Song of
Songs 2: 8-17
Sunday, July 5, 2015
First Congregational United
Church of Christ – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
The translation of the chorus is, “Come, my beloved, to meet
the Bride, and let us greet the presence of Shabbat.” It is the song that is
sung to mark the beginning of Sabbath each week.
Sabbath – that great jewel of creation, that palace in time –
Shabbat is welcomed each week as a Bride by Jews around the world. It is a day
of rest. A day to put aside work and wordly concerns. A day to love and be
loved by God, the Holy One of Israel.
There is an ancient Jewish midrash that explains how the
Sabbath came to be called the Bride of Israel. It is said that when God created
the world, each day had a partner. Monday had Tuesday, Wednesday had Thursday
and so on. Only the seventh day, the Sabbath, was left without a partner. The
Sabbath complained to God and Yahweh told the Sabbath Day that Israel would be
its partner. [1]
The words, “Come, my beloved” in Lecha Dodi come from the
seventh chapter of the Song of Songs. You have probably also heard the book
called the Song of Solomon, but the actual Hebrew title in the first verse of
the book is best translated, “The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s.”
In addition to being remembering it each Friday when greeting
the Sabbath, Jews around the world read the entire Song of Songs each year at
Passover after the Passover meal. They read it to remember God’s great love for
the people of Israel. Rabbi Akiva, one of the most revered sages in the Jewish
tradition, had a high regard for the Song of Songs. He said, “The whole world
is not worth the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel, for all
the Scriptures are holy, but the Song of Songs is the Holy of Holies.”[2]
Others through the centuries have disagreed with Rabbi Akiva.
People from all walks of life – scholars, rabbis, pastors, laypeople – simply
do not know what to do with the Song of Songs. After all, taken at face value,
it’s erotic poetry. There’s no way around that reality. God is not mentioned
once in the Song of Songs (making this book one of two in the Bible where God
is not mentioned….the Book of Esther is the other, and our ancestors were so
uncomfortable with the omission that they tried to insert God at a later date.)
There was a fair amount of debate over whether such a book
should even be included in the canon. The Church today seems to have mostly
moved past debate in favor of simply ignoring the book. I’ve never preached a
sermon on it. I’m guessing most of you have never heard a sermon on it. It only
shows up once in the entire three-year cycle of the Revised Common Lectionary
and the newer Narrative Lectionary, created just five years ago, leaves it out
entirely.
If you’ve ever heard it read in a church, it was probably at
a wedding. I can remember sneaking peeks at it as a teenager when I was bored
during worship. I giggled over the entertaining and imagery. I grew up watching MTV and reading Cosmo. I was no
stranger to explicit material, but to see it in the Bible? That was too much. I
laughed at it and put it aside.
For centuries, though, the Song was revered as one of the
most beloved books in the Bible.
Harvard scholar, Stephanie Paulsell, who was here in
Manhattan a few months ago as Ecumenical Campus Ministry’s
Theologian-in-Residence reminds us that, in fact, medieval Christians commented
on the Song more than any other book.
Paulsell describes how medieval Christians may have thought
of the Song, as “a bottomless pool of meaning one could swim in one’s whole
life long and never sound the bottom. It was a garden in which one might
encounter God walking in the cool of day. For these readers, the Song of Songs
was a devotional text surpassing all others.”[3]
I guess the author wasn’t kidding when they called it the
Song of Songs. Speaking of the author, we don’t know who wrote it. It’s unclear
why the connection to Solomon is stated in the first verse, “The Song of Songs,
which is Solomon’s” but scholars agree it was almost certainly not written by
Solomon.
More than likely, many authors wrote the book. It is a
collection of poems, gathered together by an editor, who added the title. The
tie to Solomon may be because of his reputation as a prolific lover (though the
book actually pokes fun at Solomon’s promiscuity) or simply a nod to the King’s
love of writing. He was rumored to have written thousands of poems.
No matter how you look at it, saying that the book is
associated with King Solomon is certainly a way to give it some credibility and
get it noticed.
One medieval Jewish Rabbi, Ezra ben Solomon of Gerona saw the
Solomon connection a different way. Rabbi Ezra believed the name “Solomon” was
synonymous with God and believed the Song was the best of all Songs because God
sings it each and every day to humanity.[4]
I love that image of God singing a love song to us each day.
The Song has long been interpreted as allegorical. Jews and Christians alike
have tried to make a book with no God-talk more explicitly theological by
interpreting it as a story about God’s love for humanity. It’s not just about
what we see on the surface – a beautiful love poem about the escapades of two
young lovers – but it is also about the deep desire God and humanity have for
one another.
Pre-modern people were, by and large, much more comfortable
with multiple readings of the text than modern people were. I wonder if, in our
post-modern age, we are coming back around to a place where layered
interpretations add richness, rather than confusion?
I know that, for me, the layers upon layers of interpretation
available in this one book speaks volumes about the complexity of our
relationship with Scripture and the vast unknowable nature of God.
One small example of the allegorical interpretations that
have flourished over the centuries: Bernard of Clairvaux and Teresa of Avila
both interpreted the opening lines, “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his
mouth!” as the intense desire humanity has for the incarnation of God in Jesus.
As Paulsell puts it, “the pressing of divinity into human flesh.”[5]
By the way, Bernard of Clairvaux really loved this book. He wrote 82 sermons on
it in the 12th century. Eighty-two! And he never even got past the
second chapter. So if you think the five sermons we’re doing here are too many,
just remember Bernard.
A quick preview of the weeks ahead before we wrap up today’s
introduction.
Next week we’ll be exploring one of my favorite things about
this book: the surprising nature of the relationship between the man and woman
in the Song. The woman speaks about two-thirds of the text. She is in the
driver’s seat. She is proud of her body, exhibits ownership over her own self,
and is supremely confident. The relationship between the two is one of respect
and mutuality. The overall sexual ethic of the Song is surprisingly progressive
on many levels (which may be part of the reason Christians today rarely read
it). I should probably mention that next week is likely to be the sermon that
deals most explicitly with human sexuality. We might be looking at a sermon
that’s rated PG-13 instead of PG.
For week three, we’ll be taking a look at the relationship of
the lovers to their natural surroundings. Many scenes in the Song take place in
a lush setting, outdoors. The language is rooted in earthy images. In the pages
of this book, we find a vision of harmony and partnership between humanity and
the Earth. It is for this reason that the Song is often said to un-do the story
of Adam and Eve in the Bible.[6]
This is a book where there is no shame in nakedness, no shame in knowledge, and
a strong connection between the humans and the Garden they inhabit.
Week four will take us through some of the more unsettling
portions of the text. There are a couple of passages where the woman is
desperately seeking her partner but unable to find him. In these times of
absence, we are reminded that none of us can fully know even those closest to
us (let alone, God). We will explore the unknowingness of love – the flow of
absence and return.
The last week is still taking shape. But I will try to bring
us back around, in some way, to the experience of the Song as a book of
devotion. What can we learn about
reverence? How do we read ourselves into the text? How can the Song of Songs
change our experience of the Holy and of one another?
I am looking forward to going on this journey with you. I
encourage you to dust off your Bible at home this week. The entire book is only
eight chapters long and can easily be read in one sitting. As we enter the
garden of the Song of Songs, let us do so with reverence and thanksgiving for
the great gift of love in all its many forms.
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