DID YOU KNOW
The Bible is not a cold theological manual; it is a passionate love story. From the craftsmanship of the tabernacle in Exodus 37–38 to the poetic intensity of Song of Solomon 5 and the searching words of Jesus in John 6, Scripture pulses with desire—God’s desire for His people and His design for human love. These passages remind us that what fills our hearts, what keeps us awake at night, reveals what we truly worship.
Did you know that God designed romantic passion to reflect spiritual devotion?
Song of Solomon 5:1–4 is not shy or sterile. It is full of energy, anticipation, and wordplay. The bride says, “I slept, but my heart was awake” (Song 5:2). The Hebrew imagery conveys longing that refuses to rest. Even in sleep, her love is alert. This is not casual affection; it is covenantal desire. The man arrives with urgency, and the woman responds with expectation. There is movement, eagerness, even anxiety. True romance, as Scripture portrays it, is neither embarrassed nor indifferent. It is alive.
Yet this is not merely about marriage. Throughout the Bible, marital imagery points beyond itself. Ephesians 5:32 calls marriage a “great mystery” that ultimately refers to Christ and the church. The intensity in Song of Solomon invites us to examine our spiritual temperature. Is our love for God awake, even when the world dulls our senses? Passion in marriage mirrors the passion we are to have for the Lord. When love grows sleepy, devotion fades. When love is alert, obedience becomes joyful rather than mechanical.
Did you know that what keeps your heart awake reveals what rules your heart?
The bride’s confession—“my heart was awake”—forces us to consider our own inner life. What occupies your mind in quiet moments? What stirs your imagination? What do you replay when the day is done? Jesus taught that “where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matthew 6:21). Our thoughts expose our allegiances.
John 6 deepens this insight. Jesus contrasts manna with Himself: “Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, that one may eat of it and not die” (John 6:49–50). The Israelites experienced daily provision in Exodus 16, yet many still longed for Egypt. Physical bread sustained them temporarily; it did not transform their hearts. In the same way, we may consume spiritual content without cultivating spiritual hunger. Christ does not offer a supplement; He offers Himself as the living bread.
If our hearts are more animated by temporary comforts than by Christ, it reveals a subtle misalignment. Necessary things—career, entertainment, even ministry—can become substitutes for intimacy with Him. The living bread satisfies at a deeper level than anything else. To feed on Christ is to let His words shape our desires and His presence calm our anxieties.
Did you know that the tabernacle’s beauty points to God’s passionate pursuit of communion with you?
Exodus 37–38 describes skilled artisans crafting the ark, the mercy seat, the altar, and the lampstand with intricate detail. Gold overlays wood. Curtains are woven with precision. Measurements are exact. Why such care? Because God intended to dwell among His people. The tabernacle was not merely a religious structure; it was a declaration that the Holy One desired nearness.
The mercy seat, placed upon the ark, was the meeting place between God and Israel. Blood was sprinkled there as atonement. That sacred space foreshadowed Christ, who would become the ultimate mediator. When we read these chapters, we see more than craftsmanship; we see intention. God is not distant or detached. He is deliberate in drawing near.
This same passion culminates in John 1:14: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The Greek term for “dwelt,” eskēnōsen, literally means “tabernacled.” Jesus is God pitching His tent among humanity. The ornate beauty of Exodus anticipates the incarnation. The God who designed sacred space now invites us into direct relationship through His Son. That realization reframes devotion from duty to privilege.
Did you know that true love requires alertness, not complacency?
In Song of Solomon, the bride initially hesitates before opening the door. By the time she rises, the beloved has withdrawn. The tension in the text reminds us that delay in love carries consequence. Spiritually, complacency can dull responsiveness. Hebrews 2:1 warns us to “give the more earnest heed… lest we drift away.” Love demands attentiveness.
Jesus’ words in John 6 challenged His hearers so deeply that many turned back (John 6:66). Real love perseveres even when teachings are difficult. It listens, trusts, and remains. The bride’s awake heart symbolizes a vigilance that protects intimacy. In our walk with God, that vigilance is cultivated through prayer, Scripture, and obedience. It is possible to attend church yet grow sleepy in spirit. The call is to remain awake—sensitive to conviction, eager for fellowship, quick to respond.
Passion without discipline burns out; discipline without passion dries up. Scripture invites us to both. The tabernacle shows ordered devotion; the Song displays fervent affection; John 6 reveals sustaining truth. Together they paint a portrait of holistic love—structured yet vibrant, anchored yet alive.
As you reflect on these passages, consider what occupies your heart’s attention. Are you feeding on the living bread, or merely sampling substitutes? Is your love alert, or has it grown drowsy? Dedicate yourself intentionally to love—love of family, love of neighbor, and above all love of Christ. Let your heart remain awake to His presence.
The God who crafted beauty in Exodus, who inspired poetic longing in Song of Solomon, and who declared Himself the bread of life in John invites you into a relationship that is alive and enduring. True romance with God does not fade with familiarity. It deepens with devotion.
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