In his Songs Solomon referred to a beautiful Oriental custom. The
bride and bridegroom drank from the same cup, that they might show the
assembled guests their willingness to henceforth share all the cups of
life, whether sweet or bitter. To add to the joy of the wedding banquet
the cup from which the wedded ones were to drink would be passed first
to the others who were seated with them. As it passed from hand to hand
each guest would drop into the ruby wine a gift of fragrant spice,
expressing thus the earnest wish that every bitter cup of life might
be brightened and sweetened with the spices of good friendship. From
the first moment of wedded life their loved ones wished that they taste
of nothing save joy and happiness. In his great poem Solomon somewhat
alters the ancient custom and represents the bride performing this
service of spicing the wine for the husband, as much as to say, “I
would render unto thee only the sweetest, the purest, and the best that
earth can hold.”
One of the greatest needs of to-day is a spirit of willingness to
spice the sour wines which others are daily compelled to drink. There
are few greater services to render both God and man than to proffer the
cup of spiced wine.
The church as the Bride of Christ should offer to him no service that
is not sweet and aromatic with the spices of sincerity and love. This
is the only way the world will ever be taken for Jesus Christ. The
church must offer something better, more pleasing, and more wholesome
than the wines that this world has to offer. It is the tendency to give
to God the drainings from life’s vintage. We often spend the week in
pursuit of selfish pleasures, drinking the sweetest wines and giving
them freely to our chosen companions, and then, in hours of worship,
give to God the cheaper, sourer wines, making religious worship
unwholesome, acrid, bitter, and nauseous.
Unless we do away with our acrimonious methods and make our services to
God more aromatic and pleasant, the church is going to lose all hold
upon her boys and girls. As a child’s growing body requires sugar, so
his awakened spiritual powers need that which is sweetened with the
spices of gladness and whole-heartedness.
This is the only way by which the church shall get and retain its grip
on men of affairs. All week long these individuals have been tasting
the acid and the bitterness of earthly struggle and competitive
ambition. Sunday morning comes and they are tired, and nervous, and
all worn out. What they need is a cup of spices, each bit of spice
a gift of love. They need to have their minds taken away from the
bitterness and acidity of life and given something that is fragrant
and stimulating, something that will revive and strengthen them for
future activity. This is the purpose of the church. It is to gather
from all quarters of the earth all things that are good, wholesome, and
attractive, and press them, as a gift of love, to the lips of every
worshiper. It is to crowd each service with inspiring song, short
helpful prayers, warm-worded greetings, and enthusiastic handshaking,
until the silver chalice brims with gladness. Bring all your spices
into the house of God and offer to Christ a pleasing gift. There is no
telling how much good you can do. Look into the face of your Creator
whenever you enter his temple and pray with an earnest heart: “O Lord,
I would this day cause thee to drink spiced wine.”
This should not only be the attitude of the church toward its Lord, but
it should certainly be the spirit with which it daily faces the world.
As we confront each individual we should be able to say: “I would
cause thee, my brother, my sister, to drink spiced wine.” We should
go through life so prepared with the spices of good cheer that the
moment we found one with a cup of bitterness we could remove all its
disagreeableness before it is pressed to their parched lips. We should
carry spices for their cups, and not pepper for the eyes, or salt with
which to rub the sores of our enemies. Spices so sweeten the cup that
men forget their hatred and find themselves glad that we are here.
Give them the spices of a good disposition. Our dispositions are not
unalterable gifts thrust upon us at birth, but are largely a matter of
cultivation. If we associate with that which is sour and crabbed, our
dispositions will, of necessity, assume the same nature. If we live
a life of goodness, we will most naturally have a sweet disposition.
The difference between peaches and pickles is far more than a matter
of spelling. Peaches are not pickles, because they absorb the sunlight
and the sweetness of the soil, until even their tartness is delicious
to the taste. Pickles are not peaches because they absorb only those
things which suggest and harmonize with salt and vinegar. We never
think of pickles without thinking about vinegar. Their difference is
in the choice of elements used in building tissues. The same thing is
true with us. We make our dispositions, and because we do, we should be
lovers of the aromatic spices with which God has crowded the world.
O that those who profess to love God would cease shaking pepper into
others’ lives, and begin to put sweet spices of a good disposition into
cups already too bitter with the gall of sorrow and disappointment.
Give them the spices of a cheerful conversation. No good comes
from burning the mind of the world with the acid of criticism, or
distressing their lacerated hearts with the story of our personal
discomforts. Give spices. Instead of telling how the rheumatism made
the joints creak on their hinges, tell the story of how once you
were able to leap over the fences and how you swung from the topmost
branch of the old apple tree. Instead of telling about the horrors of
insomnia, and how little you slept that past week, and how miserably
the morning hours wore away, tell about the red bird that sang under
your window and awakened a thousand memories of your childhood, tell
how you noticed the fresh air of the morning awakened symphonies among
the dew-laden leaves. It is so much nicer to be a candle that gives
light than a smoky chimney that belches soot and cinders. The world
always appreciates its bearers of good news. Happy conversation is
within the reach of every one. No matter how blind we may be to the
blessings of to-day, memory holds a box of spices within easy reach,
and we can fill our words with a sweetness that will cast an undying
fragrance.
It is not difficult to be cheerful when we remember that we meet only
two classes of people, no matter how far we travel, or how long we
live. The one class consists of those who are making failure of life.
Each word we speak brings to them either the bitterness of wormwood or
the good cheer of wild honey. The opportunity to give encouragement
to the downcast comes every day. Tired, worn, and jaded, they meet us
upon every street corner and press against us at every assembly. O that
they might rejoice as they taste the spices we are placing in their
wine! The other class of people whom we are meeting are those who are
making success of life, and who are very often the most neglected.
Because they receive worldly honor we think them extremely happy, not
recognizing their loneliness. The world never hesitates to press its
sponge of vinegar and gall to the lips of those who are serving it.
Several years ago there was a large gathering in Calvary Church,
New York City, to pay tribute to Dr. Edward Washburn. Phillips
Brooks, Bishop Potter, and many other men of distinction met in that
magnificent service and offered words of praise to the goodness,
courage, clear thinking, untainted love and unselfish devotion of that
mighty man. After all had ended their words of praise a little woman,
dressed in black, who had been the companion of Dr. Washburn for so
many years of married life, slowly arose to address the audience. Amid
an intense silence she repeated over and over again these words: “O, if
you men loved Edward so, why did you never tell him?” What a revelation
of heart-hunger! Long years of bitterness when all might have been
relieved with just a little spice, that is readily found and easily
bestowed.
Bring on the spices! Let us be more affectionate one toward another.
The eldest son of a large family was kneeling at his mother’s deathbed
saying, “You have been such a good mother.” The dying woman opened her
eyes and faintly whispered, “You never said so before, John, you never
said that before.” Let this be our motto as we meet all men: “I would
cause you to drink spiced wine.”