There
was a couple at the 4:00pm Mass yesterday—
that
I only see at this time of year.
(They
belong to another nearby parish.)
Even
if I didn’t already know them personally,
even
if they weren’t wearing
their
bright red “Eat at Joe-Joe’s” T-shirts,
I
would still have known that they were at Mass
while
on break from working at a food stand
down
at the Franklin County Fair.
How
would I have known?
Because
I could smell it!
The
distinct aroma of fair food—
from
sausage to cotton candy to fried dough—
just
tends to cling to you.
Saint
Paul writes to the Ephesians:
Christ loved us and handed
himself over for us
as a sacrificial offering to
God for a fragrant aroma.
Part
of the great beauty of Catholic worship—
the
divine wisdom of the Church’s sacramental system—
is
that it takes into account the whole person.
The
liturgy is not merely an intellectual pursuit:
a
matter of absorbing words and concepts,
and
then turning them over in our minds.
No,
as we sang in the psalm:
we’re
here to “taste and see” the Lord’s goodness—
to
partake of a feast for all the senses.
Oh,
our communion with God is spiritual, to be sure,
but
it comes to us in the form of bodily food:
the
taste of wheat as we eat the Bread of
Life.
Sight
comes into play as we see
the
flicker of candles, the color and fold of vestments,
images
in statue and stained glass.
We
also hear words and music and
silence.
We touch the hands of our neighbors in
peace,
and
even daringly reach out to touch the very Body of Christ.
But
smell? That’s a sense we don’t often take into account…
…and
yet even our noses come into play liturgically.
of
the “fragrant aroma” of Christ’s sacrifice,
he’s
probably calling to mind
the huge amounts of incense
the huge amounts of incense
used
in the Jerusalem temple.
(In
the temple,
the priests burned incense by the shovelful;
the priests burned incense by the shovelful;
I
get complaints when I use just a teaspoon!)
Christ’s
self-offering in love
to God on our behalf
to God on our behalf
should
be understood to rise to the Father
like
a billowing cloud
of sweet-smelling smoke.
of sweet-smelling smoke.
We aren’t
simply to keep burning incense;
we
are to imitate
the pure and pleasing sacrifice it signifies.
the pure and pleasing sacrifice it signifies.
The
liturgy also gets smelly when we use Sacred Chrism—
one
of the Church’s three holy oils,
consecrated
by the Bishop and perfumed with balsam.
in
some of its most sacred ceremonies
when
someone or something is permanently set aside
to
be an image of Christ:
at
Baptism; at Confirmation;
in
the dedication of a Church or an altar;
twelve
years ago today,
my
hands were anointed with Sacred Chrism
as
I was ordained a priest.
Did
you ever have a great aunt who wore too much perfume?
You
knew she’d been around, even if you didn’t see her,
simply
by sniffing the air.
Or
if she gave you a hug,
the scent would cling to you for hours.
the scent would cling to you for hours.
That’s
how Chrism is supposed to work!
We
Christians—called to be other Christs—
should
have an “odor of sanctity” about us:
should
be so holy that others can—well—smell it.
That
doesn’t mean we are to make a big show
of
living our faith in the world.
But
if we do as Saint Paul encourages us—
if
we remove bitterness, anger, and malice from our midst;
if
we are kind, compassionate, and mutually forgiving—
then
others will sense—will smell—
that
there’s something different about us.
And
God will smell it, too,
rising
up to heaven as a fragrant aroma.
As
a priest—as your priest—
my
hands have been set aside in a particular way
to carry
on the ministry of Christ:
to
make of his people, with his people, and for his people
a
living sacrifice pleasing to the Father.
Please
pray for me that all I lift up in offering with these hands
will be acceptable in the sight of God.
will be acceptable in the sight of God.
most
folks will say that the smell of fresh-baked bread
is
one of the most irresistible of all.
It
was bread delivered by angels
which
strengthened Elijah to overcome his discouragement
and
continue on his journey.
It
is Jesus—the living bread come down from heaven—
that
fortifies us not only to cross the deserts of this passing life,
but
to attain to that life which lasts forever.
The
Father draws us here—draws us to his Son—
by
the smell of this heaven-sent bread.
May
the holy aroma of the Eucharist cling to each of us
in
a way that stimulates the senses of those around us—
above
all, in a way that pleases the very heart of God.
1 comment:
Your words carried me back when I was doing the Atkins diet, NO BREAD!! and I would wake up in the middle of the night, for sure that someone had broke into my home and was downstairs baking bread, the aroma literally woke me up! How I hope to have that same longing for Jesus in my life. I never had related the experience to my relationship with God, thanks for giving me something to meditate on.
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