The night air in ancient Jerusalem around 950 b.c. carries the sharp perfume of crushed spices. A ninety-pound timber door separates a humid garden from a quiet sleeping chamber. Inside, the bride rests upon soft woven textiles. Her feet are freshly washed, stripped of the daily grime from sandy roads. Suddenly, a knuckle raps against the solid cedar planks. The sound reverberates through the still room. A low, resonant voice calls through the barrier. The speaker stands out in the damp darkness. Heavy midnight moisture clings to His dark hair. He brings the earthy scent of harvested honeycomb and rich wine to the threshold.
He possesses an overflowing, extravagant nature. He does not approach with meager rations. His presence leaves a tangible mark on everything He touches. When He reaches for the locking mechanism, viscous, fragrant oil coats His fingers, and the sticky resin transfers to the metal handle. He waits in the evening chill, bringing the abundance of a lavish feast right to the boundary of the home. His beauty radiates a physical weight, appearing as majestic as polished ivory set with glowing sapphires. Yet He gently respects the closed barrier, waiting for an invitation to enter.
The bride hesitates, reluctant to soil her clean skin by stepping onto the chilly clay floor. When she finally rises and grasps the latch, the iron mechanism is slick with sweet-smelling liquid. She pulls the stout wood open, but the alleyway is completely empty. Panic sets in as she runs barefoot over coarse, jagged cobblestones, searching desperately for her companion. The city watchmen patrol the two miles of winding streets, and their abrasive hands tear away her woven shawl, leaving her skin bruised and aching in the shadows. This sudden loss mirrors our own restless wanderings when peaceful rest evades us. We pace across smooth hardwood or frigid bathroom tiles in the early morning hours. We stare out of frosted glass windows, feeling a hollow ache for a nearness that slipped away while we lingered in comfort.
The golden residue on the lock speaks volumes about a missed encounter. The Divine leaves undeniable evidence of His passing. A beautiful fragrance remains suspended in the atmosphere long after physical footsteps fade into the distance.
Hesitation often turns a simple welcoming into a frantic pursuit. Deep communion demands leaving the security of a soft bed to brave the unlit avenues. The aroma of a holy visitation rests quietly in the empty doorways we finally decide to unbar.