Meditations on the Song of Songs-” am black but beautiful”
Meditations on the Song of Songs
“I am black but beautiful” (Song 1:1)
The Song of Songs is one of the deepest and most beautiful sacred books, expressing the mutual love between God and the human soul, or between God and the community of believers. To understand this book, we must know the meaning of its symbols, delve into its depths, and read it spiritually.
In this article, I would like us to contemplate together the words of the Virgin of the Song: “I am black but beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem. Look not upon me because I am black…” (Song 1:5–6).
Here, the Church of the Gentiles speaks to the Church of Jerusalem, saying: In your eyes, I am black — I lived my whole past as a Gentile, in idol worship, with no spiritual history, no fathers, no prophets, and no law. God had even forbidden mixing with the nations in the past, lest their corruption and paganism be transmitted through association.
That was my past. But now, I am beautiful through faith, through the redemption I have received in Jesus Christ, who cast His splendor upon my sinful soul and made me beautiful. For He granted me His righteousness and took me as His bride. Thus, I am black and beautiful — black in my past, but beautiful in my present. This meaning is prophetic of the Gentiles entering the faith.
It also suggests a message to the “daughters of Jerusalem,” meaning the synagogues and assemblies of the Jews, not to look in pride upon the Gentiles, however black they may seem, or however unbelieving, for God can grant them faith and call His name upon them. Therefore, “look not upon me because I am black.” God is the God of the Gentiles as He is of the Jews. He will send His apostles to the Gentiles as He did to the Jews and will also work for their salvation.
I am black concerning my own deeds, but beautiful concerning the work of God for me — the work of redemption, salvation, and adoption.
God wants all to be saved and is able to make “honey come from the lion’s carcass” — to bring beauty out of blackness.
How easily the phrase “black and beautiful” can symbolize repentance: acts of repentance may seem black to some, but they are undoubtedly beautiful.
In repentance, the soul cannot become beautiful unless it judges itself as black — unless it condemns itself, admits its sinfulness, weakness, and unworthiness before God.
This is the black image that the soul attributes to itself in repentance. It is the first step God desires from the penitent, for self-justification is detestable before Him and shows pride of heart.
Attempts to cover up sin or deny it are also hateful to God — they oppose truth, repentance, confession, and the contrition of soul that is the essence of repentance.
God therefore desires that the soul expose itself, confessing its sin and blackness — and then it appears beautiful in its confession and humility.
The soul that tries to appear beautiful by covering its sins with excuses is not truly beautiful; it becomes beautiful only when it condemns itself before God, standing in humility and feeling unworthy — as the tax collector stood afar off, not daring to lift his eyes to heaven, beating his breast, saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” As the prodigal son said to his father, “I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” And as the sinful woman wept and washed the Lord’s feet with her tears.
“Black and beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem.” Thus, the elder of Mount Nitria said to Saint Theophilus: “Truly, my father, there is nothing better than for a person to blame himself in everything.”
It may seem black to some — to admit oneself sinful, to bear inner reproach of conscience, to lose esteem before others, to impose upon oneself certain disciplines and exercises for correction — yet this black image is beautiful.
Many images that appear black are, in truth, beautiful — foremost among them, the image of the Cross.
The Lord Christ was led to the Cross as a criminal, counted among the transgressors, suffering bitter insults, accusations, and lies. “He was led as a sheep to the slaughter… He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth.” Nails were driven into His hands and feet, and the Jews mocked Him.
It is an image that seems black when viewed through human dignity, but beautiful when seen through redemption — for Christ bore our sins on the Cross and died for us that we might live through His death, offering us salvation and redemption.
Thus, on the Cross, He became a “sacrifice of love” — for “greater love has no one than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
What a beautiful image this is — the image of love and redemption, the holy One bearing the sins of men. Therefore, we take the image of the Crucified Christ as our emblem — black and beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem — more beautiful than the images of conquerors who gave the world power but not love or redemption.
Likewise, the images of torture and martyrdom are black and beautiful — black with insults, pains, imprisonment, torture, killing, and false accusations; black in their portrayal of human cruelty. Yet the image of martyrdom is beautiful in its expression of steadfast faith, the strength of love for God, and the courage and endurance that astonished many.
The pains of martyrdom cry out, “I am black and beautiful.”
The same applies to the life of asceticism and renunciation — those who left everything for the Lord, lived in poverty without possession, status, or comfort; fasting continually, denying themselves pleasures, battling desires, crucifying the flesh, humbling their will to the spirit, wearying the body in vigils and prayer, fleeing honor, and accepting insult without defense.
It is an image that may seem black — a picture of deprivation — but it is beautiful, expressing divine love that transcends the world and its lusts.
Indeed, the life of poverty and asceticism proclaims, “I am black and beautiful.”
The virtue of endurance also suits the phrase “I am black and beautiful.”
Is it easy for one struck on the cheek to turn the other? Or, when compelled to go one mile, to go two? Is it easy to bless those who curse, to do good to those who harm, to receive insult with calm and love, without hatred or anger?
Such an image may appear black, but it is beautiful — showing the purity of heart from self and hatred. It is beautiful because it reveals love’s victory — that good is stronger than evil, patience stronger than offense. The patient soul is more beautiful than the aggressor, showing the strength of the inner spirit, more splendid than bodily might.
What is said of endurance applies also to humility: it too is black and beautiful.
The person who denies himself, gives place to others, honors all, and seeks no honor in return — who takes the lowest seat, not the first — such a person may seem black in the eyes of the world, like a servant instead of a master, but his image is beautiful in its humility.
The Nativity scene in the manger is also black and beautiful — black in the eyes of those who love greatness, but beautiful to the humble.
So also Christ, wandering without a place to rest His head — He gave a new concept of beauty: inner beauty — the beauty of the heart and spirit, free from outward false appearances.
The soul clothed in tears before God is more beautiful than the one shining with worldly glory. The humble person, in look, dress, speech, and patience — though he may seem far from worldly splendor — his black image in human eyes is beautiful before God.
Thus Christ chose fishermen — despised in the eyes of the world — as His disciples. Their image was black and beautiful: the foolish of the world shaming the wise, the weak shaming the strong.
So too the person who stands before God as weak. Saint Anthony the Great would even say to the demons: “O strong ones, what do you want from me, the weak? I am too weak to fight even your smallest.” His humility drove them away like smoke.
He who relies on his own strength may not be helped by it; God’s power departs. But the one who stands as weak, God’s power fights for him. When he conquers, he attributes victory to God, not to himself.
The phrase “I am weak, needing strength from God” — is it black or beautiful?
The person who acknowledges his weakness gains depth in prayer, humility of heart, divine help, and spiritual vigilance. Thus, his weakness becomes black and beautiful.
The phrase also applies to labor and struggle.
Some see beauty in rest, ease, and comfort — but rest may lead to failure, while toil leads to virtue.
The struggling soul, laboring in work, serving others, sacrificing comfort for their peace, enduring hardship — looks upon all its sufferings and says, “They are black and beautiful.”
All these labors turn into crowns in eternity, where God rewards each according to their toil. What was black here will shine white as snow, becoming radiant glory for those who fought and endured.
The phrase black and beautiful also applies to practical life — the honest word from a true friend correcting a fault may seem black, but it is beautiful — far more than flattering words, white in appearance but false.
Discipline from a spiritual or earthly father, though stern in form, is also black and beautiful.
So too are trials that bless the soul and the community — “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you fall into various trials,” said St. James (James 1). They teach prayer, patience, endurance, and wisdom, bringing purification and reward.
Saint Paul the Hermit said: “He who escapes tribulation, escapes from God,” for God sends it for spiritual profit.
Every labor for the Lord carries blessing — whether seen now or later.
The Church may live on earth black but beautiful — black as she enters through the narrow gate, walks the hard path, bears the cross, weeps, struggles against Satan and sin, yet beautiful in faith, endurance, witness, and good works — shining with divine image.
She burns to give light to others; her rising smoke ascends as black but beautiful clouds, sweet to God’s acceptance.
In bearing her cross, she says to the daughters of Jerusalem — to the Church of the Old Covenant seeking earthly glory — “I am black but beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem. Look not upon me because I am black, for the sun has tanned me.”
I have chosen another kingdom — the heavenly one, the kingdom within the heart, through toil, struggle, and the cross — for “the world is passing away, and its lust.”
The Sun of Righteousness has tanned me — teaching me to labor for the Lord, to be faithful unto death: “In labors and troubles, in watchings, in fastings… as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as dying, and behold, we live; as poor, yet making many rich” (2 Corinthians 6:4–10). “Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body” (2 Corinthians 4:10–12).
I am black and beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem.
This “blackness” had many symbols in the Old Testament — represented by the Cushite woman whom Moses married (Numbers 12:1), by the Queen of Sheba who came to Solomon, and by Rahab of Jericho — all of whom embodied the phrase: “I am black and beautiful.”
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An article by His Holiness Pope Shenouda III, published in Watani newspaper on September 28, 1980.
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