“I am black but lovely,” the bride of the Song insists to the daughters of Jerusalem. That judgment runs against the aesthetics of the time, according to which white, untarnished skin was a sign of beauty, as well as a sign of class distinction.
She is black because she was burned by the sun while working in the vineyard at the command of her brothers (1:6). Jenson rightly finds an allegory of exodus here. Yahweh punished Israel’s unfaithfulness in guarding her own vineyard by putting her to work in the hot sun (1:6). She turned dark as a result of her punishment. But she boasts that this very punishment has beautified her, and endeared her to her Lord.
The Classroom Heals the Wounds of Generations
“Hope,” wrote the German-American polymath Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy, “is the deity of youth.” Wholly dependent on adults, children…
Still Life, Still Sacred
Renaissance painters would use life-sized wooden dolls called manichini to study how drapery folds on the human…
Letters
I am writing not to address any particular article, but rather to register my concern about the…