Commentary - Song of Solomon 5:1-9

Bird's-eye view

This chapter presents a pivotal and sobering moment in the love story of Solomon and his bride. It begins with the consummation and joyful celebration of their union, but then shifts dramatically to a scene of separation and searching. The beloved comes to his bride at night, but she, comfortable and slow to respond, hesitates. By the time she rises to let him in, he is gone. This is not a story of a lover's quarrel in the modern, sentimental sense. It is a profound depiction of a real crisis in a real marriage, one that has immense typological significance for the relationship between Christ and His Church. The bride's subsequent frantic search, her suffering at the hands of the city watchmen, and her passionate charge to the daughters of Jerusalem reveal the painful consequences of spiritual sloth and the renewed ardor that comes through repentance. The chapter teaches us that communion with the beloved is a precious gift, not to be taken for granted, and that the path back from spiritual coolness is often one of suffering and desperate, renewed seeking.

The core of this passage is the contrast between the garden of delight in verse 1 and the dark, unresponsive city streets later on. The bride moves from the pinnacle of marital bliss to the agony of loss, all because of a moment's hesitation. Her journey to find her beloved is a picture of the church, or the individual believer, being roused from a comfortable complacency. The pain she endures is a chastisement, a loving discipline meant to restore her and deepen her appreciation for her husband. Her final testimony to the daughters of Jerusalem is not one of bitterness, but of overwhelming, love-sick devotion, which sets the stage for her magnificent description of her beloved in the verses that follow.

Outline

Context In Song of Solomon

Chapter 5 follows the glorious affirmations of love and the wedding procession found in chapters 3 and 4. In chapter 4, the king has praised his bride's beauty in exquisite detail, and she has invited him into his garden, a metaphor for her own self (Song 4:16). Chapter 5, verse 1 is his response, the joyful acceptance of that invitation. This marks the high point of their union. The subsequent narrative, beginning in verse 2, introduces the first significant problem or conflict within the marriage. Up to this point, the story has been one of courtship, longing, and joyful union. Now, the reality of maintaining that fellowship is explored. This chapter's crisis of separation and searching is what makes the reunion in the later chapters so powerful. It demonstrates that this is not a fairytale romance, but a real relationship that must navigate failure and forgiveness, sloth and renewed zeal. It is a necessary trial that ultimately deepens their love and the bride's understanding of her beloved.

Key Issues

From the Garden to the Street

The Song of Solomon is, first and foremost, a collection of intense erotic love poems celebrating the goodness of marriage. We must not spiritualize away the literal meaning. This is about a real king and his real bride. But because all lawful marriage is a type of Christ and the Church (Eph. 5:32), this inspired marriage is the type par excellence. It is a living, breathing picture of the gospel story.

In this chapter, we see that story unfold. The King, Christ, comes to His garden, the Church, which He has purchased and made His own. He delights in her. The call for the friends and lovers to eat and drink is the celebration of the wedding supper of the Lamb. But then comes the test. The Church, the bride, can grow comfortable. She can be "asleep" even when her heart is "awake." Christ comes to us, knocking (Rev. 3:20), often at inconvenient times, calling us to fellowship. And we, like the bride, can make excuses. We are comfortable. We have already settled in for the night. Putting on our clothes and dirtying our feet seems like too much trouble. This is a picture of spiritual laziness. The tragedy is that when she finally rouses herself, He is gone. This is not because He is cruel, but to teach her the value of His presence. The frantic search that follows, and the beating she takes from the watchmen, is the loving discipline of the Lord, designed to awaken her from her stupor and set her to seeking His face with a new desperation.

Verse by Verse Commentary

1 “I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride; I have picked my myrrh along with my balsam. I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, friends; Drink and imbibe deeply, O lovers.”

The king speaks. He has accepted his bride's invitation from the end of the previous chapter. He calls her his garden, signifying that she belongs to him, and he has entered in. The language is rich with sensory detail, describing the delights of consummation. He gathers myrrh and balsam, eats honeycomb, and drinks wine and milk. This is a picture of complete and joyful satisfaction in his bride. It is the unhindered bliss of perfect union. The final lines are a call to the wedding guests, the "friends" and "lovers," to join in the celebration. In the antitype, this is Christ finding His delight in His church, the people He has redeemed. The feast is the joy of salvation, the wedding supper of the Lamb, to which all the friends of the bridegroom are invited.

2 “I was asleep, but my heart was awake. A voice! My beloved was knocking: ‘Open to me, my sister, my darling, My dove, my perfect one! For my head is full of dew, My locks with the damp of the night.’

The scene shifts dramatically. The bride is now speaking. She is in a state of drowsy complacency, "asleep, but my heart was awake." This is a perfect description of a certain kind of spiritual state. We are not entirely dead to God, but we are not actively watching and waiting for Him either. We are saved, but settled. Then comes the knock. Her beloved is outside, seeking entrance. His words are full of tender affection; he calls her sister, darling, dove, perfect one. These are covenant terms of endearment. He is not angry, but earnestly desiring fellowship. The reason he gives is poignant: his head is full of dew from the night air. He has been waiting for her. Typologically, this is Christ, who has labored for His people, coming to them and seeking communion. He stands at the door and knocks. He desires to come in and sup with us, but He does not force the door. He waits for us to open.

3I have taken off my long-sleeved garment, How can I put it on again? I have washed my feet, How can I dirty them again?

Here is the bride's pathetic excuse. Her reply is not a defiant "No," but the whimper of inconvenience. She has already gotten ready for bed. She is clean and comfortable. To get up would mean undoing her preparations; she would have to put her robe back on and get her clean feet dirty on the floor. It is the voice of self-centered ease. How often do we respond to the call of Christ in the same way? The call to pray, to serve, to fellowship, comes when we are comfortable in our routines. We don't refuse Him outright, but we demur. We prioritize our comfort over communion with Him. This is a dangerous spiritual condition, and it is precisely what precedes a season of spiritual darkness.

4My beloved sent forth his hand through the opening, And my feelings moaned for him.

The beloved makes one more attempt. He reaches his hand through the latch-hole, a gesture of intimate appeal. This act finally stirs her. Her "feelings moaned for him." Her affections are kindled, but it is a delayed reaction. The Spirit of God does not give up on us after our first lazy response. He strives with us, bringing a conviction that pierces our comfortable excuses. The conscience is pricked, the heart is moved, and we begin to realize what we are forfeiting through our sloth.

5I arose to open to my beloved; And my hands dripped with myrrh, And my fingers with liquid myrrh, On the handles of the lock.

She finally gets up. Her action is now decisive. The detail about her hands dripping with myrrh is significant. It is likely that the beloved, in putting his hand through the opening, had anointed the lock with this precious perfume as a sign of his visit. When she touches the lock, she gets this fragrant oil on her own hands. This is a picture of repentance. When we are finally moved to obey Christ, we find evidence that He was truly there. His grace has preceded us, leaving a sweet fragrance even on the instruments of our disobedience. The very act of turning back to Him is itself a gift from Him.

6I opened to my beloved, But my beloved had turned away and passed by! My soul went out to him as he spoke. I searched for him, but I did not find him; I called him, but he did not answer me.

This is the tragic consequence of her delay. She opens the door, but he is gone. The time for easy fellowship has passed. His withdrawal is a chastisement. God sometimes withdraws the sense of His presence to teach us to value it more highly. Her soul "went out to him," an expression of deep distress and longing. Now that he is gone, she is desperate for him. She searches, she calls, but there is only silence. This is the dark night of the soul that often follows a period of spiritual complacency. The believer, having taken the presence of Christ for granted, is suddenly awakened to the terror of His absence and begins to seek Him with a newfound urgency.

7The watchmen who go about in the city found me, They struck me and wounded me; The guardsmen of the walls took away my shawl from me.

Her search leads her into the city streets at night, where she encounters the watchmen. Instead of helping her, they abuse her. They strike her, wound her, and strip her of her shawl, a mark of her dignity. Who are these watchmen? In the context of Israel, they should be the guardians of God's people. Typologically, this can represent a corrupt or legalistic religious establishment. When a believer is earnestly seeking a lost sense of Christ's presence, they will often find no help from the formal structures of religion. Instead of comfort, they receive condemnation. They are wounded by a religion that has a form of godliness but denies its power. This suffering, however, is part of her restoration. It strips her of her self-reliance and drives her to a more desperate faith.

8I call you to solemnly swear, O daughters of Jerusalem, If you find my beloved, What will you tell him? Tell him that I am sick with love.”

Despite the abuse, her search continues. She turns to the "daughters of Jerusalem," the other women of the court, representing the broader community of believers. She adjures them, placing them under oath, to help her. Her message is simple and profound: "I am sick with love." Her previous laziness has been burned away and replaced with an all-consuming passion. The absence of her beloved has made her realize the depth of her love for him. This is the testimony of a repentant soul. She is not bitter about her suffering; she is consumed with a desire for the one she has lost.

9 “What is your beloved that he is more than any other beloved, O most beautiful among women? What is your beloved that he is more than any other beloved, That thus you call us to solemnly swear?”

The daughters of Jerusalem respond with a reasonable question. They acknowledge her beauty, calling her the "most beautiful among women," but they are taken aback by the intensity of her charge. Why should they take such a solemn oath for her beloved? What makes him so special? The question is a perfect setup. Her crisis and her passionate search have created an opportunity for her to bear witness. Her suffering has led to a platform for testimony. Their question invites her to describe the glories of her beloved, which she proceeds to do in one of the most magnificent passages in all of Scripture.

Application

This passage is a sharp rebuke to all comfortable, self-satisfied Christianity. It is easy for us, having experienced the initial joy of salvation, to settle down into a spiritual stupor. We are asleep, though our hearts are still faintly awake. Christ comes to us daily, in His word, in the opportunities for service, in the call to prayer, and He knocks. And we are masters of the pious excuse. We are too tired, too busy, too comfortable. We have already washed our feet.

We must learn from the bride's mistake. The presence of Christ is a precious, moment-by-moment gift, not a possession to be stored on a shelf. When He calls, we must rise immediately. Delay is a form of denial. But if we have been slothful, we must also learn from her repentance. When we find that the sense of His presence has lifted, we are not to despair. We are to do what she did. We are to get up and search for Him, regardless of the cost. The path back to Him may involve painful encounters with the world's hostility or the coldness of a formal church. But this suffering is medicinal. It purges our complacency and rekindles our first love. The goal is to come to the place where we can say, with the bride, "I am sick with love." This is the sickness that is true health. It is a love for Christ that consumes every lesser comfort and drives us to seek Him, and Him alone, as our greatest treasure.