Love Like Salt

One of my favorite stories I used to read growing up was the story of the girl who loved the king like salt. If you're unfamiliar with it, it goes something like this (I'm paraphrasing from memory; please forgive the abbreviated mishmash):

Once upon a time, a king had three daughters. One day he asked his daughters, "How much do you love me?" The oldest answered something along the lines of: "Oh king, I love you like the sun cresting the mountain peaks on a golden morning, where fire spills into the valleys and the flowers and trees and birds lift up their faces to the horizon."

The king thought that was pretty good, so he presented the same question to his second daughter. 

She responded like: "Oh king, I love you like the cool moon in a starry night's sky; you are the light that shines on the earth when all else seems dark and dreary, the closest light in an expanse of tiny stars. None is so great as you."

The king liked that answer as well, so he turned the same question to his youngest (and favorite) daughter. "Daughter," he asked. "How much do you love me?"

She thought for a minute before answering, but when she answered, she was as sure as sure could be. "I love the king like salt." And that was all she said.

The king was humiliated and angry. His older two daughters had gushed on and on about the beautiful ways in which they loved him, but his youngest daughter had given him a slap in the face. Like salt?

And so, like the loving father he was... he banished his youngest daughter. She fled from the palace and was no longer allowed entrance. Roaming the hills, sad from her father's rejection, the princess found a home with a shepherd in the hills for a few years -- until one day, she heard that her father the king was going to have a great banquet, and many guests from surrounding countries were traveling in for the occasion.

The girl disguised herself and pretended to be a food vendor for the palace kitchens. When she went in, the cook recognized her. The cook was her friend, and she greeted the girl warmly. The princess had one request to make of the cook. "Don't put any salt in any of the food." The cook was horrified. She would lose her job! How could she do such a thing? But the princess begged so earnestly, that at last she gave in, and she instructed her staff not to include any salt in the meal.

The princess donned the guise of a servant and began carrying food into the banquet hall. As the king and his guests started to eat, strange looks crossed their faces. The king called for the servant, who happened to be the princess carrying a tray near her father's table. 

"Bring me the cook," the king said. "The food tastes terrible! There's no salt in it."

The princess set down her tray and bowed before the king. "Don't call for the cook; I was the one who instructed that the food be served as it is."

"Why?" asked the king. 

"Don't you see, father?" the princess asked as she removed her disguise. "I am the girl who loves the king like salt."

Looking back on that story with adult eyes, with the eyes of a parent, I'm kind of ticked off at the king, you know? How dare he get sidetracked from his love for his daughter, because she dared show him her love in a way that was a little harder for him to understand? How dare he get so enamored by the flowery and abundant and fluffy language of his two oldest daughters that he didn't recognize the true, deep, and abiding love given him from his youngest daughter?

He didn't understand the love that was right there in front of it, and rather than trying to wrap his mind around his daughter's expression of love, he banishes her instead. 

But before we get too angry with the king... can we see ourselves in him, in his actions? I can. I'm guilty of the exact same thing. I'll get there in a second.

In Romans 9, Paul begins by pouring out his anguish over the lot of the Jews, those descended from Abraham -- he's anguished over the fate of the chosen people, because many of them have turned away from God, relying only on their bloodline as their free ticket to heaven. The Jews are a people belonging to God, and Paul covers their rich history in about three verses: "I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, those of my own race, the people of Israel. Theirs is the adoption as sons; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of Christ, Who is God over all, forever praised! Amen" (Romans 9:2-5).

Having finished not too long ago a deep study of Genesis, Exodus, and Joshua (see a bajillion of my past blogs), this list has a much more profound impact on me than it might have had even a year ago: "Adoption as sons, divine glory, covenants, receiving of the law, temple worship, promises, patriarchs, ancestry of Christ." 

The Old Testament is a multi-thousand piece puzzle that, when put together in its entirety and continuing into the New Testament, shows us Jesus, His redemption, His salvation for the whole world, for both Jews and Gentiles, for all time.

Paul reminds the Romans that simply because one happens to be born into this lineage from Abraham, into this chosen race, it's not necessarily a golden ticket to heaven. He says: "It is not as though God's Word had failed. For not all who are descended from Israel (Jacob) are Israel. Nor because they are his descendants are they all Abraham's children... In other words, it is not the natural children of promise who are regarded as Abraham's offering" (Romans 9:6-8).

Jews, the chosen nation, hearing this, reading this, might have flinched back a little. They're known as the children of the promise. What does Paul mean by separating, among the Jewish people, natural and unnatural children?

Paul goes on to use the illustration of Jacob and Esau, out of the same womb, having the same father Isaac -- but one son (Jacob) goes on to continue the Jewish people, the other (Esau) begins the Edomite nation. 

Paul doesn't leave it at race. He says, essentially: Your lineage, church, is a spiritual lineage. God's people aren't exclusively those from Abraham. You can't show your "Abraham's son" ticket at the backstage door for admittance. "It does not, therefore, depend on man's desire or effort, but on God's mercy," he says in Romans 9:16. 

A couple of books to the right, Peter reminds his audience who consists of both Jews and Gentiles: "But you (not just Jews, this is for everyone) are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of Him Who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light. Once you were not a people (so Gentiles are included as well in this), but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." (1 Peter 2:9-10).

In other words, Jesus died for all. And before we cry "Foul! I'm the chosen one; it's not fair!"... we remember it's because of His great love and mercy for all His creation that He opened that door, tore the veil of the temple in two. 2 Peter 3:9 says: "[God] is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance."

So, back to my favorite Princess Bride, where the grandfather is sitting by the bed of his grandson, reading a book. At one point, his grandson snaps: "Hold it, Grandpa, you read that wrong." He lists some events from the story that end in his conclusion: "It wouldn't be fair."

Grandpa makes an important point in response: "Who says life is fair? Where is that written? Life isn't always fair." 

The grandson pounds his hand down on the bedspread: "I'm telling you, you're messing up the story! Now get it right!"

Paul writes his own version of this scene in Romans 9:19-21: "One of you will say to me: 'Then why does God still blame us? For who resists His will?' [In other words: "It's wouldn't be fair."] But who are you, oh man, to talk back to God? Shall what is formed say to Him Who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?"

In other words, just because we're looking across the game board at the opposing team, counting the pawns, sizing up the knights and bishops, side-eyeing that dangerous queen, planning our strategy, that doesn't mean we're the chess-master. We can plan our moves, but the Lord is the One Who sees the whole game and Who overrides our plans as He sees fit, for His larger purposes.

Back to the girl who loved the king like salt (who was, in my opinion, by far the wisest of any of the listed characters in the story). She loved the king, even when he felt unloved by her. She loved the king, even when he didn't understand the way she loved him. She loved the king enough to still love him, even after he banished her from his life. She loved the king enough to tell him the truth, even when he didn't want to hear it. She loved the king past all "fairness." Her love was unconditional. Her love stood the test of unfaithfulness and unreciprocation. 

The king could have cried "not fair" all he wanted, but his daughter, beyond all reason and logic and rationalization... still loved him.

At the end of the story, the king realized his foolishness and accepted his daughter back into the palace, finally seeing that her love for him was true and good. He'd learned his lesson, though the road to that place was difficult and sad. He'd bypassed the lessons he needed to learn as he'd focused on everything except his daughter.

I wonder how often we bypass our lessons the Lord lays out for us? He comes to us with hard things sometimes. Sometimes He strips down our hearts with cleansing fire and water. Sometimes, He gives us Truth that clashes with what we want to hear.

Do we banish Him from our little kingdom we've built for ourselves? Do we listen to the soothing flattery of those who speak of "fluffy" love... fluently? 

The longer I walk this path of following my Jesus, the more I realize, I don't want "fluffy" love. Sure, it's comfortable and soft and fuzzy, but there's no substance to it. There's nothing to hang on to. Like cotton candy, it's there for a second, and then it vanishes. I want deep, abiding, grace-filled love that always leads me to Truth, lets me stew in it for a bit, and then realize the wisdom of it. 

This is a difficult thing to hear, but it's so, so important to keep this message front and center in a culture and a world that tries hard to forget that there is one Truth, and His name is Jesus.

"I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me." (John 14:6). 

That's the good salt, right there.