Both Winds

“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits” (Song of Solomon 4:16).

We are invited here into a walled, hidden, secret, wonderfully fragrant garden. Unknown until this moment. A place protected from the outside, tended in silence, kept from the stranger’s foot. This garden is the believing church through all time, and the hidden life of the soul of the bride. Planted in secret, it is watered by faith and grace, growing with soul-spices rare and costly: myrrh of surrender, frankincense of worship, cinnamon of love, calamus of uprightness, saffron of joy in suffering, aloes of patient longing.

These are deep-rooted, slow-ripening treasures. Their perfume does not release easily. It is drawn out only when the air moves with power. When pressure passes over and wind touches leaf, blossom, fruit, bark, and soil.

Earlier in the chapter, the Bridegroom Himself says:

“A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse.”
(Song of Solomon 4:12)

A garden is enclosed.
Owned.
Planted by Another.

This prayer flows from belonging and longing. It is spoken by the bride, the Lamb’s wife. (Rev. 21:9).

It is her prayer, awakened by love, inviting the full work of God the Spirit within.

She does not ask for one wind. She asks for two.

“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south.”

No garden chooses its winds. It only receives them.

In Scripture, the north wind is sharp and biting. It carries cold across the life. It stiffens the body. It tightens providence. It makes the leaves of the soul tremble and the branches bow. It clears what is of no value, revealing what is shallow in root. It cuts through comfort and leaves no sinful thing standing. It is bracing, severe, cleansing.

Job knew this wind and confessed it:

“Out of the north cometh cold: and God is great, and we know him not.”
(Job 37:22)

This is a dangerous prayer to pray lightly: “Awake, O north wind.” For the north wind strips. It blasts away coverings we have grown accustomed to wearing. It dries dead surface pools. It bites at what is carnal. It shakes the branches of the soul until what has no good root loosens and falls from the vine.

Our Lord Himself prepares us for this wind:

“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”
(John 16:33)

This tribulation is outward. But it also enters the inner life. It presses upon the conscience. It exposes divided affections. It makes us feel the great conflict of conversion:

“For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other.”
(Galatians 5:17)

All inward warfare, as well as outward, all testing and temptations, losses and trials, is north wind.

Yet the bride also prays, “Come, thou south.”

The south wind comes from the opposite direction with an opposite work. It is heavy with warmth. It opens the clenched heart. It moves gently through the understanding, the conscience, the will, and the affections. It carries dew to thirsty ground. It loosens fragrance from both petal and bark with rays of love. It restores, warms, softens, and heals what has been made tender by pruning, digging, and dunging. It binds up the brokenhearted and settles what has been shaken. All to ripen for eternity.

Notice, the bride calls for both. She has learned by experience that love for Christ must not be selective. As grace matures in its first work, the soul no longer bargains about how holiness will be formed, because both winds come from the same Breather. The Spirit does not wound apart from love, nor does He comfort apart from justice. He strips to heal. He chills to mortify. He warms in order to ripen.

She asks them both to blow in their turn.

Why?

“That the spices thereof may flow out.”

Spices do not release fragrance in stillness. To be known requires motion, contact, air moving across them. Many of the sweetest graces in the Christian life would never ripen without frost, nor sweeten without the sun. Perfumes of humility, patience, repentance, tenderness toward others, would never be released without wind.

Now listen to the heart of the prayer:

“Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.”

This marks a distinct change in her posture. Earlier in the Song, the bride cried:

“The king hath brought me into his chambers.”
(Song of Solomon 1:4)

Here she invites Him. Her love has matured. Her experience has deepened.

She calls the garden, the fruits, whatever grace has grown, His. She invites Him to come, to enjoy and take delight. This is the inward miracle of the Spirit’s work, when the soul invites Christ to sample His own work.

What a gently searching passage.

Do we only pray for the south winds?

This verse teaches us how to pray. Not, “Lord, keep me in warm, temperate climes,” but, “Blow. Do what is necessary for me, in me. Stir my sleeping. Uncover what is hidden. And above all, come Thyself.” Communion with Christ is the goal of every providence that blows through the believer’s life.

A fitting prayer for us tonight is this:

Lord, we are Thy garden. Send whatever winds Thou wilt. Only do not pass us by. Come into Thy garden, this congregation, and into the believing heart, and take delight in the works of Thine own never-forsaking hands. Amen.