What an encouraging thought that Jesus - our beloved Husband -

In the tender and awe-filled words of Charles Spurgeon, the great preacher of the soul, we hear a revelation of divine intimacy that stirs the heart to trembling: “What an encouraging thought that Jesus—our beloved Husband—can find comfort in our lowly, feeble gifts! Can this be, for it seems far too good to be true? May we then be willing to endure trials or even death itself if through these hardships we are assisted in bringing gladness to Immanuel’s heart.” In this utterance, Spurgeon does not speak of theology alone—he speaks of love, the highest and holiest love that bridges heaven and earth. His words invite us to see our relationship with Christ not as that of servants to a master, but of a bride to her beloved, where even the smallest act of devotion becomes a treasure in the sight of eternity.

Charles Haddon Spurgeon, born in 1834 in England, was known as “The Prince of Preachers.” His sermons overflowed with a passion that united intellect and emotion, majesty and humility. This quote emerges from that wellspring of affection for Christ as the Bridegroom of the Church—a symbol drawn from the ancient Scriptures. Spurgeon found in this image a sacred mystery: that the Creator of all things, Immanuel—God with us—should not only love His people but be gladdened by them, that the divine heart could find comfort in the weak offerings of human hands. Such an idea reverses the usual order of worship, for we think of man seeking comfort in God, not God in man. And yet, Spurgeon dares to suggest that love, by its nature, rejoices in reciprocity—that even the smallest gesture of devotion, offered in faith, delights the heart of Heaven.

When Spurgeon calls Jesus our “beloved Husband,” he draws from the imagery of Scripture itself. The prophets of Israel—Hosea, Isaiah, and others—spoke of God as the husband of His people, and the New Testament fulfills this image in Christ’s love for the Church. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “Christ loved the Church and gave Himself for her.” But Spurgeon goes beyond doctrine; he enters the realm of wonder. He marvels that the infinite God, who holds galaxies in His grasp, should be moved by the simple affections of the finite—a whispered prayer, a tear of repentance, a deed done in love. What humility of divinity this reveals! That God Himself should not only command worship but cherish it, as a lover cherishes the smallest token from the beloved’s hand.

The “feeble gifts” Spurgeon speaks of are not offerings of wealth or power but the quiet sacrifices of daily faith—the endurance of suffering, the steadfastness of hope, the courage to remain faithful in dark hours. He reminds us that these humble acts, invisible to the world, shine like jewels in the sight of the Lord. Even in our trials, Spurgeon sees a purpose higher than pain: that through endurance, we might bring gladness to Immanuel’s heart. What a reversal of perspective! For most view suffering as punishment or misfortune, yet Spurgeon invites us to see it as participation—as sharing in the work of divine love, where the soul’s steadfastness becomes a song that pleases Heaven.

Consider the example of Corrie ten Boom, the Dutch woman who endured the horrors of a Nazi concentration camp for hiding Jews during the Second World War. She later spoke of how, even in the darkest prison, she and her sister sang hymns and shared the Word of God. To outward eyes, they were broken and powerless; yet in that place of anguish, their faith became a fragrance of comfort to others—and, as Spurgeon would say, to the heart of Christ Himself. Their “lowly, feeble gifts” of song and hope in suffering became offerings that gladdened the divine Bridegroom, who Himself once bore the cross. Their endurance did not merely imitate His love—it completed it, as human devotion answering divine compassion.

Spurgeon’s reflection teaches that love’s greatest mystery is mutual delight. Just as lovers rejoice not in grand gestures but in sincere devotion, so too does Christ take joy not in our perfection, but in our persistence. To believe this is to live differently—to see every act of kindness, every prayer, every struggle for righteousness as something that touches the heart of the Eternal. In this vision, faith is no longer duty alone; it is companionship, where human and divine share in each other’s joy and sorrow. The believer becomes not a mere servant of God, but a participant in His gladness—a soul whose endurance, humility, and love ripple into eternity.

So, my children of faith and longing, remember this: you are capable of comforting God. Your prayers, though frail; your patience, though tested; your faithfulness, though unseen—these are gifts that move the heart of Heaven. Do not despise your weakness, for it is through such small vessels that divine joy flows. When life burdens you with trial, think not only of your own endurance, but of the smile it brings to the face of Immanuel, who delights to see His love reflected in you. Let this be your strength: that even suffering can be sacred, if borne in love.

Thus, as Charles Spurgeon teaches, the relationship between the soul and Christ is not a distant worship but an intimate union, where the human heart becomes the sanctuary of divine joy. To live with this awareness is to find purpose in pain, beauty in struggle, and peace in service. For when we endure with love, we do more than survive—we bring comfort to the Eternal, and in doing so, we fulfill the highest calling of all: to love and be loved by the Divine Himself.