by Teri Ong
Physiologists tell us that the sense of smell is more acute and memory of particular scents more long lasting than other sensory input in humans. In a metaphoric sense, we ascribe a “scent” to aspects of our life. When things are good we may say that things are “rosy” or “sweet”. If someone comes out of a difficult circumstance in a positive way, we say they “came out smelling like a rose.” But when things are not good we are likely to say, “That stinks!”
There are a lot of things in life that are necessary, but which don’t necessarily smell too good! We can’t prepare food without making a certain amount of garbage. We can’t have babies without diapers. We can’t work hard without sweat. We can’t grow things without fertilizer. You get the idea.
But our dislike of bad smells is so great that we are willing to spend money– a lot of money– on things that cover up bad smells. Air freshener, perfume, cologne, deodorant, scented candles, potpourri, ionizers, plug-ins, scented oils with wicks, etc. And when our situation in life turns smelly (sickness, lost employment, broken relationships, and such), we are willing to pay almost any price to make the smell go away.
No matter how hard we try, there are some smells we simply can’t get rid of or cover up effectively. One of those smells is the smell of death.
The Old Testament appeals to our sense of smell in some of its descriptions. In the tabernacle and temple the priests were to make use of incense and fragrant oils that were made to precise specifications. With all of the variety of sacrifices continually being offered up by burning, it is no wonder that God gave a recipe for some better smelling things to go with them.
In the New Testament one of the sweetest stories is found in Matthew 26:7-13. Jesus was in Bethany at the home of Simon the Leper. He knew that the time of his crucifixion was near. He had repeatedly told the disciples that his death was imminent. They were in denial, and the full impact of Jesus’ advanced warnings was mostly lost on them. However, a woman came to him with an alabaster box of perfume that was equivalent in price to one year’s wages for the average working man. She proceeded to break the box and pour out the entire amount of perfume on Jesus.
Life was about to turn very stinky for Jesus and for his disciples. Jesus was going to die in the most horrible and shameful fashion, and his disciples would be put through the gamut of emotions and social pressures. But this lady desired to make the impending difficulties as sweet as possible. The disciples, however, didn’t understand how the woman’s wastefulness could bring glory to God at all.
George Matheson, one of the great Scottish preachers of the Victorian era, understood life when it stinks. He went blind while he was in his twenties, after he had already experienced God’s call to a pulpit ministry. After he went blind, the woman he loved rejected his proposal of marriage, which devastated Matheson emotionally for a time. He was able to keep up his ministerial duties, however, with the help of his sister who lived with him and helped him with reading and writing, and other household necessities.
Then one day his sister accepted a proposal of marriage. Not only had the love of his life rejected him, but the love of his sister’s life would take from him the remaining light of his earthly home. What would be left to him? How could he face life alone? He poured out the pain of his soul in the well known hymn
O love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from Thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
Matheson for many years was the preacher at a small, country church on the Cowal peninsula on the north side of the Firth of Clyde in a small town called Inellan.. He was a faithful preacher and a compassionate pastor and was eventually installed as the pastor of a larger church in Edinburgh. In his later years, Queen Victoria often requested that he preach in the royal chapel when she visited at Balmoral.
Besides writing a number of theological and devotional books, he also wrote a collection of hymns published as Sacred Songs. Each song was written to go with one of the texts for his sermons. To accompany Matthew 26:7-11, the story of the woman who “wasted” her perfume on Christ, he wrote “The Invalid’s Gift.”
O Lord, the seeds I sow for Thee
Can never fruitage yield,
No harvest from my gifts can be; ;
They slumber in the field.
I lie on bed from morn to night,
Oppressed with languor’s load;
All I can give is prayer for light
To those upon the road.
‘Tis only fragrance, nothing more–
Only a perfume sweet;
The box is broken on the floor,
The ointment seeks Thy feet;
Others, with health and strength to tell
Its value rich and sure,
The treasure for great sum could sell,
And give it to the poor.
Be not afraid; my soul, be still;
Thy Father sees no waste,
For there are gifts of mere goodwill
With neither form nor taste,–
Gifts that are but the will to give
The prayers that good be given,
And these before Him ever live
As the best things in heaven.
Thou canst do naught but wish and pray
Upon thy bed of pain,
But thy heart’s desire from day to day
Is counted golden grain;
And thy Father lays to thine account
The works thou fain wouldst do,
And to thy vision of the Mount
Imputes the climbing too.
Oh, there are gifts whose only power
Is but the joy they lend;
They do not last beyond this hour,
They serve no outward end;
And yet, before their bloom be dead,
They light within the heart
A radiance that, when they are fled,
Refuses to depart.
Matheson wrote this from the experiences of his own heart. Author George MacDonald, a fellow Scot from the same era, said that he (MacDonald) wrote prose when he was well, but he wrote poetry when he was sick. In other words, his most sublime work was done under the most difficult circumstances.
In a fit of (I think) wishful thinking, my husband has described the burnt offerings in the Old Testament as perhaps smelling like the wonderful smokey meaty smell that emanates from traditional barbeque places south of the Mason-Dixon line. But I have another opinion. A few years ago, the factory in our town that processed sheep hides burned down. It made a terrible stench that made your eyes burn and your throat hurt. That is how I imagine the animal sacrifices. The stench would have reminded everyone of the awfulness of sin and their human helplessness to do anything about it. Their humility in the midst of burning animals would have been the truly sweet savor to God.
One time when I was a kid, our preacher preached a long sermon, and then there was a special business meeting after the close of the service, and then we still stood around and visited until we were nearly the last ones to leave. By the time we got home, the beef roast my mother had put in the oven on “timed bake” had baked for way too much time. We tried to console her by telling her that even though it was “a little dry” it would be fine with some gravy on top. Dad was not in the mood for consolation. His words have lived for over 40 years in family lore; “Oh, be quiet! It is too burnt!”
Sometimes all we can do about some situation in our life is cry out, “It is too burnt!” There is nothing we can do to make it so it isn’t burnt, and there is nothing we can to do take away the burnt smell. But when all we have is a smelly burnt life, we can offer it up as a sweet-smelling sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. Nothing needs be wasted with God!
