Song Of Solomon 5:2-8 - Homiletics

The second dream of the bride.

I. THE BRIDEGROOM AT THE DOOR .

1 . The voice of the beloved. The bridegroom is absent; the bride is alone. There is a temporary separation, something approaching to an estrangement; yet the old love is not lost. The bride is sleeping when she should be awake and watching for the bridegroom's approach. Yet her heart waketh. She has a dreamy consciousness of what is going on around her; she seems to hear in her dream the voice of her beloved. So the Church sometimes sleeps—leaves her first love—lapses into something like spiritual apathy; yet her heart waketh. The Lord never leaves himself without a witness. At the worst times of indifference there has always been some dim consciousness of his presence, some faint love for him who loved the Church and gave himself for her. So the soul sometimes sleeps when it is high time to awake, when the night is far spent and the day is at hand. The heavenly Bridegroom will not let us slumber on without a warning. He knocks at the door of our heart. "Behold," he saith, "I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me" ( Revelation 3:20 ). The Church of Laodicea was lying wrapped in a deep sleep: the Lord sought to arouse her. So he knocks at the door of our hearts now by his Word, by his ministers, by his chastisements, by the warnings of his Spirit. If we can in truth call him "my Beloved;" if we have really set our love upon him, and given him our heart in answer to his seeking love, we shall hear him. We shall know his voice, recognizing it in judgments and in mercies, in warnings and in consolations. When duty calls us, even if it be, as it will sometimes be, hard and displeasing to flesh and blood, we shall say, "It is the voice of my Beloved." It is the Master's call; he speaks. The heart waketh to listen. Does he come with stern reproof for indifference and coldness of heart? No; his words are full of tenderness. "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled." It is the Lord's great love for the souls of men that produces those utterances of yearning affection. He still calls the bride "my sister," as he had done before the cloud had come upon her love. He still says "my love, my dove," as he said before; and he has a fresh term of endearment, "my undefiled, my perfect one." We know, alas I that we are not undefiled, we are not perfect. ("Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect," says even the great apostle, St. Paul.) But what the Lord would have us to be, what he will make us at the last if we abide in him, that he is graciously pleased to call us now. How those holy words of deep tenderness should excite in us repentance for the past, and earnest effort to become by his grace less unworthy of those most gracious and loving titles! He asks us to open, that he may enter in. He has been wandering in the darkness, and as when he came unto his own there was no room for him in the inn, and as during the days of his earthly ministry he had not where to lay his head, so now he knocks at one heart after another, and heart after heart is closely barred against him. They will not open, that he may enter in and make his abode with them. He comes now to the sister bride of old times, asking her as if for his own sake (such is the unutterable depth of his infinite, self-abasing love), "Open unto me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled." Ah, how can any of those souls of men whom he loved even unto death shut up their hearts against that call of unspeakable affection! He pleads as for himself, as if needing shelter: "My head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night." Alas! the bride, still half asleep, scarcely heeds the bridegroom's call, does not realize its meaning—

"For none of the ransom'd ever knew

How deep were the waters cross'd;

Or how dark was the night that the Lord pass'd through

Ere he found his sheep that was lost."

It cost more to redeem our souls than our poor thoughts can comprehend. When we try to realize the Lord's sufferings, we seem to stand afar off beholding, like the people who came together to that sight of awe, who smote their breasts ( Luke 23:48 ). The Church pleads those bitter sufferings in her solemn Litany: "By thine agony and bloody sweat, by thy cross and passion, good Lord, deliver us." "Remember, good Lord Jesus," we say in the ancient hymn, "that it was for me thou didst undertake that long, weary journey; in that long search for me thou didst sit faint and exhausted; it was to redeem me that thou didst endure the cross. Let not that toil and labour be in vain, O Lord." But here it is the Lord himself who pleads with us in our hardness; he so longs for our salvation. He bids us remember what he endured for us. It is the expression of his intense yearning love. He would have us comprehend with all saints something of the breadth, and length, and depth, and height of that great love; to return it in our poor way, to open our heart to him, that he may enter in and take that heart to be his own which he bought with the price of his most precious blood.

2 . The answer. The bride does not realize the deep, solemn meaning of the bridegroom's call. She is half asleep still. She lies dreaming in her bed. She makes excuses to herself. And we, alas! far too often do the like when the Lord calls us to work, to deny ourselves for his sake. We slumber on in careless sleep; we forget what he did for us. We do not hear his voice; or, if we hear, we listen dreamily, lying still in spiritual sloth, not thinking that when the Lord calls it is time to bestir ourselves, to be up and doing, to "pass the time of our sojourning here in fear forasmuch as we know that we were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold … but with the precious blood of Christ" ( 1 Peter 1:18 ). We must not make vain excuses, like those that were bidden in the parable ( Luke 14:18 ), for the time is short. It is our eternal salvation that is at stake. It is Christ the Son of God who is calling us; and he loved us, and gave himself for us ( Galatians 2:20 ). Alas! the bride, whom the bridegroom loved with so great a love, makes poor excuses in her dream. She will not rise and open till it is too late; she will not take a little trouble for his sake.

3 . The repentance. The beloved put his hand through the hole of the door; he sought to open it. The bride's heart was moved at last by his earnest appeals. "My bowels were moved for him," she says, as she repeats her dream. She thought of her past love for him, of his great love for her, of the hardships he had gone through in seeking her. She wonders how she could have forgotten all this even in a dream; she rose up to open to her beloved. So the soul that has made many excuses, that has slumbered long, that has spent its time as in a dream, forgetting the solemn realities of life, hears at last through the long suffering grace of God—listens to the patient call of the heavenly Bridegroom. Then our heart burns within us when we think that he has indeed been talking with us, opening the Scriptures ( Luke 24:32 ); our bowels are moved for him. We think that it is the Saviour of the world, our Saviour, who is standing without, waiting for us to answer; that the hand with which he seeks to open the door was once pierced through for us, nailed upon the cross for our souls' sake. We listen to his voice—

"O Jesu, thou art pleading

In accents meek and low:

'I died for you, my children,

And will ye treat me so?'

O Lord, with shame and sorrow

We open now the door;

Dear Saviour, enter, enter,

And leave us never more."

The bride opens to her beloved. The bridegroom's hand had been dipped in oil of myrrh. Some of the unguent remained upon the bolt; it dropped upon the fingers of the bride. It was a token of the bridegroom's presence. He had gathered his myrrh ( Song of Solomon 5:1 ) from the "garden enclosed" before this passing shadow had fallen upon their love. It may be, too, that we may see in the myrrh a parable of self-denial. It may be regarded as a loving warning left by the bridegroom to teach the bride a necessary lesson. She must not slumber on; it is time to wake and to work. Working for Christ is sometimes like the wine mingled with myrrh ( Mark 15:23 ); it has a bitter taste to our pampered palate. But if we take the cup which the Lord gives us to drink, we shall find at last that the smell of it is sweet; even as his yoke, hard at first, becomes easy in the discipline of obedience, and his burden, heavy at first, becomes light when he bears it with us. For self-denials meekly borne for him bring us nearer and nearer to him who bore the supreme self-sacrifice of the cross for us; and in his presence there is a depth of sweetness which takes away the bitterness.

4 . It is too late. The beloved had withdrawn himself. "My beloved withdrew himself, was gone," she says, in the plaintive wailing of disappointment (there is no conjunction in the original). "My soul went forth," she continues, "as he spake." My soul, my heart, my affections, went forth to him at the sound of his voice. The well known tones aroused the old love. She had once given her heart to him; and now, though in her dream her love seemed to have been chilled, and she seemed to lie heedless, unwilling to rouse herself to exertion, yet now his words at last reached her heart. Her soul went forth to him in response to his calling. Or the Hebrew words may rather mean, as in the Revised Version, "My soul had failed me when he spake." The same words are used in describing the death of Rachel: "It came to pass, as her soul was in departing" ( Genesis 35:18 ). His words awoke in her soul the fear lest she should lose him by her coldness and selfish neglect. The thought was like death to her. "Love is strong as death" (So Song of Solomon 8:6 ). Her soul went forth; it failed her. For the moment she was helpless—prostrate as in a death-like swoon. Then she aroused herself. It was time to act, to bestir herself. He was gone; she might lose him forever; and her heart was bound up in him. To lose him was death—worse than death. She sought him, but she could not find him; she called him in her dream, but he gave her no answer. The dream of the bride is a parable of the Christian life. The soul sometimes sinks into a state of listlessness and apathy. There is no actual transgression, perhaps—no open sin. The evil spirit is not there; the house is empty ( Matthew 12:43 , Matthew 12:44 ). But the Bridegroom is absent, and love has grown cold. There is no recollection of the absent Lord—no regret, no longing for his return. The soul lives on, as it were, in a dream, not realizing the solemn meaning of life, not thinking of the awful future. But God in his gracious mercy will not let us dream away our lives without a warning. He calls us by his blessed Son: "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock." Sometimes, alas! we will not hear; sometimes we listen dreamily, half-conscious, recognizing in a sense the Bridegroom's voice, but not realizing the solemn, holy meaning of the call; not thinking of his love and of our ingratitude, his promises and our broken vows, what he did for us and what return we have made to him; not thinking of his grace and our responsibility, his longing for our salvation and our fearful danger. That lethargy, that slumber of indifference, creeps over us all from time to time when we have not been watchful—when we have neglected our prayers and other blessed means of grace. But the dear Lord seeketh that which is lost until he find it. He "is long suffering to usward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance" ( 2 Peter 3:9 ). He comes again and again, calling us, sometimes in the gentle tones of entreating love, sometimes in the sterner language of reproof and chastisement. Sometimes he makes as though he would force his way. He puts his hand in at the hole of the door; he lays the cross upon us; he reminds us of the burden which he bore for us; he teaches us that the cross is the very badge and mark of his chosen—that whosoever doth not take up his cross cannot be his disciple. At last we are stiffed in our slumbers. We rise from our sleep. But perhaps we are only half awake, half-hearted. Our will goes back to our old slothful rest. We say, like the sluggard in the Proverbs, "Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep" ( Proverbs 6:10 ). Then the Lord deals with us as a wise physician of the soul. He would have us feel our weakness, our danger. "They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick" ( Matthew 9:12 ). He would have us feel our need of him. He withdraws himself; and when we open to him he is gone. He makes as though he would go further, as he dealt with the two disciples on the way to Emmaus ( Luke 24:28 ). Then our soul goes forth to him. It faints within us; we feel how helpless we are without him; we feel that without him life is not worth living; and we try to constrain him, like those two disciples, saying, in their words, "Abide with us; for it is toward evening, and the day is far slant." We seek him in earnest prayer, sometimes with strong crying and tears. But for a time we cannot find him. We call him, but he gives us no answer. It is in love that he thus deals with us, to arouse us, to make us feel the need of exertion, of active effort. He cannot be found without diligent search. The bride said, in relating her first dream, "By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth" (So Proverbs 3:1 ). It is not thus that the soul should seek for Christ, still lying, as it were, upon the bed of spiritual sloth, thinking dreamily of Christ, pleasing itself, perhaps, with the poetry of religion, with the beauty of the Saviour's life, with the comfort which the Scriptures offer. Religion is not a dream; it is not mere poetry, mere love of beauty; it is a life—a life of action and energy—a prolonged effort to imitate Christ, to please Christ, to follow Christ's holy example. The first cry of the really awakened soul is, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" ( Acts 9:6 ). The soul that answers in earnest to the Saviour's call knows and feels instinctively that God has work for us; that that work must be done even in fear and trembling by his help, who worketh in us both to will and to do. The Lord would have us realize this truth; therefore sometimes he withdraws himself, to make us feel that life is blank without him—to make us cry like Job, "Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when God preserved me; when his candle shined upon my head, and when by his light I walked through darkness; as I was in the days of my youth, when the secret of God was upon my tabernacle!" ( Job 29:2-4 ). The contrast makes us feel that God was certainly with us then, even if we cannot feel his presence now. Therefore we seek him, even though for a time we cannot find him. It was so with Job for a season. "He hideth himself," he said; "I cannot see him." He trusted God even in the midst of darkness. "But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold" ( Job 23:9 , Job 23:10 ). So we must believe in his love even when he seems to hide his face from us and not to listen to our prayers. He seemed long to disregard the supplications of the Syro-Phoenician woman, but at last there came the gracious answer, "O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt."

II. THE SEARCH .

1 . The bride goes forth in her dream. Again, as in So Job 3:2 , she goes about the city seeking the beloved; again the watchmen found her. They had not been unfriendly in the first dream, though they were not able to guide her in her search. Now they seemed to treat her with cruelty. They smote her, and wounded her, and took her mantle from her. Difficulties will always arise in our search after Christ—sometimes dangers and persecutions: "We must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God." We may perhaps also see another lesson here. The bride has more trouble now in her search than she had on the former occasion. She has been more blamable. Then she had been for a time listless and slothful; now her sin had been not only sloth, but selfish disobedience. She refused at first to open to the beloved; she did not heed his call; she did not heed the hardships which he had suffered. So it is in the Christian life. To sin against light is very grievous; repeated sin makes repentance each time more difficult. We must be watchful always, as the Saviour bids us: "Watch ye therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cockcrowing, or in the morning: lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you I say unto all, Watch" ( Mark 13:35-37 ). We must learn the prayer of the child Samuel, "Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth." Each time we refuse to listen the old torpor steals more and more over our souls, our slumber becomes deeper, the difficulty of awakening us becomes greater, and repentance more doubtful, more encompassed with dangers, calling for more exertion of will, more determined effort.

2 . The charge. The bride cannot find her beloved. She seeks the help of the chorus of maidens, the daughters of Jerusalem. She adjures them in her eager anxiety, "If ye find my beloved, what will ye tell him? That I am sick of love." She had used the last words once before (So Job 2:5 ), but in a different connection. Then his banner over her was love; then the joy of his love was almost too great for her; she was sick of love. Now it is her longing for the absent bridegroom which produces the heart sickness which she describes. She fondly thinks that if he only knew her yearning for him he would return; he would forgive all that was past, and bring her again under the banner of his love. So the Christian soul, awakened out of sleep, longs for the Saviour's presence. She feels that she is sick. She needs the great Physician. Without him all is dark; without him there is no spiritual health, no joy, no hope. She seeks him in earnest prayer. She asks for the intercession of Christian friends; she would have them bring her distress and longing before the throne. "My God, my soul is cast down within me;" "My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God;" "Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God."