Taste and See
Page 9
Meanwhile, governments around the globe have imposed salt taxes that have enriched their coffers as well as dissolved their power. The French had to purchase their salt from royal depots during the reign of Louis XVI, and complaints about the cost of salt (along with bread) helped fuel the French Revolution. As recently as 1930, Mahatma Gandhi led a two-hundred-mile pilgrimage to collect untaxed salt for the poor of India.
I had no idea that something we’re told to cut back on today played such an important role in history. Luckily, Leif and I now live in the perfect place for a salty adventure.
WHEN YOU’RE CAUGHT BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE
Utah is a sodium lover’s dreamscape. Salt comes from evaporated dead seas or living ones, and you’ll find a variety of such geological wonders throughout the state. The most famous, the Great Salt Lake, sits less than an hour’s drive from our home. Utah even named its capital city after this body of water. But don’t mistakenly think you can bring your own shaker to fill up and take home from its shoreline. The salt taken from the lake isn’t FDA-approved for human consumption.
The state also boasts the Bonneville Salt Flats, a vast area that feels like the surface of the moon with thirty thousand acres of white expanse. An adorable girl donning a canary-yellow dress appears on the side of the Morton’s Salt plant located there. Most don’t realize that Morton’s salt is distinctly a modern product. The processed salt contains additional ingredients including calcium silicate for anticaking, dextrose or sugar, and potassium iodine to prevent goiter, a swelling in the neck.
While visits to both locations are fascinating (and highly recommended), I wanted to taste and see something closer to what Jesus and his disciples understood. Always craving salt and adventure, I found a place I could descend into an ancient seabed where salt seems frozen in time.
I drive 150 miles south to the Redmond Salt Mine and discover mountains of salt line the property like miniature Swiss Alps. Inside the main offices, I meet Neal, a late sixty-something with a youthful disposition despite his snowy hair. I’m curious how he became involved in the profession. He explains that after World War II, his father and uncle returned from the battlefield to work the family farm. But years of drought left them on the verge of bankruptcy.
One brother considered moving to Salt Lake City for work, the other to California. In their distress, they took one last walk across their property. Neal’s father looked into the distance and took note of the salt mine on their neighbor’s property. His eyes followed the landscape until they settled on their other neighbor’s property, where another salt mine operated. He looked down, kicked the dirt, and had an idea.
They soon cleared a patch of cornfield and dug down. Thirty feet beneath the surface, they hit a salt vein that extended the entire length of their property and descended more than five thousand feet into the earth. On that day, Redmond Salt Mine was born. When you’re caught between a rock and a hard place, God’s provision is sometimes right beneath your toes.
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When you’re caught between a rock and a hard place, God’s provision is sometimes right beneath your toes.
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Neal started helping his dad and uncle by bagging salt at the age of eleven and has been in the family business ever since. He hands me a hard hat, and I snap the buckle beneath my chin as we climb into the company truck. Our first stop: the crushing mill, where salt first arrives from the mine.
Inside enormous bins, chunks of salt stack high according to their size. Larger boulders pass through a series of crushers until they’re ground down to volleyball size. Then they’re sorted for further milling.
The grinder refines salt according to its purpose. The bigger rocks will nourish wild game. The more refined ones are sold to ranchers to sustain livestock and restaurateurs to season entrées. Of the 2,500 tons of salt mined each day, the vast majority will de-ice roads across Utah and the Midwest during the winter months.
Inside the warehouse await pallets of products for purchase. Salt rocks for horses. Fortified mineral mix for goats. Salt nuggets for deer. Ice-melt for sidewalks. Bath salts for aching muscles. Table salt for cooking. Popcorn salt for snacking. I had no idea a single-sourced salt could be used for so many different purposes.
Toward the back of the property, we approach the entrance of the mine. Its square mouth yawns and swallows our truck whole. Natural daylight disappears, and a light sweetness wafts through the air. No wonder spending time in salt rooms is becoming so popular. As Neal drives us deeper into the salty earth, I close my eyes and breathe in the gentle scent.
When I reopen them, the sandstone cavern appears otherworldly. Crystals stretch down from the ceiling like frozen icicles. The salty stalactites form wherever water snakes through the ground above. Our descent is slow, as the road before us keeps forking. Every few minutes a large metal door opens to allow further passage.
“You’ll want to pay attention,” Neal advises. “If we get stranded down here, you’ll need to remember the way out.”
I stifle a panicky laugh. I have always been directionally challenged, and if we become stranded, I’m probably not the person who will find the exit sign. If survival depends on me, we may just have to see how well salt can preserve the human body in the bed of a pickup truck . . . underground . . . out of contact with all humanity.
The deeper we travel, the mustier the air becomes, like an old church basement. We’re now 420 feet below the surface. We stop in front of a drilling machine, and the truck lights blink twice. The noisy drill stops and an eerie silence sets in. Bright white dust fills the air.
Climbing out of the vehicle, my feet crunch on the crystals as if I’ve landed on a beach. Neal leans over to click on my headlamp, and the ground glistens. This is a salt lover’s paradise, and I pinch a sample. The crystals taste like nothing I’ve encountered before. The salt seems less abrasive and ends with a sweetish note.
Neal waves me toward the cavern wall. The fine particles still fall like snow. He brushes away a thin layer of salt dust to reveal the dazzling surface with colors of pink diamonds, peach garnets, and rose quartz. The natural cave art looks like it’s been fashioned by the finest of jewelers.
And it has. To think God handcrafts such beauty in nooks and crannies throughout creation. The salt mine offers a rare glimpse. Such magnificence fills our planet, our solar system, our galaxy, and far, far beyond, and it all declares glory, glory, glory to God.
I want to stay longer, but I’ve interrupted the miners’ operation, and they must return to work. On the drive toward the surface, I’m overwhelmed by the awe of being in a place that transcends my understanding of the world. Something about the depth and beauty of the salt mine reminds me that I am tiny and fragile. This happens whenever we become wonderstruck by creation: our emphasis on self automatically diminishes, and our desire to improve the welfare of others expands to occupy the space that ego once dwelled.
I squint as my eyes adjust to natural light.
“Are all salt mines that stunning?” I ask, breaking the silence.
As with snowflakes, Neal explains, no two salt mines are alike. Many appear bright white and produce colorless salt. The Redmond Mine’s salt contains sixty trace minerals, and each act like a paintbrush. Swoops of rusty red come from the iron; the black speckles are evidence of manganese; magnesium adds a rosy hue. The combination of these and other elements creates the pinkish color and sweet flavor.
When we arrive at the headquarters, Neal’s eyes narrow in concern. “I should have advised against wearing black.”
I can’t help but giggle. I look like Frosty the Snowman. A brush of the sleeve releases a poof of salt. The dust makes me cough but tastes so good.
After shaking off, I settle into a chair opposite Neal. We talk late into the afternoon. I’m reluctant to leave my new favorite place, but Neal makes it better by sending me home with chunks of salt rocks and instructions for transforming them into salt we can use in our kitchen.
THE JEWELED SYMBOLISM OF SALT IN SCRIPTURE
Much like the natural wonderment of the mine, salt glistens throughout the pages of the Bible. The first mention of salt in Scripture is also the most infamous. In Genesis, God rains down sulfur on Sodom, Gomorrah & Co. for debauchery and neglect of the poor. Lot’s wife cranes her neck for a forbidden glimpse of the startling sight and transforms into a block of sodium chloride.
Like Utah, Israel and the surrounding region boast high concentrations of salt in areas such as the Dead Sea, the City of Salt, and the Valley of Salt—areas largely recognized as places where nothing sprouts, nothing grows. Jeremiah leans into this wasteland imagery when he says those who turn away from God will reside in a “salt land where no one lives.”
The majority of salt’s mentions appear far more positive. Salt symbolizes new beginnings and a separation from the past. Elisha tosses salt into a spring to purify the waters and signal a fresh start. The curse on the water is no more. Abimelech dumps salt on a captured city to represent a break from the past to forge a new way forward.
Ezekiel alludes to a rather strange practice using the fine grains. He describes rubbing newborns with salt as part of a baby’s care after delivery. This is more than prophetic imagery: midwives of that time used salt as a natural loofa for removing any vernix, as well as to deter the growth of bacteria.
Salt is also added to the incense used in the tabernacle’s daily worship. The divine recipe includes spices and minerals like stacte, onycha, galbanum, frankincense—and sodium too. The sacred perfume stimulates the Israelites’ olfactory memories, signaling to their bodies, minds, spirits, and emotions the call to worship. God knew long before modern perfumers that salt unlocks a range of aromatic notes. Even today salt is added to scents to unearth fruity, floral, and citrus layers, as well as to accentuate the smokiness of woody aromas.
Moses tells the Israelites to add salt to their offerings, and in the process, the people agree to a “covenant of salt forever before the LORD.” The Hebrew word for covenant, bĕriyth, means an agreement between two parties, based in trust, to fulfill their ends of the deal. The two parties of the covenant, God and his people, exchange salt, a tangible symbol of loyalty and friendship, to show the permanent nature of their agreement. Through salt, God reveals his indissoluble relationship with those he loves.
The Jewish people have not forgotten their salt covenants with God. To this day, every Friday at sunset, many practicing Jews still dip their bread into salt to keep their agreement with God.
Perhaps my love affair with salt is a reminder of something bigger.
JESUS SHAKES OUR UNDERSTANDING OF SALT
The moment I pull the screen from the kitchen window, Leif looks concerned.
“Just a little project, no worries,” I assure him. He knows me well and appears unconvinced.
I gather the rest of my supplies: a hammer, safety glasses, clean cloth, parchment paper, disinfectant wipes, and a large salt rock. I use the parchment paper to create a clean surface. A self-professed germaphobe, I wipe down the hammer and screen three times with the wipes, then place the rock in the center of the paper, and wham!
The vibrations from impact cause salt granules and chunks to break free. Wham! Wham! The window screen doubles as a filter. I repeat the process of smashing then shaking the particles through the wire frame. Twenty-six minutes later, a cup and a half of freshly mined, freshly ground salt rests in my hand.
This collection is closer to what Jesus and his disciples enjoyed. None of the references to salt in Scripture refer to the highly refined, altered substance we’re used to—fortified with iodine and chemicals since 1924. Biblical salt was always sourced and harvested with its surrounding minerals.
That becomes highly significant when Jesus declares, “You are the salt of the earth.”
With these words, Jesus awakens each of us to our divine purpose. We are agents of preserving.
The curing practices that began in ancient Egypt quickly spread throughout Israel. Even the place where Jesus delivered this teaching as part of the Sermon on the Mount, overlooks the Sea of Galilee and Magdala, a town famed for the curing of fish. When Jesus mentions salt, everyone knew its primary role as a preservative.
In essence, Jesus tells his disciples and us today: We are agents of preserving. God has placed us in this culture, in this time, in this moment, in this slice of history, to preserve the ways, the teachings, the life, the power, the presence of Christ.
But salt does more than preserve; it also seasons, unlocking delicious flavor. While too much of a good thing can be a bad thing, the right amount of salt will create unforgettable dishes.
As the salt of the earth, we are agents of flavoring. Our purpose is to bring the taste of heaven to earth wherever we go. Salt improves flavors as it seasons. In low concentrations, salt suppresses bitterness and enhances sweetness; in higher concentrations, salt reduces sweetness but enhances umami and savory flavors. Just as salt brings out the best in food, so too, Christ brings out the best in us as others experience the flavor of Christ through us.
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Our purpose is to bring the taste of heaven to earth wherever we go.
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Yes, as the salt of the earth, we are an important preserving agent and a vital flavoring agent, but we’re also something more.
Jesus continues: “But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”
Some commentators claim it’s impossible for salt to lose saltiness. Once sodium chloride, always sodium chloride. Neal noted that none of those commentators ever worked in a salt mine.
Salt can, and does, lose its saltiness through the influx of other substances, he explained. When salt is overpowered, it loses its ability to perform as God designed, as an influencer.
Jesus’s warning is designed to embolden us toward all aspects of our true purpose: We are the salt of the earth. We are an agent of preserving. We are an agent of flavoring. And the physician Luke adds yet another dimension of our salty purpose.
We discover this as he frames Jesus’s teaching in slightly different terms. “Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is fit neither for the soil nor for the manure pile; it is thrown out.” This is a new twist, involving dirt and . . . ahem . . . smelly stuff.
Gardeners often wince at the idea of applying salt to soil, because large amounts will impoverish the land. But the proper amount of salt will cause plants to flourish. That’s why both sodium and the salt substitute potassium chloride appear on the list of ingredients of Miracle Gro. It’s not only humans who require salt to live; plants and soil need it too.
The Luke passage suggests that salt plays a role in manure, too. Salt helps break down fresh excrement for better plant absorption. The mineral also prevents dunghills from rotting and becoming useless for providing nutrients to crops.
Luke clarifies that when Jesus warns of losing our saltiness, he’s not describing table salt; he’s describing fertilizer salt. Yes, as the salt of the earth, we are agents of human flourishing. Jesus is calling us to be fertilizer in his kingdom. We are the salt poured on that which is foul in order to foster fresh, new life. We are created to help others blossom and bud as they pursue the life God intends. Flourishing lives demonstrate evidence of the kingdom of God.
“Salary” and “salad” aren’t the only words derived from the Latin root sal, meaning salt. So too is the word “salvation.”
Sometimes the places Christ sends you will feel manure-like—the last places, the last people, the last situations you’d ever want to engage. Like Jonah, you may be tempted to resist the hardship, the discomfort, the awkwardness and stinkiness, to stay in your comfort zone. Yet, it’s your salty fertilizer that brings salvation to a dysfunctional and dying world.
And don’t forget the
kind of salt the disciples used was harvested with its surrounding minerals. Those trace elements gave the salt its uniqueness. In the same way, God uses you with all your naturally harvested “minerals”—your specific upbringing and personality and giftings and weaknesses and quirks. God leverages everything from your past wounds to your everyday work as he sprinkles you and other Jesus-followers throughout the world.
For me, it’s hard to know where to begin some days. I become overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of needs that flood my inbox and mailbox, my texts and social media feeds. In search of how to find a way forward, I once stumbled on wisdom tucked into some ancient Jewish writings known as the Talmud. There it says that if someone is suffering and in need, and you can take away 1/60 of their pain, then that is goodness, and the call to help is from God. This is a powerful expression of our being the salt—the preservers, the flavorers, the fertilizers—of the earth.
That fraction—1/60—is loaded with freedom. This liberates us from the pressured thinking that whispers, Everything depends on you. Your one little grain of salt can help with something someone else’s grain can’t. And when all the grains get mixed and sprinkled together, preserving and flavoring and helping others flourish occurs everywhere.
None of us are meant to preserve the whole earth, flavor the whole world, flourish the entire planet on our own. Yet you can begin today by simply asking God to bring to mind someone for whom you can ease 1/60 of their pain. And don’t be surprised if the person is closer than you think.
AROUND THE TABLE