Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 3307
“My beloved is mine, and I am His: He feeds among the lilies. Until the day breaks and the shadows flee away, turn, my Beloved, and be You like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.” Solomon’s Song 2:16,17.
[Other Sermons by Mr. Spurgeon upon the same verses are #1190, Volume 20—A SONG AMONG THE LILIES; #2442, Volume 41—“MY BELOVED IS MINE” and #2477, Volume 42—DARKNESS BEFORE THE DAWN.]
IT may be that there are saints who are always at their best and are happy enough never to lose the light of their Father’s Countenance. I am not sure that there are such persons, for those Believers with whom I have been most intimate have had varied experiences and those whom I have known who have boasted of their constant perfectness, have not been the most reliable of individuals. I hope there is a spiritual region attainable where there are no clouds to hide the Sun of our soul, but I cannot speak positively, for I have not traversed that happy land. Every year of my life has had a winter as well as a summer, and every day its night. I have hitherto seen bright days and heavy rains, and felt warm breezes and fierce winds. Speaking for the many of my Brothers and Sisters, I confess that though the substance is in us, as in the olive tree and the oak, yet we do lose our leaves and the sap within us does not flow with equal vigor at all seasons. We have our downs as well as our ups, our valleys as well as our hills! We are not always rejoicing—we are sometimes in heaviness through manifold trials. Alas, we are grieved to confess that our fellowship with the Well-Beloved is not always that of rapturous delight, but we have at times to seek Him and cry, “Oh, that I knew where I might find Him!” This appears to me to have been in a measure the condition of the spouse when she cried, “Until the day breaks and the shadows flee away, turn, my Beloved.”
I. These words teach us, first, that COMMUNION MAY BE BROKEN.
The spouse had lost the company of her Bridegroom. Conscious communion with Him was gone, though she loved her Lord and sighed for Him. In her loneliness she was sorrowful, but she had by no means ceased to love Him, for she calls Him her Beloved and speaks as one who felt no doubt upon that point. Love to the Lord Jesus may be quite as true, and perhaps quite as strong when we sit in darkness as when we walk in the light. No, she had not lost her assurance of His love to herand of their mutual interest in one another, for she says, “My Beloved is mine, and I am His.” And yet she adds, “Turn, my Beloved.” The condition of our Grace does not always coincide with the state of our joys. We may be rich in faith and love, and yet have so low an esteem of ourselves as to be much depressed. It is plain, from this sacred Canticle, that the spouse may love and be loved, may be confident in her Lord and be fully assured of her possession of Him, and yet there may, for the present, be mountains between her and Him. Yes, we may even be far advanced in the Divine Life, and yet be exiled for a while from conscious fellowship. There are nights for men as well as babes, and the strong know that the sun is hidden quite as well as do the sick and the feeble. Do not, therefore, condemn yourself, my Brothers and Sisters because a cloud is over you—cast not away your confidence—but rather let faith burn up the gloom and let your love resolve to come at your Lord again whatever barriers which divide you from Him may be!
When Jesus is absent from a true heir of Heaven, sorrow will ensue. The healthier our condition, the sooner will that absence be perceived and the more deeply will it be lamented. This sorrow is described in the text as darkness—this is implied in the expression, “until the day breaks.” Till Christ appears, no day has dawned for us. We dwell in midnight darkness! The stars of the promises and the moon of experience yield no light of comfort till our Lord, like the sun, arises and ends the night! We must have Christ with us or we are benighted—we grope like blind men for the wall and wander in dismay.
The spouse also speaks of shadows. “Until the day breaks and the shadows flee away.” Shadows are multiplied by the departure of the sun, and these are apt to distress the timid. We are not afraid of real enemies when Jesus is with us, but when we miss Him, we tremble at the shade. How sweet is that song, “Yes, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff they comfort me”! But we change our note when midnight is come and Jesus is not with us! Then we people the night with terrors—specters, demons, hobgoblins and things that never existed save in fancy, are apt to swarm about us—and we are in fear where there is no fear!
The spouse’s worst trouble was that the back of her Beloved was turned to her and so she cried, “Turn, my Beloved.” When His face is towards her, she suns herself in His love, but if the light of His Countenance is withdrawn, she is sorely troubled. Our Lord turns His face from His people though He never turns His heart from His people. He may even close His eyes in sleep when the vessel is tossed by the tempest, but His heart is awake all the while. Still, it is pain enough to have grieved Him in any degree—it cuts us to the quick to think that we have wounded His tender heart. He is jealous, but never without cause. If He turns His back upon us for a while, there is doubtless a more than sufficient reason. He would not walk contrary to us if we had not walked contrary to Him. Ah, it is sad work this! The Presence of the Lord makes this life the preface to the celestial life! But His absence leaves us pining and fainting, neither does any comfort remain in the land of our banishment. The Scriptures and the ordinances, private devotion and public worship are all as sundials—most excellent when the sun shines, but of small use in the dark. O, Lord Jesus, nothing can compensate us for Your loss! Draw near to Your beloved yet again, for without You, our night will never end—