Song of Song 2:8-13, James 1:17-27             

When Jeanne and I took a fall walk in the woods, we experienced something magical. I heard the snaps of twigs breaking, dry leaves rustling, and then the unmistakable rhythm of hoofbeats. A magnificent stag thundered down the steep hillside, moving with power and grace. He held his antlers high, bounding across our path, only twenty feet before us. He was so startled by our presence that he jumped straight up, landing gracefully before scampering down the hill. He looked back at us for a moment, snorting and waving his antlers as if to say, "I don't know where you came from, but you don't scare me. Do you see my horns?" For the rest of the hike, I felt a sense of elation—a deep joy from this unexpected encounter with such a majestic creature. I was struck by the raw beauty of his vigor and the vulnerability in his surprise.

This encounter in the woods made me think of the scripture from the Song of Songs we read today: "The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills. My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag."

Most of us haven't heard many sermons from the Song of Songs and might wonder why a piece of love poetry is included in scripture. My fifth grade Sunday School class teacher wondered, too. We got prizes for memorizing scripture, and I scoured the Bible, looking for strange stories to recite in class. My favorite from Song of Songs 4 is, "Your hair is like a flock of goats, your cheeks like pomegranates, your neck like the tower of David…" I was cut off when I recited, "Your breasts are like two fawns feeding in the lilies." Mrs. Mitchell was actually blushing. 

These viral images of two young lovers adoring each other were too much for fifth-grade Sunday School, but this love poetry made it into the Bible. While many theologians avoided the Song of Songs as if its sensuality was radioactive, many embraced its passion. Well-respected first-century Rabbi Akiva wrote, "The whole world is not worth the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel, for all the Writings are holy, but the Song of Songs is the Holy of Holies." 

There's something profoundly spiritual in this imagery of nature and love intertwined. For centuries, theologians have seen the Song of Songs as a celebration of human love and a metaphor for the passionate relationship between God and Creation.

The most prolific advocate of this book was Bernard of Clairvaux, one of the most significant medieval theologians. Bernard wrote 62 sermons based on Song of Songs, quite an achievement by an abbot of a celibate monastery. Like most early theologians, he did not interpret the text as being about passion in marriage but as an allegory for our spiritual relationship with God. In a sermon on today's text, Bernard wrote,

"The voice of your beloved is not just a sound to hear, but it is the Word of God that speaks within you, penetrating your heart and awakening your soul to love."

Bernard believed that faith is not just getting your theology right but also having a true passion for the divine.

He also liked verse 2:10, "My beloved speaks and says to me: 'Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.'" He viewed this as an invitation to the monastic life and the need to retreat from worldly affairs to be with God. But this verse reminds me of that wonderfully sultry Nora Jones song, "Come Away with Me." 

I noticed one thing Song of Songs and Nora Jones have in common. They use images from the earth and creation to express the more profound nature of human passion. What is it like when a new love is kindled? The Song of Songs says,

for now, the winter is past,
    The rain is over and gone.
¹² The flowers appear on the earth;
    The time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
    Is heard in our land.
¹³ The fig tree puts forth its figs,
    And the vines are in blossom;
    They give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my fair one,
    And come away.

Nora Jones sings of walking in fields where "yellow grass grows knee-high."

And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms

Many composers use nature imagery to express the depth of human love. Stevie Wonder sang, "You are the sunshine of my life." Van Morrison sang, "Your love is as sweet as Tupelo honey." Carrie Newcomer's song "I Believe". "I believe in a light that shines and will never end. Oh, the rain, it falls like laughter, the winter snow, the softly drifting snow."

These songs resonate with us because, like the Song of Songs, they draw on the natural world to express something sacred and profound.

Our scriptures, too, use these natural metaphors to speak of human love and illustrate our relationship with the Divine. When James says, "Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above," he reminds us that these gifts of nature—the rain, the flowers, the seasons—are reflections of God's love for us. Nature is both a gift and a guide, calling us back to our Creator.

John Philip Newell, a contemporary theologian, reminds us of a 9th-century Celtic scholar's wisdom:

"There are two books through which God is speaking. The first is the small book…the book of scripture. The second is the big book, the living text of the universe…We need to read both books." If we read only the book of scripture, we miss the vastness and wildness of God's voice in creation. But if we read only the book of nature, we risk missing the intimacy of God's call to justice and love.

But what happens when we forget this divine connection to nature? When do we see creation not as a gift but as a resource to exploit? Even as floods ravage cities and wildfires burn homes, we are more tuned into the latest political polls of who is ahead for the moment than the long-term health of our planet. Our relationship with nature has been taking without giving, dominating rather than stewarding. It's time we see the earth not just as a storehouse of resources but as a sacred gift that sustains us. Our modern world is facing an environmental crisis. Indeed, hundreds of people have died from record-breaking heat. It's also a spiritual crisis that calls us to new connections with creation.

Folk singer Pete Seeger understood this connection when he started the Clearwater movement. The Hudson River was a polluted industrial river. You couldn't eat the fish; no one wanted to be near it. Seeger knew there was insufficient political will to force the investment to clean the river. He needed people to interact with the river in a new way. So, he built the Clearwater, a sailing sloop that became an education ship. Seeger traveled the river with his banjo, stopped in towns, and gave out free pumpkins and concerts. He offered educational tours to every fifth-grade class on the riverbanks. Kids would crew the ship, learn about sailing, and take water samples to see what made the river so disgusting. Over time, Seeger built a movement to clean the Hudson because people now had a relationship with the river. New York has come a long way from seeing the river as a convenient place to dump waste to a place of beauty and joy.

Here in midcoast Maine, we have a similar opportunity. People come to our shores to experience the natural beauty of "Vacationland," but how can we help them see it as more than a scenic getaway? As a church, how can we create spaces where people can deepen their connection to creation and hear God's voice in the rustling leaves and crashing waves? Imagine our church's mission as a pilgrimage, where people come not just to rest but to reconnect—to creation, each other, and God.

My friends, we are called to read both books—the book of scripture and of nature- and to see every part of creation as a 'good and perfect gift' from above. Remember that our relationship with the earth is about spirituality, sustainability, and survival. Let's commit ourselves to this sacred work of stewardship. Let's find ways to reconnect, to listen, and to act.

Go out into the world this week. Walk in the woods, sit by the water, or simply step outside and breathe deeply. If you are tired of reading about the election, learn more about the planet, its wonder, and its vulnerability. (We will help with daily posts of spiritual quotes and environmental info on our Facebook page.).

For the rest of this month, we will join thousands of Christians celebrating this Seasons of Creation. Together, we will explore how to live this theme, to hope, and act with creation. It's about hope, not doom. We will embody this hope in prayer and preaching, service and solidarity.