Imperfect Dance | Samuel Lee | Mundy Park

I slept but my heart was awake.

Listen! My beloved is knocking:

“Open to me, my sister, my darling,

my dove, my flawless one.

My head is drenched with dew,

my hair with the dampness of the night.”

I have taken off my robe—

must I put it on again?

I have washed my feet—

must I soil them again?

My beloved thrust his hand through the latch-opening;

my heart began to pound for him.

I arose to open for my beloved,

and my hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with flowing myrrh,

on the handles of the bolt.

I opened for my beloved,

but my beloved had left; he was gone.

My heart sank at his departure.

I looked for him but did not find him.

I called him but he did not answer.

The watchmen found me

as they made their rounds in the city.

They beat me, they bruised me;

they took away my cloak,

those watchmen of the walls!

Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you —

if you find my beloved,

what will you tell him?

Tell him I am faint with love.

How is your beloved better than others,

most beautiful of women?

How is your beloved better than others,

that you so charge us?

My beloved is radiant and ruddy,

outstanding among ten thousand.

His head is purest gold;

his hair is wavy

and black as a raven.

His eyes are like doves

by the water streams,

washed in milk,

mounted like jewels.

His cheeks are like beds of spice

yielding perfume.

His lips are like lilies

dripping with myrrh.

His arms are rods of gold

set with topaz.

His body is like polished ivory

decorated with lapis lazuli.

His legs are pillars of marble

set on bases of pure gold.

His appearance is like Lebanon,

choice as its cedars.

His mouth is sweetness itself;

he is altogether lovely.

This is my beloved, this is my friend,

daughters of Jerusalem.

Where has your beloved gone,

most beautiful of women?

Which way did your beloved turn,

that we may look for him with you?

My beloved has gone down to his garden,

to the beds of spices,

to browse in the gardens

and to gather lilies.

I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine;

he browses among the lilies.

You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling,

as lovely as Jerusalem,

as majestic as troops with banners.

Turn your eyes from me;

they overwhelm me.

Your hair is like a flock of goats

descending from Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep

coming up from the washing.

Each has its twin,

not one of them is missing.

Your temples behind your veil

are like the halves of a pomegranate.

Sixty queens there may be,

and eighty concubines,

and virgins beyond number;

but my dove, my perfect one, is unique,

the only daughter of her mother,

the favorite of the one who bore her.

The young women saw her and called her blessed;

the queens and concubines praised her.

Who is this that appears like the dawn,

fair as the moon, bright as the sun,

majestic as the stars in procession?

• Song of Songs 5:2-6:10

This week, Pastor Samuel Lee talks to Tapestry Mundy Park about the Imperfect Dance and how we are never to stop loving and longing for each other.

Click HERE for this week's Small Group Study Guides

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