Sunday, July 12, 2020  

Today’s Scripture Reading  |  Song of Solomon 2:8–13
The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills. My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look, there he stands behind our wall, gazing in at the windows, looking through the lattice. My beloved speaks 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, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. (NRSV)

Reflection
Oh, how lovely—and how lovely to see all this nature imagery. I wish I could bound away over the hills and visit fig trees. (Though I saw some the other day at the Chicago Botanic Garden!)

I am grateful for this reminder that we can come to God as much or maybe more through attraction as from fear or family or habit. To come to God from what we have seen of God’s action in our life, or in the lives of others, and to want more.

It’s been almost seven weeks since the start of protests after George Floyd’s murder, and already some people are talking about “ally fatigue.” There’s a lot that disturbs me about that phrase, but right now I will just counter with one that excites me: “ally exhilaration” (from journalist Jaya Sundaresh). In her words, “Liberation liberates all of us.”

And I think about imagining new futures, new possibilities of being in the world together. What might a truly fair and just world look like? A world based on love?

“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,
and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.”

Prayer
Beloved God, I hear the prophets of our times and of times past, speaking of what your world could be here on earth. Often I feel I am gazing in at the window—able to glimpse pieces but not yet part of the whole. May I trust in what I can see and offer my hands to the work, knowing more will be revealed as I move forward. Amen.

Written by Anne Ellis, Program Manager for Congregational Life

Reflection and Prayer © Fourth Presbyterian Church

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