Lion’s honey
A sermon preached at Selwyn College, Cambridge, at Shrove Tuesday Evensong
Samson turned aside to see the carcass of the lion, and behold, there was a swarm of bees in the body of the lion, and honey.” (Judges 14:8)
In just over forty days, on Easter Eve, as the Paschal candle stands alone in the dark proclaiming the light of Our Lord’s Resurrection, deacons of the Church throughout the world will exult in ancient song the miraculous providence of God that we behold — in the work of bees.
Truly their work is food for meditation, a wonder to the ancients which we may still share. From flower nectar the bees work selflessly, in common, to make their house of many mansions. For us, their wax becomes fuel for life-giving warmth and light, and a means of cleaning and polishing wood better to reflect the glow. And from the same nectar they distill the sweet balm of honey, that yields not only flavour, but heals wounds and wards off illness.
The bees are great preachers of the gospel, and I think we need to read the strange story of Samson much as we read theirs. On the surface, it is a story of a Judge of Israel, a leader of his people, betrayed by foreign wives of people who serve other and evil gods. He wanted, against his parents’ wishes, to take a Philistine wife from Timnath. Certain rabbinical interpreters suggest she must have converted to the faith of Israel before she married, though this is not in the text. Yet even if it were, Samson’s story is hardly patent of a moral reading consistent with Torah. Hence the Church Fathers were more inclined to read his story in allegorical wise as prophecy, rather than somewhat dubious moral counsel. Samson’s long war with the Philistines is a parable of the spiritual war waged in every human heart.
That spiritual war begins on the road to Timnath, into Philistine territory. There he confronts a lion, symbol of might, power, and pride. To find his spouse, he must first slay this beast, and so he does, barehanded, trusting in no weapon but the power of God. Only on victory does he meet the maiden of his delight. Setting back on the path home, he finds that a hive of bees has taken lodging in the lion’s corpse, specifically its skull, as some tradition maintains. He eats, and enriched with the sweetness from the fallen lion’s mouth, shares it with his parents. His father, now knowing God’s will, goes to contract the wedding with the brides family, and the seven-day nuptial feast begins.
Thirty rowdy Philistine guests arrive. Samson challenges them with a riddle. Solve it, and they will receive their wedding garments of white linen:
“Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness.”
The men solve the riddle, but by treachery and lust: after “ploughing his heifer,” in the words of Samson’s euphemistic reproof, they get the answer from his betrothed. Hence their wedding garments cost them the blood of thirty of their people, whom Samson also slays.
But those garments will avail them of nothing. The wedding in cancelled on their account. And they will never truly know the answer to their question: “What is sweeter than honey? And what is stronger than a lion?”
The answer will be illuminated on Easter Eve by the work of the bees, as their light heralds the true dawn for which the world, Israelite and gentile, was waiting; the true and hidden marriage between God and his people sealed with the kiss of the Cross and consummated by the springing forth of the lion groom, His body shining golden, cleansed, anointed, sweet and strong, shorn of flesh and dust and pride.
“Do not touch me,” He will say to Mary Magdalene in the garden, whose love for Him is good but carnal: “you will not find me in my old body of flesh, but in my body of spirit: by that you will be lifted up with me!”
And to all of us, He says what He foretold through Samson’s riddle: those who seek union and sweetness, warmth and light, must first confront the beast within, and crucify him. Then we may take and eat of the Word which proceeds from the lion’s mouth with no aftertaste of bitterness, but with sweet and lasting savour.