“Love Songs”
James 1:17–27; Song of Songs 2:8–17
*****
The skinny kid from Liverpool was having no luck with the ladies. Maybe this
had something to do with his oversized nose. Whatever the reason, he could not buy a
date! But less than ten years later, tens of thousands of young women screamed his name.
Because John Lennon wrote love songs.
Love, love me do; you know I love you; I always be true; so, please, love me do
I ain’t got nothing but love, babe; eight days a week
And of course: All you need is love, love; love is all you need
I confess that I needed to hear some love songs this week for it seemed the rest of
the world was playing the worst kind of blues. The stock market tanked. Fatal car
accidents on I-81. Suicide bombers. Idiot politicians. Sick children with holes in their
hearts. And, of course, the murderous tragedy of the reporter and cameraman. It is a dark
world, so cold and brutal, each and every week . . . how about a love song?
But wait a minute, all you need is love? Really?
I’m not suggesting that we stupidly sing silliness in the face of tragedy, that we
distract ourselves instead of facing up to the problems.
We are called to be saints, weeping with those who are suffering.
We are called to be priests, praying for those who have died.
And we are called to be prophets, addressing the social and systemic problems of
rampant gun violence and insufficient access to mental healthcare. Be hearers and doers
of the Word, James reminds us. Faith without works is dead. Pure religion is not only
about personal piety, but about the work of truth, justice, and reconciliation on behalf of
the orphans and widows, the most vulnerable among us. Lord knows this is serious work.
So why listen to love songs?
With apologies to Sir Paul, I think Lennon’s greatest love song came after Beatle
mania: Imagine no possessions / I wonder if you can / no need for greed or hunger / a
brotherhood of man / Imagine all the people, sharing all the world . . .
That is the greatest love song because it reminds me of another long-haired,
bearded, sandal-wearing dude sang about two thousand years before. The one who gave a
new commandment that we love one another. What an unusual command! You do not
love by following a list of rules written on stone tablets. Love is more about dreaming, as
Lennon put it. And the wandering rabbi with love on his lips would certainly have sung
our Scripture for today.
While often associated with King Solomon, this book is technically known as the
Song of Songs. But many Jews and Christians of the past wanted the book banned from
the Bible. They thought it was the equivalent of teeny-bopper pop music. There’s allure,
there’s mystery, there’s excitement. It’s sexy, actually. The Song of Songs begins with
this verse: Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than
wine! Why listen to love songs? Cut that off!
But Rabbi Akiva, a contemporary of Jesus and one of the best known teachers of
his day, called the Song of Songs the Holy of Holies—the most sacred book out of all the
books! And mystics throughout the ages have understood love, not as a distraction or
nicety, but as a power for good. A change agent in the world. For perfect love casts out
all fear . . . can you imagine? How can we make a positive difference in the world? How
do we give more than lip service to the very ideals that James defines as true religion?
How do we accomplish the heavy lifting of hope as faithful people in the broken and
bruised world?
Today’s selection from the Song of Songs describes a flashback. A young maiden
remembers her lover. And she uses her imagination. She imagines her lover as a gazelle,
a stag, a young buck. He is swift, powerful, wild. He is alluring, attractive, sensuous,
even forbidden. He watches her from behind a fence, just out of reach. From there, he
summons her: “Rise up, my beloved, my fair one, and come away!”
Sexy, huh? I want to hold you hand, I want to hold your hand.
But this is the Song of Songs. This is the Word of the Lord. This is the song of all
songs because it inspires, evokes, imagines.
The Song of Songs invites us to imagine that the winter is over, the rain long
gone—that there is no more gloom or cold, darkness or weariness, tragedy or despair and
we are going to a better place, a better state of mind . . .
“Rise up, my beloved, my fair one, and come away!”
Can you imagine? The vines have fruit, the trees are budding, there are flowers in
her hair, flowers everywhere! There is joy and happiness and promise and hope, the thing
with feathers which perches on the soul (Emily Dickinson).
“Rise up, my beloved, my fair one, and come away!”
Can you imagine? You may say I’m a dreamer; but I’m not the only one.
According to Jesus, the heart of all serious, holy, and inspired prophetic work is love. All
you need is love! Love one another, he sang, even as I have loved you. Or, “Rise up, my
beloved, my fair one, and come away!”
Maybe the Song of Songs is the Holy of Holies because it invites us to be our best
selves that we might become the change we want to see in the world (Gandhi). For love
being love calls us out of ourselves (Christian Wiman). Can you imagine?
What if you imagined the love song of all love songs being sung to you? How
would you act if you thought of yourself as an object of deep abiding holy everlasting
affection? How would your perspective change if you took this love to heart?
“Rise up, my beloved, my fair one, and come away!”
Here’s what I say: never claim that the problems are too big or that you are too
small. For you are loved. And love changes the world.
That skinny kid from Liverpool didn’t start out to change to the world. He was
just writing rhymes with a guitar. And the rabbi from Nazareth only collected a few
followers, a mishmash of ordinary folk and oddballs. Those fishermen and tax collectors
and farmers and housewives and prostitutes had no idea that they, too, would change the
world. They just heard this love song, a harmony which pitched their hearts, tuned their
souls to be a little kinder, inspired a little more hope. A love song, just a love song, really;
but one that caused them to imagine that, yes, because they were loved, then they could
love, too. The music called them to follow and the love carried them to places beyond
their wildest imaginations. And the world has never been the same.
So why listen to love songs? What say you? Can you hear this song of all songs,
playing even now in the brutal world, calling all of us to greater brightness? “Rise up, my
beloved, my fair one, and come away!” Can you imagine? I, for one, hope you do . . .
I hope someday you’ll join us; and the world will live as one.
Rev. Andrew Taylor-Troutman
New Dublin Presbyterian Church
August 30, 2015