praise shall dwell upon my tongue
   My soul shall glory in thy grace,
   While saints rejoice to hear the song.
2 Come, magnify the Lord with me;
   Come, let us all exalt his name:
   I sought the eternal God, and he
   Has not exposed my hope to shame.
3 I told him all my secret grief,
   My secret groaning reach’d his ears;
   He gave my inward pains relief,
   And calm’d the tumult of my fears.
4 To him the poor lift up their eyes,
   Their faces feel the heavenly shine;
   A beam of mercy from the skies
   Fills them with light and joy divine.
5 His holy angels pitch their tents
   Around the men that serve the Lord;
   Oh hear and love him, all his saints;
   Taste of his grace, and trust his word.
                           Isaac Watts, 1719.

The Christian, Joy and Peace
716 — Joy And Peace In Believing <7.6.>
1 Sometimes a light surprises
      The Christian while he sings:
   It is the Lord who rises
      With healing in his wings.
   When comforts are declining,
      He grants the soul again,
   A season of clear shining,
      To cheer it, after rain.
2 In holy contemplation,
      We sweetly then pursue
   The theme of God’s salvation,
      And find it ever new.
   Set free from present sorrow
      We cheerfully can say,
   E’en let the unknown tomorrow
      Bring with it what it may:
3 It can bring with it nothing
      But he will bear us through:
   Who gives the lilies clothing,
      Will clothe his people too:
   Beneath the spreading heavens,
      No creature but is fed;
   And he who feeds the ravens,
      Will give his children bread.
4 Though vine nor fig tree neither
      Their wonted fruit should bear,
   Though all the field should wither,
      Nor flocks, nor herds be there!
   Yet God the same abiding,
      His praise shall tune my voice;
   For while in him confiding,
      I cannot but rejoice.
                  William Cowper, 1779.