What Is the Scent of Love?
June 13th, 2010
St. David’s United Church
Rev. Dan Chambers
June 13, 2010
Romans 12:9-18
What Is the Scent of Love?
(Part two in a sermon series on the 5 marks of the Church)
Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.
Romans 12:15
Community is a rare thing. You don’t bump into it everyday. As much as we’re surrounded by people in this urban environment, mostly our day is filled with loose affiliations and casual associations. Genuine community is harder to find.
But when we do happen upon such a thing, life is deeply enriched. An authentic community amplifies all that is good and delightful; celebrating with others augments joy. Would you rather celebrate your birthday surrounded by friends or all on your own? Would you rather welcome the New Year with an embrace and kiss with friends or sitting alone in your living room watching the ball drop in Times Square? Whenever you see someone win the gold medal, score a goal in the World Cup, receive the Nobel Peace Prize, what do they do? Go up to their room where they can be alone? No! They reach out and hug the person next to them. When Sydney Crosby scored the winning goal
in overtime for Team Canada to give them the gold in Men’s Hockey, perfect strangers celebrated on Robson were hugging and high fiving. Joy longs to be shared.
It works the other way, too. When life is harsh and we feel beat down, the circle of a caring community eases the burden. One is less likely to be overcome by futility or to sink into the depths of despair. It seems somehow that we’re carried along. Communities give life.
Paul describes some of the characteristics of an authentic community, that we are turned toward each other; that we rejoice and weep together. This is what Church is meant to be: an authentic community of faith that is turned toward God, each other, and the world.
In this regard, the early church community was absolutely radical. Some left. They just couldn’t stretch themselves that far. It was too much to stomach, letting in all those Gentiles; allowing women to have a position of authority. Others flooded into the church because there, for perhaps the first time in their life, they felt free. Social expectations and prescribed definitions and constricting labels were broken down. As Paul wrote, in the baptism of Christ, “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28)
For those of us raised in a western, post-enlightenment, feminist society that considers slavery an abomination, these words sound rather bland. We pride ourselves in being open minded. Women should have the right to an education, to positions of authority, and should receive equal pay for equal work. Of course. Jews and non-Jews should have equal treatment in our society. That goes without saying. What’s the big deal?
But consider the context of 1st century Palestine: Jews generally held themselves apart. They considered Gentiles impure. They were not to eat with them or, if possible, do business with them. And now Paul was openly dismantling a social structure that had been put in place for over a thousand years, taking it apart piece by piece. Some of the early Jewish followers of Christ couldn’t stand it. They left. Others were drawn to the freedom of this community, and came.
No slave or free? Who would clean house? Who would do all the hard labour? It would destroy the economy! No male or female? C’mon, Paul. In an age when women were the property of men, you’re going to sell the idea that there’s no difference between the two of them in the eyes of Christ? Absurd. Some people left. Others flooded in, drawn to the buzz of a room filled with slaves and free, Jew and Greek, women and men all eating together in community. Like the meal on the table, the aroma of freedom was too powerful to resist.
“From now on,” Paul wrote, we regard no one from a human point of view…So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (II Cor. 5:16-17) Very risky; very radical; very life-giving.
People are drawn to genuine community the way you might be drawn to a wonderful fragrance. Instinctively, we follow our nose. The owners of concession stands at movie theaters are well aware of the tempting aroma of freshly made popcorn.
A cookie company bakes fresh cookies throughout the day so when you walk by their store the smell grabs you by the collar and pulls you inside.
Real estate agents know the power of smell and have learned that fresh baked bread or cinnamon give people a warm feeling of home.
We’re drawn to community the way we’re drawn to a wonderful aroma, and that’s exactly why the early church thrived. It grew not because the social and political environment was supportive: just the opposite. It grew not because of a clear and rational doctrine: on the contrary, to the outsider, the Christian tradition can seem downright bizarre (“this is my body broken for you; this is my blood poured out for you..”) It grew because they had discovered the secret of community.
Someone would be walking down a back alley in Corinth or Ephesus and would see a group of people sitting together talking about the strangest things – something about a man and a tree and an execution and an empty tomb. What they were talking about made no sense to the onlooker. But there was something about the way they spoke to one another, about the way they looked at one another, about the way they cried together, the way they laughed together, the way they touched one another that was strangely appealing. It gave off what might be described as “the scent of love.”
The onlooker would turn to continue on his way, only to be pulled back like a bee drawn to the nectar of a flower. They’d say, “I don’t have the slightest idea what these people are talking about, but whatever it is, I want to be part of it.” (M. Scott Peck, A Different Drum, p.294, in reference to a book by Keith Miller, The Scent of Love, 1983).
As a child, I remember this kind of thing happening all the time. A group of us would have a great game of soccer or basketball going, and one or two guys would come over, “Can we play, too?”
As a church, I’ve been on retreats or at services when people have hovered in the background, watching, gathered up the nerve to wander over and ask, “Can I join you?”
We’re drawn to community the way we’re drawn to a wonderful aroma. Perhaps a genuine community gives off the scent of love.
When Colleen was only four, she was playing on the ground with her dolls, which she had neatly put in a circle, facing each other. Janet came into the room vacuuming, and Colleen held up her hand, “Don’t ruin my set-up!”
“Why, is it a class?”
“No, it’s love.”
Colleen knew that love is turned toward each other, because we can’t love what we don’t see. Her circle of dolls demonstrated that we can only care about what we have a relationship with.
A genuine Christian community releases a scent of love; it’s a place of acceptance, challenge and growth. The early church called this koinonia, which means “fellowship,” but is also translated as sharing, participation and contribution. The root word of koinonia is koinos, which means “common.” A community is bound by something they have in common.
Jon Miller’s rugby team can serve as an example of a community bound together by something in common. Clearly, what this Rockridge High School team has in common is rugby. That’s why they’re there; that’s what holds them in relationship. Even if they’re very different people with very different interests and values and humour, they’re on that team because they enjoy playing rugby. That’s their koinos.
Recently, the team won a big tournament. To celebrate, all of the guys on the team agreed to get their hair cut. That day. By one of the players. The haircuts were wild and zany. It was both a test of their commitment (would they be seen in public with this new haircut?), and also a way of marking their connection with the team (“I’m wearing this haircut because I’m on the rugby team”).
We’re all part of a multitude of communities, some more significant than others. Our colleagues at work, our bridge club, our car pool, our family, our strata, the Kiwanis, Lions or Rotary club, the soccer team or our class at school all can be important communities in our life.
The Christian expression of koinonia, however, points to the kind of community that is not man-made (human-made?). Koinonia refers to a group of people in relationship that are held together by something quite intangible, something that goes beyond the particular make-up of individuals, something that the early church called “the body of Christ.” (“Wherever two or three are gathered in my name, there I am also.”)
A person of faith, and a community of faith, exhibited enthusiasm, which is an old, Greek word that literally means, “to be filled with the Spirit,” (en-Theo) or “to have the Spirit of God in us.”
Who knew the depth of the word enthusiasm when in high school basketball games, the home crowd would stomp and clap and shout, “We’ve got the spirit, yes we do! We’ve got the spirit, how about you?” To which the visiting crowd was supposed to echo the chant and match the volume, “We’ve got the spirit, yes we do! We’ve got the spirit, how about you?” Back and forth it would go, each showing their spirit-filled enthusiasm for their team.
The church community is meant to be filled with the Spirit. Maybe we should stand on our roof and shout to our neighbours, the Baptists, the Unitarians, the Anglicans, the Catholics down the street, “We’ve got the spirit, yes we do! We’ve got the spirit, how about you?”
When we’re filled with the Spirit, enthused, all kinds of things can happen. Lives get changed. People’s hearts are touched. Support and care, kindness and compassion flow into the world around us. That’s the other part of the circle four-year-old Colleen built. While she had all her dolls facing each other, because, we interpret, you can’t love what you don’t see, it is equally true to have the circle of dolls facing out, because the church isn’t about just facing each other and turning our backs on the world. In that circle facing towards each other, we need to include the world.
And the society in this part of the world longs for a sense of genuine community. Well, we do and we don’t. We long for community, yet we don’t want to commit to anything that might cramp our style. We’re like the guy who wants to be in relationship, but can’t seem to make a commitment and has difficulty saying, “I love you.” True story:
A friend whispered in a passionate embrace, “I love you.”
Her boyfriend whispered back, “Thanks.”
Thanks? I’m no romantic genius, but somehow I don’t think that’s quite the response she was hoping for. I love you…Thanks?
People in North America are reluctant to make a commitment. Already over-busy and far stretched, they want to keep the self unencumbered and free to roam. Don’t get tied down. Don’t impose or intrude or interrupt my ability to choose what I want when I want with whom I want. “No, I don’t want to commit to a date on Friday, because something better might come up. I’ll call you back Friday late afternoon and let you know then, OK?”
And yet, people complain about the lack of community. In our determination to keep the self unencumbered, we’ve lost connection. In our focus on being unattached, our ability to develop deep relationships has withered on the vine.
Yet there is a desire for connection, even if it’s a tenuous one. Did you hear that when a major event like the World Cup or Expo or the Olympics are on, the host community experiences a temporary increase in happiness? A sociologist figured out that suicide rates drop by 1,000 people in the course of a month. Why? Because lonely people feel connected and strangers have something to talk about. Tongues are set loose on the bus and last night’s game is all the rage. It doesn’t even matter, they found, if the host country wins or loses, it’s the sense of being part of something together that makes the difference. People have a basic need to belong and share a sense of identity.
Yet giving a stranger a high-five on Robson is different than risking community. We long to belong, yet we don’t want to commit. And there lies the rub: you can’t have depth of community in a lasting way without commitment. No community we belong to will fit our longings exactly. And that’s probably good. It’s part of the refining that happens when we get together with people who are different from us. No one person can have their own way. In community, we learn to think of others and to care about their needs. In that way, even though our preferences are not always met, something more significant is nourished as we discover a connection that transcends all our differences.
St. David’s is going through a time of discernment as we consider different options for the future. For some, just to hold these conversations is unsettling. There will be differences of opinion and perspective. However, it’s exactly in times like these that a community relies on the commitment of its members. There is no koinonia without commitment. There is no community without sustained participation.
Those who were drawn to the early church risked everything: their reputation, their friends, their safety, even their lives. What in the world would be worth all that risk? What did this group hold in common, the koinos, that was more life-giving than the tried-and-true ways of the world?
Then as now, the genuine Christian community was filled with the Spirit. And that Spirit informs behaviour toward each other so that it changes the way we speak to and look at each other, the way we touch and care for each other. There was a particular scent in that community that lured others in, no matter the risk. Some say it was the scent of love. May we be drawn into and filled with that ancient fragrance even still.
Amen.
