Scripture Daily

Context No. 279 of 4322 · Song of Solomon

Context · Reflection

Song of Solomon 5:1-8: in context

1I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, friends! Drink, yes, drink abundantly, beloved. 2I was asleep, but my heart was awake. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks: “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night.” 3I have taken off my robe. Indeed, must I put it on? I have washed my feet. Indeed, must I soil them? 4My beloved thrust his hand in through the latch opening. My heart pounded for him. 5I rose up to open for my beloved. My hands dripped with myrrh, my fingers with liquid myrrh, on the handles of the lock. 6I opened to my beloved; but my beloved left, and had gone away. My heart went out when he spoke. I looked for him, but I didn’t find him. I called him, but he didn’t answer. 7The watchmen who go about the city found me. They beat me. They bruised me. The keepers of the walls took my cloak away from me. 8I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem, If you find my beloved, that you tell him that I am faint with love.

The Song of Songs is the Bible's book of love poetry, physical and unembarrassed, and this passage is one of its most aching turns. It moves from a moment of closeness to the pain of a love missed by a hair.

The woman is half asleep, her heart still awake, when her lover comes to the door and knocks. His words are tender, and he has come through the night to reach her, his hair wet with dew. But she hesitates, and her reasons are small and comfortable. I have taken off my robe, she says, must I put it on again? I have washed my feet, must I get them dirty? She is warm and settled and does not want to be disturbed. By the time her heart is fully stirred and she rises to open the door, her hands dripping with myrrh on the latch, he is gone. She opens to an empty doorway. Now she goes out into the streets to look for him, calling, and there is no answer, and the watchmen who should have helped her instead beat her and strip away her cloak. What had been right at her own door is suddenly something she is bruised and searching for in the dark.

The whole scene turns on a moment of hesitation, the reluctance to leave a warm bed and rise at once for love standing at the door. She was too comfortable to move quickly, and comfort cost her his presence. When love, or God, has knocked at a moment I found inconvenient, how often have I hesitated over small comforts, and then had to go searching in the dark for what was just now at my door?

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