On my bed by night
I sought him whom my soul loves;
            I sought him, but found him not.
I will rise now and go about the city,
            in the streets and in the squares;
I will seek him whom my soul loves.
            I sought him, but found him not.
The watchmen found me
            as they went about in the city.
“Have you seen him whom my soul loves?”
Scarcely had I passed them
            when I found him whom my soul loves.
I held him, and would not let him go
            until I had brought him into my mother’s house,
            and into the chamber of her who conceived me.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
by the gazelles or the does of the field,
that you not stir up or awaken love
until it pleases.

Song of Songs 3:1-5

Love is beautiful, wonderful, and painful.

Lewis reflects on this, saying:

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it in intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

So far, the Song of Songs has only hinted at that reality. The only ‘pain’ we have really seen is the woman’s longing, her desire to be with her beloved. She says in 2:5 that she is sick with love, that feeling restless ache that comes when love seizes the heart. That is certainly one kind of pain.

But this text is different. This is a first real glimpse, though not the last, of the wilderness of the fall intruding into the garden of love. Here we see that love is not only marked by delight and pleasure but also by absence, uncertainty, and searching.

Even though our text has a clear tonal shift from last week’s, I still believe that 2:8-3:5 is one cohesive unit of the Song. Last week, everything was vibrant and alive. She was in her garden, and he came leaping over the mountains like a gazelle or young stag. He then stood outside the wall of her garden, calling to her: “Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.” He told her that winter had passed, and spring had arrived. It was an invitation full of joy and life.

ON MY BED BY NIGHT // VERSE 1

But now the scene shifts.

On my bed by night
I sought him whom my soul loves;
I sought him, but found him not.

That is jarring. From presence to absence.

Many commentators believe that this is a dream sequence. The ESV even gives this section the title: “The Bride’s Dream.” But the text never says that she is dreaming. She is on her bed, seeking him.

In 5:2, we will study a somewhat similar sequence, and that seems more likely to be a dream because she begins by saying, “I slept, but my heart was awake.” That seems more dream-like language to me.

If anything, I am more likely to think that last week’s text was the dream here. That would certainly make sense of the jarring transition. She experiences this vivid, joyful encounter with her beloved.

Then she wakes up.

And, crucially, he is not there.

We are meant to feel as disoriented as she is. She expects to find him beside her, but he is gone.

That expectation matters. Again, many modern commentators view chapters 1-3 as the couples’ courtship. But in this verse, she is not on her bed, simply thinking and dreaming about him, longing for their wedding day. She apparently dreams about him, wakes, and is startled that he is not beside her in bed. That certainly implies intimacy and marriage between them.

And it is his absence that drives the whole passage, which we can hear in the three verbs that dominate these verbs: seek, find, and love. Each of which is used four times. Of course, the phrase ‘him whom my soul loves’ is the heartbeat of this section.

It is worth considering what exactly she means by ‘my soul.’ Today, we tend to think of the soul purely as a spiritual force or perhaps even consciousness that inhabits the physical body. And we come by that thought honestly enough from great thinkers like Plato and Socrates. But in the Hebrew language, the concept of soul (nephesh) was not a clear-cut. Nephesh refers to the whole self, living and embodied. A fitting translation for nephesh is often ‘human being,’ which includes the body. So, when she says, him whom my soul loves, she is not speaking of some abstract, purely spiritual affection. She means that her whole being loves him.

This is important because the earliest Christian heresy was Gnosticism, which taught that everything physical was bad and everything spiritual was good. And though it has gone by different names, that gnostic tendency perennially attacks the church. Notably, it is attaching itself now to the digital world with many hoping to transcend the physical limits of their bodies through technology.

But the Song, like all of Scripture, affirms the goodness (though broken by sin) of the body. Thus, love here is not purely spiritual nor merely physical. It encompasses one’s whole being.

That wholeness is why the pains of love cut so deeply.

Let us finally ask the most obvious question: why isn’t he in bed?

We aren’t told, so we don’t know.

And that is intentional. The Song is a song. It is not aiming to give us specific detailed circumstances but universal experience.

Of course, we can imagine the possibilities. Maybe it was something ordinary, like being out late for business or being with friends or family. Maybe it is more serious. There could be an unresolved tension between them, a conflict. Whatever the reason, she wakes with an acute realization of his absence.

And this is most definitely a universal experience. Last week, we were warned about the little foxes, the small problems, that left unchecked can wreak havoc. Small issues rarely stay small when left alone. They grow and accumulate, until the damage they cause can be ignored no longer.

And the panic kicks in suddenly. You look up one day and think, “What happened?” Everything seemed fine. Everything seemed stable. And then it just fell apart.

Catastrophe can come suddenly. But it often comes gradually, we just didn’t notice. Before most divorces, before more relational collapses, before most personal breakdowns, there were signs, breadcrumbs left on the path, that went unnoticed. Warnings unheeded. And something that was taken for granted suddenly disappears.

That seems to be the emotional weight of this moment. She wakes. She reaches for him, but he isn’t there. I sought him whom my soul loves; I sought him, but found him not.

And that absence produces urgency. So, what does she do?

IN THE CITY // VERSE 2

I will rise now… That language should grab our attention because that is what her beloved previously summoned her to do: Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.

Now she responds. She rises. She resolves to find him. And she goes into the city, into the streets and squares.

That is no small decision.

In the ancient world, it was improper and often dangerous for woman to go out at night. And since we are supposed to read the Song canonically (alongside the rest of Scripture), the nighttime squares of Sodom or Gibeah should spring to our minds.

This is risky.

But love always involves risk. To love is to step outside of personal safety because love, by necessity, means setting your affections upon another. As Lewis said, you make yourself vulnerable. You feel that sharply as a parent, when you experience their pain vicariously. It is also true of marriage. When two people bind themselves together for life, they step into something profoundly good but also uncertain. No one can say who exactly the other person will become. You don’t even know who you will become yet. You marry potential. All marriage is uncertain.

But you commit. You make a covenant in the presence of God and witnesses.

From the outside that looks reckless, and it certainly can be. But risk is not a sin, and security is not a virtue. Love, by nature, compels us beyond our own self-protection because it fixes our eyes on something greater than personal safety and comfort. And that is why Lewis also observed that the opposite of selfishness is not selflessness; it is love. You cannot combat selfishness by simply thinking of yourself less; you fight it by thinking of others more.

That is what we see here. She goes, searching, risking.

But she still does not find him. I sought him, and found him not.

THE WATCHMEN FOUND ME // VERSE 3

The watchmen found me as they went about the city… The watchmen were those tasked with guarding and observing the city. They find her. If anyone knows where her beloved is, it ought to be them. So, she asks them: Have you seen him whom my soul loves? She obviously expects them to know who she is speaking about. But they have no answer for her.

He is not in their bed. He is not in the streets. He has not been seen by the watchmen. Her search feels futile, and his absence feels permanent.

I HELD HIM // VERSE 4

But then we come to verse 4: Scarcely had I passed them when I found him whom my soul loves. After repeatedly seeking and finding him not, the pattern breaks. She finds him.

And notice her response: I held him and would not let him go.

That word ‘held’ is the same word in Hebrew used in 2:15 for ‘catching’ the foxes. There it was about seizing the threats to love. Here it is about seizing love itself. Before, she was told to catch what would destroy their relationship. Now, she catches and clings to her beloved.

She clings to him, seizing and refusing to let go.

There is an urgency and intensity here, a kind of proper stubbornness. She will not lose him again.

Then she says something that is quite strange to us: Until I had brought him into my mother’s house, into the chamber of her who conceived me.

Here again, we need to think like an ancient Israelite. In that culture, the mother’s house has the connotation of legacy and security. We see glimpses of this in Scripture. In Genesis 24, Isaac brings Rebekah into his mother’s tent to make her his wife, and he loves her and is comforted over his mother’s death. There is clearly something meaningful about Isaac bringing his wife to that place. Likely, it is a reminder that Sarah’s legacy will be continued through the children that they would together bring forth.

And in the book of Ruth, Naomi tells her widowed daughters-in-law to return to their mother’s house, which probably means the place of belonging, provision, and protection, since their husbands could no longer give them those things.

So, she is bringing him into a place of security and legacy, of covenant and commitment. Thus, whatever the cause of his absence, this is full restoration. Her longing is fulfilled, and the relationship is reestablished.

I ADJURE YOU, O DAUGHTERS OF JERUSALEM // VERSE 5

And just like in chapter 2, at the height of intimacy and connection, the scene cuts. She turns again to the daughters of Jerusalem and repeats the refrain: I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles or the does of the field, that you do not stir up or awaken love until it pleases.

Why does she adjure them by animals rather than by God directly? O’Donnell points out that there is likely a wordplay happening here in Hebrews. Gazelles and does of the field sound quite similar to God’s titles “Lord of hosts” and “God almighty.” It is subtle but serious. She is placing them under an oath, but she is not casually invoking His name. It is both reverent and poetic.

Now that we have seen something of both the delight and distress of love, the refrain ought to land with more force. Love, again, is not only beautiful; it is costly. It comes with longing, risk, and pain.

But it is still worth pursuing, as long as it is pursued correctly.

HIM WHOM OUR SOUL LOVES

Now, as we pass through our text again and prepare ourselves to behold Christ through these words, there are two major points that we should consider.

Seeking Christ

First, if we return to the three key words that structure this passage (sought, found, love), we ought to consider that Scripture is filled with those words. And just as this passage presents the bride seeking her beloved, we should approach it first in those terms.

All Christians ought to resonate with the bride suddenly waking to discover her beloved’s absence. We all faced something similar at the beginning of our Christian life. Almost in an instant, we awoke to the reality that we were not walking with God, that we had no fellowship with Him. The realization of that absence is what caused us to first call out to Him.

But it can also describe seasons within the Christian life. Seasons of backsliding. Hebrews calls it drifting away. The Christian life is a river that must be swam upstream. To do nothing to drift backward.

The metaphor last week was a garden. All gardens must be tended. Weeds never stop growing, and foxes never stop sneaking. Anything in this life that is not actively pursued is falling into atrophy. There is no end of the thorns and thistles until Christ restores all of creation.

And the same is true of the Christian life. Tell me if you’ve been here before. It starts with missing a day in the Word. A shortened time of prayer. Deciding to stay home a rest rather than go to church. And those small compromises accumulate. Until one day, you wake up and realize that you aren’t walking in fellowship with God.

Scripture’s answer to this problem is consistent: seek Him. Over and over, God calls us to come to Him. As we said last week, all of Scripture is essentially God saying to us as our Beloved: “Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.”

David says it like this: “You have said, ‘Seek my face.’ Your face, O Lord, do I seek.”  Or as Jesus said, “Ask, and it will be given to you. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and it will be opened to you.”

But if you find yourself in that place, whether as a believer or not, then the call of this passage is clear: Rise. Go. Seek God. Pursue Him. Do whatever it takes to find Him whom your soul loves.

And that pursuit will very likely involve discomfort and risk. It will certainly involve repentance and reordering your life. But those things are necessary.

We should also note that Jesus promises certainty but not immediacy. If you seek, you will find. But that does not mean instantly. Even though God is never truly absent, He allows us seasons of feeling as though He is absent in order to deepen our desire for Him, to make us long for Him like a deer longs for streams of water. And when He does make His presence known again, we cling to Him all the more tightly.

Absence really does tend to make the heart grow fonder. It intensifies desire.

But how do we seek Him, you may ask?

Through the spiritual disciplines, which are also called the means of grace.

These do not force God’s hand into doing something for us. We cannot make God act any more than we can make rain fall from the sky on command. But they do position us to more readily receive God’s grace.

Think of it like a dry riverbed or ravine during a drought. There is no water in them for the moment. But when the rain comes, they are where water flows first. In the same way, prayer, Scripture intake, fellowship with other believers, fasting, silence, and meditation do not force God’s presence, but they prepare us for it.

They may feel dry for a season. Days, weeks, even longer. But Jesus assures us that if seek Him, we will find Him. And we will hold Him all the tighter for having sought Him whom our soul loves.

So, as Isaiah say, “Seek the Lord while He may be found.” Or in Hebrews, “Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts.” If He is stirring you, do not ignore it. Rise, and seek Him. And when you find Him, do not let Him go.

There Is None Who Seeks the Lord

But there is a second element to this passage. In Romans 3, Paul quotes from Psalms 14 and 58 saying, “There is none who seeks the Lord.” No one seeks His face. No one naturally searches for Him.

Jesus invites us to come to Him, but, at the most basic level, we don’t want to. We do not seek Him. We do not pursue Him. And we certainly do not risk everything to follow Him.

That is why He came to us.

The greatest display of love is that the King of glory left heaven to come to us and die in our place, to be nailed to a cross with all of our sins loaded upon His shoulders.

That is the only reason we are able to come to Christ: He came to us first. Likewise, we can only seek Him because He first sought us. or as John writes, “WE love because he first loved us.”

In The Silver Chair, Aslan begins telling Jill why he summoned her and Eustace into Narnia. She objects by saying that they were calling on Aslan. But the lion says back, “You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you.”

That is exactly how it works.

When we first come to Christ, it feels like we were the ones calling to God, that we were seeking Him. And that is true to a degree.

But later we realize that the only reason we called out to Him is because He was calling us. The only reason we sought Him is because He was already seeking us.

If you are not walking in communion with God, if He feels distant, that realization is itself His work. That wake-up call is from Him. The very impulse to seek God is evidence that He is already calling you.

How will you respond?

The Beloved says, “Arise, my love, and come away.” Will you be like the woman in this text and say, “I will rise now… I will seek him whom my soul loves.”