Reflections on the Song of Songs – I Am Black and Beautiful
I spoke to you in the previous lecture about part of the spiritual meaning of the phrase “I am black but beautiful” (Song of Solomon 1:5), as a symbol of the Church, of the human soul in certain aspects of its relationship with God, and as a symbol of some of the “little ones.”
Today, I would like to continue our reflections on the same verse:
“I am black but beautiful.”
(Song of Solomon 1:5)
Many virtues seem black to a person, yet they are beautiful. Such are the narrow way and the strait gate, and such is the cross that a person carries for the sake of God.
The matters that tire one’s soul or press upon one’s will—such as turning the other cheek to one who strikes, blessing those who curse, doing good to those who hate, accepting injustice in silence like a sheep led to the slaughter without opening its mouth—all these may seem burdensome, yet they whisper in the ear, “I am black but beautiful.”
So it is with every kind of toil a person endures for the sake of good—not only in spiritual matters but even in all duties:
Like a student who stays up late studying instead of spending the night out with friends, confining himself at home to succeed. Or a father who toils day and night to provide for his family. All these are examples of hardship, yet they are beautiful.
Golgotha, in general, seems black in the eyes of people, as does the Cross. And we do not mean only toil for the sake of virtue, but also for the sake of service.
Look at what Saint Paul says about his service and that of his coworkers:
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed… For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that His life may also be revealed in our mortal body.”
(2 Corinthians 4:8–11)
The words hard pressed, perplexed, persecuted, delivered to death may seem black, yet they are beautiful.
Likewise, he says about service:
“As deceivers, and yet true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold we live; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich…”
(2 Corinthians 6:8–10)
We look at the words deceivers, unknown, dying, sorrowful, poor, and they whisper in our ears: “I am black but beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem.”
The phrase “daughters of Jerusalem” symbolizes the children of God, those who walk in His way, who belong to Jerusalem—the “City of the Great King.”
Jerusalem often symbolizes the holy Church, and the righteous will dwell in the heavenly Jerusalem, descending from heaven “as a bride adorned for her husband” (Revelation 21:2). Her daughters are the souls belonging to her, to whom the verse of the Song is addressed:
“I am black but beautiful.”
“I am black”—I am the narrow gate that leads to the kingdom, I am the difficult commandments that seem to press upon the “self,” upon pride, upon human dignity, upon the will, which Scripture warns: “Do not love the world nor the things in the world,” while the soul is not yet free from that love…
We are called to walk the way of Golgotha, carrying the cross, for there is no way to the resurrection except through Golgotha. If we do not suffer with Christ, we shall not be glorified with Him. The sufferings of this present time may appear black, but they are not to be compared with the glory and the unspeakable joy to come.
All the crosses that stand before humanity say: “I am black but beautiful.”
These “black” crosses frightened Peter, who said to the Lord, “Far be it from You, Lord!” He thought beauty was on Mount Tabor, saying, “It is good, Lord, for us to be here.” No, great Apostle, the pains, nails, scourges, and thorns all seem black—but they are beautiful, for they express love, sacrifice, and redemption.
Also, the virtue of renunciation and dying to the world is “black but beautiful.”
It may seem difficult and harsh for a person to deprive himself of all worldly pleasures—even lawful ones—to live in solitude, in want, in poverty, stripped of desires and lusts. Yet it is a beautiful life. Truly, the entire spiritual life can be summed up in this phrase: “Black but beautiful.”
It is similar to the Lord’s saying:
“Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”
Who accepts to lose his life? To him this seems black—but it is beautiful, for it is the only way that leads to God. That is why the Lord said as the first commandment:
“If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.”
The self must disappear for God to appear. The self must die so that God may live in it.
Life with God begins with death: we die to live; we are buried with Him in baptism to rise in newness of life. Our old self dies so that a new person is born in the image of God (Romans 6).
Thus, when the child cries as he is immersed in water, we clothe him afterward in white garments—symbolizing the new purity he will live in—and we congratulate his parents, for their son has died with Christ; his old nature has perished, and he now shines white.
Trials and tribulations are also spiritually “black but beautiful.”
Look at Job’s trial as an example: it seemed utterly black—he was stripped of everything: children, wealth, health, comfort, even friends who falsely accused him, and even his dignity. Job said:
“My relatives have failed, my close friends have forgotten me. My guests and maidservants count me a stranger; I am an alien in their sight. I call my servant, but he gives no answer… My breath is offensive to my wife, I am loathsome to my own brothers… All my close friends abhor me; those I love have turned against me.” (Job 19)
As dark as Job’s trial seemed, it was beautiful, for he said to God:
“I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You.”
He entered a black trial but came out whiter than snow, with double blessings and deep spiritual treasures. His trial became a beautiful example and lesson.
We pray, “Lead us not into temptation,” yet the beauty of the trials we fear appears in Saint James’ words:
“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you fall into various trials.” (James 1:2)
Consider also Abraham’s trial: God said to him,
“Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and offer him as a burnt offering.”
A command hard and seemingly unbearable—such black news that Abraham could not tell Sarah, fearing she would die of sorrow.
Yet though Abraham’s trial of sacrificing Isaac seemed black, it was beautiful—as an example of redemption, obedience, and faith. A glorious image.
From a human perspective, every trial appears black; from a spiritual perspective, behind it lies good. Abraham’s first encounter with God also seemed a trial:
“Leave your country, your relatives, and your father’s house.” (Genesis 12)
A deprivation of family, kin, and homeland—yet it was beautiful, for God promised,
“I will make you a great nation, I will bless you, make your name great, and you shall be a blessing… and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”
The blackness of trial lies in human understanding of it; its beauty lies in the divine purpose behind it and in the spiritual insight into it.
Obedience, too, may seem black when it presses against the will. It is hard to abandon one’s desire or opinion and to carry out another’s will—like a child whose father denies him his toys and friends so he may study. Yet obedience is beautiful, for in it lies goodness and growth of the soul.
How dangerous it is for one to follow his own desires, as did the prodigal son, or as do the atheistic existentialists who obey their passions to “enjoy their existence”!
Among the things that seem black but beautiful are reproofs and disciplines.
It is hard for a person who values his dignity to hear a word of rebuke or correction or to bear punishment. Yet the soul that seeks salvation welcomes rebuke and rejoices in it, for it reveals her faults that she may heal and be saved.
Discipline is beautiful, for “the Lord disciplines those He loves.” Yet it appears black to those who cannot bear it, for it wounds the “self” they guard and deprives them of the praise they crave.
When Peter said to the Lord, “Far be it from You,” the Lord replied,
“Get behind Me, Satan; you are a stumbling block to Me, for you are not mindful of the things of God, but of men.” (Matthew 16:23)
Peter did not grow angry but accepted the rebuke with love for his own salvation.
God teaches us life—sometimes with words of love, sometimes with words of reproof, sometimes with glad tidings, and sometimes with the Cross—through blessings poured from heaven till we say “enough,” and also through trials and tribulations.
Also, the virtue of laboring for the Lord in vigilance, fasting, asceticism, prostrations, and self-control is likewise black but beautiful.
It is easy to rest under a warm bed, but the beautiful thing is to rise for the midnight prayer and find divine consolations. Those who practice prostrations feel not fatigue but spiritual sweetness. Fasting is not deprivation of the body, but delight of the spirit—and even beneficial to the body in many ways.
The same applies to tithes, firstfruits, and giving out of need.
It may seem difficult for some to practice this commandment, feeling they need every penny they give. Yet it is beautiful—in its blessing, in its self-giving, in the love it shows toward the poor, and in obedience to the commandment.
Virtue seems hard and black to beginners, in whom the flesh lusts against the spirit. But to the saints, it is beautiful and beloved.
The perfect, who have tasted the sweetness of spiritual life and divine fellowship, no longer see virtue as black, however difficult it may seem. To them, it is a beautiful life, deeply desired.
Thus says Saint John:
“His commandments are not burdensome.” (1 John 5:3)
And David sings of the Lord’s commandments:
“The commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes.”
He also says they are “sweeter than honey and the honeycomb,” and more precious than gold.
The soul that has labored for the Lord and lived in the world as “black”—having “no form or beauty,” in the humiliation of humility and endurance, finding no pleasure in the world nor wealth nor glory, having “suffered the loss of all things and counting them as refuse to gain Christ,” having lost herself to find herself—
When this soul ascends above, she will say to the souls of the righteous in Paradise:
“I am black but beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem.”
1. Article by His Holiness Pope Shenouda III – El-Keraza Magazine, Year 5, Issue 49, December 5, 1975.
For better translation support, please contact the center.
