To continue with the theme of the church as the Bride of Christ, I thought I would post a short prose piece I wrote in college.
“Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. For behold, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers have already appeared in the land; the time has arrived for pruning the vines, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree has ripened its figs, and the vines in blossom have given forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away!” Song of Solomon 2:10-13
Once upon a time, a baby girl was born in a foreign land. She was born to hardship and sin, and in sin and hardship she lived. She had what might have been a bright and intelligent mind, but soon, as she grew, it became bent to the narrow cunning of a thief, and could not reach beyond her own desires. At an early age she grew to love the dirt and stench of the streets, shunning purity, and prostituted herself for less than a meal.
As time passed, the girl became a woman already aged and hard. There was no sin her young eyes had not seen, and no abomination she had not pursued. Her thoughts never lifted from the polluted sod she walked on; she did not look up to the sun or the sky, and she never wanted anything better. Blood stained her hands, and deceit sat on her brow. She feared only the unknown, and though there was no joy in her labors of lust and pride, she wanted nothing else.
The day came, however, when the little freedom she had disappeared. Her crimes found her, and the patrolmen caught her, bound her, and cast her into prison. There, shivering in a corner, penniless, filthy, diseased, vile and guilty, she waited without hope to live or to die.
Not far away from that place, the King of many lands dwelt in His mighty castle. He was the greatest King to ever walk the earth, and the most beloved. He ruled with justice and impartiality; He administered His kingdom with mercy and open hands. He knew His people, and He loved them. His decisions were wise, and honest and upright.
The King had a Son, and everything His Father was, He was too. From His earliest days He was raised to love truth and beauty, to work hard and not regard rank or wealth in His treatment of men. He studied diligently at every thing given Him to learn, observed mankind, and soon became wise beyond His years. In all the land, there was no one who could speak ill of their Prince, so truly had He won everyone, from the highest noble to the lowest peasant, by His charm, sweetness, and fairness. When tested or challenged, He was unmoving, but when appealed to, He was unfailingly kind and generous.
Most legendary concerning the King and His Son was the love that bound them together. Even those closest to them did not fully comprehend the depth of the bonds between them. When, in time, the Prince became grown, and the King determined to find the Prince a bride, most doubted that He would ever find a maid He considered worthy of His Son. Many kingdoms came offering the finest and most beautiful of their young women, and the King traveled far searching, but time after time He turned back, and said, “Not yet, My Son. She is not found yet.”
Then, in the early hours of one cold, still-dark morning, the King and His Son made a visit to a prison. Slowly, the jailer took them through, showing them each prisoner and recounting the crimes that had brought him or her there. This was the prison where all the worst of those who lived in that kingdom came sooner or later. They were thieves, cutthroats and murderers, men and women hardened beyond recognition, twisted beyond recovery. There, in a corner, still redolent with cheap perfume, malevolence and fear in her eyes, they found the prostitute of the streets. She shrank from the light of the jailer's lamp.
“What has she done?” asked the King. The jailer began to speak, and, one sin at a time, it all came out. Every evil deed she was known to have committed—and there were many—sounded against the stone walls in the quiet while she huddled in her filth. Was there a shade of shame that passed over her face, for the first time, here in the presence of two such men?
The jailer ceased, and there was silence. “And so she is justly come here,” said the King. The other nodded, and would have passed on, but again the King spoke, and arrested him. “Wait,” he said. “She does deserve this and more, by all that she has done, but I do not want her to suffer it. I have decided, and I shall give her to my Son for His bride.”
Horror filled the faces of those standing by. “But, Sire,” cried the jailer, “of all the women in this kingdom, she is the most unworthy!”
“I know,” replied the King. “That is why I choose her.”
“Come away, Sire,” urged a member of His council. “Surely there are others. Surely we can find Your Son a pure bride, a virgin.”
“No.” Now the Prince spoke and He looked full into the face of the haggard woman on the floor. “No, I don’t want another. This woman,” He declared, “this woman will I have, and no other!”
“Why?” The question arose from many. “Why do You want her?”
The King’s Son smiled. “Because My Father has given her to Me, and she is Mine.”
The King took the Prince’s hand. “My Son, this woman is unclean, but You can make her clean. The price will be high, and this labor will be the greatest of Your life, for her crimes still stand, and you will have to make their atonement. But if You will take her, if You will pay her debts, and give Yourself to raise her up, she, the lowest, hardest, most unworthy of all women, shall become the most beautiful and virtuous of all women. None in this whole land shall rival her. Then she will be Your bride, and she will love You as no other could.”
Lamplight danced across rough stone and trodden straw, a bony, worn body covered in rags, and two dark, empty eyes still unbelieving. The Son nodded. “I take her,” He said. “I claim her now.” Then, He reached out His hand, and took hers. “Arise, My love. For the night is passed, and the day is come.”
Once upon a time, a baby girl was born in a foreign land. She was born to hardship and sin, and in sin and hardship she lived. She had what might have been a bright and intelligent mind, but soon, as she grew, it became bent to the narrow cunning of a thief, and could not reach beyond her own desires. At an early age she grew to love the dirt and stench of the streets, shunning purity, and prostituted herself for less than a meal.
As time passed, the girl became a woman already aged and hard. There was no sin her young eyes had not seen, and no abomination she had not pursued. Her thoughts never lifted from the polluted sod she walked on; she did not look up to the sun or the sky, and she never wanted anything better. Blood stained her hands, and deceit sat on her brow. She feared only the unknown, and though there was no joy in her labors of lust and pride, she wanted nothing else.
The day came, however, when the little freedom she had disappeared. Her crimes found her, and the patrolmen caught her, bound her, and cast her into prison. There, shivering in a corner, penniless, filthy, diseased, vile and guilty, she waited without hope to live or to die.
Not far away from that place, the King of many lands dwelt in His mighty castle. He was the greatest King to ever walk the earth, and the most beloved. He ruled with justice and impartiality; He administered His kingdom with mercy and open hands. He knew His people, and He loved them. His decisions were wise, and honest and upright.
The King had a Son, and everything His Father was, He was too. From His earliest days He was raised to love truth and beauty, to work hard and not regard rank or wealth in His treatment of men. He studied diligently at every thing given Him to learn, observed mankind, and soon became wise beyond His years. In all the land, there was no one who could speak ill of their Prince, so truly had He won everyone, from the highest noble to the lowest peasant, by His charm, sweetness, and fairness. When tested or challenged, He was unmoving, but when appealed to, He was unfailingly kind and generous.
Most legendary concerning the King and His Son was the love that bound them together. Even those closest to them did not fully comprehend the depth of the bonds between them. When, in time, the Prince became grown, and the King determined to find the Prince a bride, most doubted that He would ever find a maid He considered worthy of His Son. Many kingdoms came offering the finest and most beautiful of their young women, and the King traveled far searching, but time after time He turned back, and said, “Not yet, My Son. She is not found yet.”
Then, in the early hours of one cold, still-dark morning, the King and His Son made a visit to a prison. Slowly, the jailer took them through, showing them each prisoner and recounting the crimes that had brought him or her there. This was the prison where all the worst of those who lived in that kingdom came sooner or later. They were thieves, cutthroats and murderers, men and women hardened beyond recognition, twisted beyond recovery. There, in a corner, still redolent with cheap perfume, malevolence and fear in her eyes, they found the prostitute of the streets. She shrank from the light of the jailer's lamp.
“What has she done?” asked the King. The jailer began to speak, and, one sin at a time, it all came out. Every evil deed she was known to have committed—and there were many—sounded against the stone walls in the quiet while she huddled in her filth. Was there a shade of shame that passed over her face, for the first time, here in the presence of two such men?
The jailer ceased, and there was silence. “And so she is justly come here,” said the King. The other nodded, and would have passed on, but again the King spoke, and arrested him. “Wait,” he said. “She does deserve this and more, by all that she has done, but I do not want her to suffer it. I have decided, and I shall give her to my Son for His bride.”
Horror filled the faces of those standing by. “But, Sire,” cried the jailer, “of all the women in this kingdom, she is the most unworthy!”
“I know,” replied the King. “That is why I choose her.”
“Come away, Sire,” urged a member of His council. “Surely there are others. Surely we can find Your Son a pure bride, a virgin.”
“No.” Now the Prince spoke and He looked full into the face of the haggard woman on the floor. “No, I don’t want another. This woman,” He declared, “this woman will I have, and no other!”
“Why?” The question arose from many. “Why do You want her?”
The King’s Son smiled. “Because My Father has given her to Me, and she is Mine.”
The King took the Prince’s hand. “My Son, this woman is unclean, but You can make her clean. The price will be high, and this labor will be the greatest of Your life, for her crimes still stand, and you will have to make their atonement. But if You will take her, if You will pay her debts, and give Yourself to raise her up, she, the lowest, hardest, most unworthy of all women, shall become the most beautiful and virtuous of all women. None in this whole land shall rival her. Then she will be Your bride, and she will love You as no other could.”
Lamplight danced across rough stone and trodden straw, a bony, worn body covered in rags, and two dark, empty eyes still unbelieving. The Son nodded. “I take her,” He said. “I claim her now.” Then, He reached out His hand, and took hers. “Arise, My love. For the night is passed, and the day is come.”
This allegory sprang from three primary sources: The first was when my dear friend, Lissa, described a picture she had drawn based on the same quote from Song of Solomon that appears at the top. The second was the idea of a fairy tale in which the "beggar maid" was not virtuous and beautiful as they are in all fairy tales, but in fact as low and despicable as I could possibly make her. These provided the romantic inspiration. The theological inspiration came from John MacArthur's great sermon on election that he delivered at one of Sproul's conferences some years back. It's my all time favorite sermon. In it, he talks of the church as being a love gift from the Father to the Son, and received and loved by the Son for the Father's sake.
2 comments:
This is beautiful writing. It captures how unworthy we are, and how unbelievably gracious and merciful He is. Thanks! Love it.
Mom
Thanks for writing this. I noticed a few mistakes.
"He was unmoving, but when appealed to, He was unfailing kind and generous."
unfailing -> unfailingly
"The Son nodded. “I take her,” He said."
I -> I'll
This is my favorite line:
The King’s Son smiled. “Because My Father has given her to Me, and she is Mine.”
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