Song of Solomon 6:4–7

Song of Solomon 6:4 — "You are beautiful, my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners"

The Bridegroom opens with a double geographical comparison of extraordinary resonance. Tirzah, whose very name in Hebrew (תִּרְצָה, tirtsah) means "pleasing" or "she who is desired," was a Canaanite royal city of great beauty later chosen as the first capital of the northern kingdom of Israel (1 Kgs 14:17). Jerusalem, city of David, is the holy mountain-city that anchors Israel's worship and hope. By pairing these two cities — one associated with natural loveliness, one with sacred majesty — the Bridegroom frames the Beloved as encompassing both worldly and sanctified beauty. She is not one or the other; she is both magnificent and consecrated. The phrase "terrible as an army with banners" ('ayummah kannidgalot) introduces an unexpected note of awe and even holy dread. This is not frightening ugliness but the overwhelming, almost unbearable beauty of one who bears the standard of love — the same paradox captured in the burning bush that consumes but does not destroy. Beauty at its deepest is awe-inspiring, not merely pleasing.

Song of Solomon 6:5 — "Turn away your eyes from me, for they have overcome me"

This is one of the most arresting moments in the entire poem: the Bridegroom, the one who praises and pursues, is himself undone by the Beloved's gaze. The Hebrew hirhivuni (they have "overcome," "overwhelmed," or "emboldened" me) conveys a powerful emotional upheaval. The eyes in ancient Near Eastern poetry are the primary windows of the soul's interior beauty, and here they exercise an almost sovereign power. Far from indicating a lessening of love, this plea intensifies it — the Beloved's beauty is so real, so penetrating, that the Bridegroom stands disarmed before it. The verse then transitions into the resumed description of her hair ("like a flock of goats descending from Gilead"), which echoes 4:1 almost verbatim, signaling a deliberate literary reprise and deepening.

Song of Solomon 6:6 — "Your teeth are like a flock of ewes which have come up from the washing"

This verse replicates 4:2 nearly word for word: the teeth, white and paired like freshly-washed ewes, symbolize completeness, purity, and wholeness. None is missing; none is out of place. In the ancient world, sound teeth indicated health, youth, and vitality. The pastoral image of ewes emerging from the washing pool adds ritual cleanliness to natural beauty — these are animals prepared, purified, ordered. The typological resonance with baptismal washing is apparent to patristic readers.

Song of Solomon 6:7 — "Your temples are like a piece of a pomegranate behind your veil"

Again echoing 4:3, the pomegranate (rimmon) was a symbol of fertility, abundance, and beauty throughout the ancient Near East, prominently featured in the adornment of the Temple itself (1 Kgs 7:18). The rosy blush of the Beloved's cheek glimpsed behind the veil carries an air of sacred modesty: the veil does not hide beauty but frames and protects it, making revelation all the more meaningful. This partially veiled vision also speaks to the mystical principle that the deepest beauty is not immediately exhausted but gradually disclosed.

Catholic tradition has consistently read the Song of Solomon through an anagogical and typological lens without abandoning its literal, human meaning. Pope John Paul II, in his Theology of the Body (audiences of May–June 1984), treated the Song of Solomon as the crown of Old Testament nuptial theology, arguing that its spousal language reveals the deepest grammar of the human body as a sign of self-giving love — a grammar that finds its ultimate reference in Christ's love for the Church (Eph 5:25–32).

The double city-image of verse 4 (Tirzah and Jerusalem) attracted intense allegorical attention from Origen, whose Commentary on the Song of Songs remains the patristic locus classicus. For Origen, the two cities represent the soul's dual beauty: natural dignity (the imago Dei inscribed in creation) and sanctifying grace (the similitudo Dei restored in redemption). The Church is beautiful because she bears both. St. Bernard of Clairvaux, in his eighty-six Sermons on the Song of Songs, reads "terrible as an army with banners" as the Church's triumphant witness — her very holiness and ordered love constituting a spiritual warfare against the powers of darkness. "Nothing," Bernard writes, "is more powerful against the proud enemy than a soul adorned with virtues" (Sermon 39).

The Catechism affirms that Sacred Scripture has both a literal and a spiritual sense (CCC §§115–118), and the spiritual sense of verse 5 — the Bridegroom overwhelmed by the Beloved's eyes — speaks to a profound theological truth: that Christ is, in some ineffable sense, "moved" by the faith and love of His Church and of the individual soul. This is not a diminishment of divine transcendence but an expression of the kenotic love of the Incarnation (Phil 2:7). The teeth "washed" in verse 6 prompted St. Ambrose to see an image of baptismal regeneration (De Mysteriis 7), while the pomegranate veil of verse 7 — beauty partially hidden — resonates with the apophatic tradition: the soul's beauty before God is real yet always exceeds full human comprehension, just as God's own beauty is inexhaustible.

For the contemporary Catholic, this passage delivers several concrete graces. First, verse 4's pairing of natural and sacred beauty challenges the secular tendency to treat physical beauty as trivial or the spiritual as bodiless. John Paul II's Theology of the Body insists that the body is a genuine theology — it says something true about God. Catholics can recover a sacramental vision of human beauty: the body is not an obstacle to holiness but, when rightly ordered, a proclamation of it.

Second, the Bridegroom's confession in verse 5 — "turn away your eyes, for they overwhelm me" — offers a counter-cultural model of vulnerability in love. In an age that commodifies physical attraction, this verse depicts mutual beholding as an act of reverence rather than possession. Couples preparing for or living in marriage can meditate on whether their love for each other carries this quality of reverent awe.

Third, the veil in verse 7 speaks directly to a culture of radical transparency and self-display. Modesty, properly understood, is not repression but a form of dignity — the veil that makes the pomegranate blush all the more beautiful. This is a rich resource for catechesis on the theology of modesty, not as shame but as the proper framing of a beauty too precious to be cheaply exposed.