Song of Songs 2:8-13

Donna Giver Johnston

September 3, 2006

It’s Labor Day Weekend—the official end of summer. How has your summer been? Too short, right?

My summer has been delightful. . .a little travel, a little beach time, a little book time, and lot of family time. But, the highlight for me was having time for sharing stories.

Stories about our country’s history in New York City, Philadelphia and Washington, D.C.

Stories about children’s births and early years in Belmar, NJ

Stories about growing up with four sisters, and vacation adventures

Stories, stories and more stories.

Most recently, while celebrating my father-in-law’s 67^th birthday, we gave him a book in which to record the stories of his life for his grandchildren. He opened it up and began reading the questions: tell of a time you were naughty and got in trouble. He told the story of once when he was a child, his mother dressed him up in his church clothes—complete with white shoes—and instructed him not to get dirty—or else! He went outside and behold! a big tar truck was coming down the road. He was so fascinated by this truck laying asphalt, that he wanted to get a closer look—too close, and you guessed it—the white shoes weren’t so white anymore. Big trouble!

This question made me pull out of my closet a story I hadn’t told for a long time. I told of the time when I was about 5 or 6 shopping with my mother. In the store, I saw a pair of sunglasses I wanted. I asked. Mom said no. I asked again. Mom said no again. I asked again, hoping. . but Mom said no and let’s go. But, I simply had to have them. And so I put them in my pocket. At the checkout, my favorite clerk Donna said hello and made me laugh, like she always did. When getting in the car, the sunglasses fell out of my pocket. Mom picked up the sunglasses and marched me back into the store. I not only had to return the sunglasses, I had to return them to Donna and tell her how sorry I was. It’s part of my story—of what I’ve done in my life—but, it’s not the whole story of who I am, thankfully.

What’s your story? As you reflect on your life, what comes to mind?

Some parts filled with joy and laughter, and no doubt some sorrow and tears

Some times of having it all, some times of just barely getting by

Some events you planned, and some that took you by surprise

Some things in which you take pride, and some of which you are ashamed

Some stories you tell again and again, and some you’ve never told anyone—not even God

They are all parts of your story—of what you’ve done in your life—but, they are not the whole story of who you are.

What’s our story? As a community of faith, what’s our story?

The Bible is the story of our faith.

Some parts are History. . .of God’s people’s faithfulness and waywardness

Some parts are Law . . . commandments kept and broken

Some parts are Prophecy . . words of judgment and mercy

Some parts are Wisdom . . of how to live with God and one another

Some parts are Gospel . . words of teaching and healing and resurrection

Some parts are Letters . . on how to be the church, the body of Christ in the world

Each one is part of the story—the story of our faith—but, it’s not the whole story.

The Bible is more than the sum of its parts. Some parts are given more attention. Some parts often overlooked. One little book, between Ecclesiastes and Isaiah is called The Song of Songs. It is rarely read and seldom preached. Did you even know it was in the Bible? While I usually pass over it and choose a Gospel text, I decided to preach on it today because it is a part of the story—the whole story.

From Song of Songs: My beloved speaks to me and says to me: "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away, for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. Let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. My beloved is mine and I am his" (2:8, 10, 13-14).

Sounds like a love poem—words to be read by lovers, not to a congregation.

So, then, what is it doing in the Bible?

Truth is, we don’t have any transcripts of what must have been a lively debate over the propriety of including the evocative poetry of Song of Songs in the Bible. We are left to wonder why it was included. Afterall, this book stands in sharp contrast to the rest of the biblical books. Nowhere in its eight chapters is God mentioned. Nor are any allusions made to Israel’s history or their religious traditions. And certainly no practical advice for setting up a church and its committees.

It is a poem celebrating the joys of human love. It is a love poem—it certainly is that—if you don’t believe me, try it sometime! But, perhaps it is about something more. It reveals something of the relationship between human and divine love.

We know about human love—after all, we’re born to love and be loved—as brother, sister, parent, child, spouse, friend. We know about love’s power—to unite hearts and change lives. We may not always understand love, or always get it right, but we know that we are our happiest, strongest, most alive, and most secure about ourselves when we know we are loved. Love is what we long for most. Loving is what makes us most like God.

We don’t know much about God’s infinite love—it’s beyond our comprehension, really, as God is. But, we do know this: where there is love—any kind of love—there God is. For God is love.

And so, this poem of human love can also be read as an allegory of God’s love for God’s people.

Song of Songs is only part of the story—but an important part. Because it reminds us that the Bible is, in essence, a love story. From the beginning, God has been at work—in the world, in history, in the human heart—trying to express love for God’s people. Through shepherds and sages, judges and kings, prophecy and psalms, and death and resurrection of his only Son, God has revealed a longing to be in a loving relationship with the human family. The Bible is the story of the unchanging reality of God’s steadfast love—of God refusing to give up on us. It’s the story of God’s labor of love.

Maybe that’s why this little book was included in the Bible. Maybe God knew of our universal need to know that we are loved. Maybe God knew we would forget from time to time. Maybe God knew that we need to know that God loves—not only the world—but each one of us, intimately.

In August I took a group of women from the church to a Women of Faith conference in Indiana. We heard lots of stories. Stories of trial and triumph; love and loneliness; faith and frustration. Stories that made you laugh; that made you stand up and cheer; that broke your heart. Stories that were a little too close to our own. But, all the speakers, not matter how painful their story, testified that theirs is only a small part of the whole story: the story of God’s all-encompassing love. They helped us see what God’s love looks like, both on the pages of Scripture and beyond—in real life.

Marilyn Meberg was one of the speakers. An accident resulted in a back injury that had given her chronic pain most of her 70 some years of life. Finally, the pain got too much and she opted for surgery. She told the story of her friends being with her—before, during and after surgery. When the nurse came back into the recovery room and said, "There’s really too many people in this room." Her friends smiled, but they didn’t leave. When at home, she said, "Oh, I don’t need you to stay, it’s too much trouble," They smiled, but the didn’t leave. When she said, "I wish I could read, but I can’t sit still long enough, it hurts," they didn’t leave. They followed her around the house, reading to her. When she said, "I am too depressed to sing," they didn’t leave. They sang songs of hope to her and for her. Marilyn said, "Through it all they didn’t leave. They stayed with me. And through them, I knew the love of God for me like never before."

Another part of my story is that I gave up stealing sunglasses and became a minister.

A few years ago, I was invited to Rebecca’s kindergarten class for career day. I had to answer the question: what do you do? I wondered: what do I do and how to tell kindergarteners about it? Finally, I simply said this: I tell people God loves them. "That’s all?" I remember one child asking, "but doesn’t everyone know that?"

Do you know that? Do you know that no matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done, no matter the parts of your story that you keep hidden away, still God loves you? Do you know that the story of God’s labor of love has the power to embrace all your story? Do you know that God’s love is greater than your guilt, more resilient than your anger, and will pursue you until you can let go of the painful parts of your story and allow God to fill you with his mercy and cover you with his grace? Do you know that God loves you passionately, extravagantly, personally, eternally? Do you know that? Not in your head, but deep down inside, do you know that you are loved?

In case you’re wondering, these words written by Henri Nouwen are for you from God:

I have called you by name, from the very beginning. You are mine and I am yours. You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests. . . I have carved you in the palms of my hands and hidden you in the shadow of my embrace. I look at you with infinite tenderness and care for you with the care more intimate than that of a mother for her child. . . Wherever you go, I go with you, and wherever you rest, I keep watch.. . . You belong to me. I am your father, your mother, your brother, your sister, your lover and your spouse. . .yes, even your child. . .wherever you are I will be. . .We are one.

And that’s the story—the whole story—and it’s the truest story I know.

Thanks be to God.