Vigen Guroian. John of the Cross. Annie Dillard. Jesus. What thing links the four of these, aside from God? Well, let’s see.
Vigen Guroian wrote a book called “The Fragrance of God.” To begin the first chapter, Vigen tells the story of a rose that was planted off the end of the porch of his childhood home; a rose with a scent so fragrant, it made his mind reel. Then, one day many years later while browsing through a plant nursery, that fragrance hit him again; and, behind a sign, he rediscovered the rose of his youth. He bought it, took it home, and planted it at the end of a garden path at his home. Later in the chapter, he describes the presence of God much as the fragrance of that rose that, though hidden, is still present and offers itself to our senses. This did not mean much to me when I first read it.
John of the Cross was a man who lived in the 1500s, who experienced God in an amazing way and, fortunately for us, left us many writings that we, too, may be open to what he experienced. In one collection, called “Living Flame of Love,” he writes: “The longing in your soul is actually His doing. You may feel only the smallest desire for Him. There may be no emotion at all. But the reason your desire rises at all is because He is passing very near to you. His holy beauty comes near you, like a spiritual scent, and it stirs your drowsing soul.”
Immediately, a light-bulb went off over my head. Suddenly, Vigen’s words meant so much more. Maybe it is what Vigen was getting at, maybe not; I never got the sense from him. But I think of another story I was set to tell my class, and decided not to.
I love popcorn. The microwave kind, actually; well, we all have sin in our lives. But I can always smell when someone is making popcorn. I might be engrossed in a video game, in my room upstairs – or listening to music and writing, or working on school – when suddenly, my nose twitches. My head snaps up a little, and my mind says: “Popcorn!” Immediately, I fold up the book, or pause the game, or the music, and run downstairs. There are many foods, even, that evoke similar responses. I like food. A lot. But you see, the fragrance is not my doing. It is not because of me – in those instances, anyway – that the fragrance exists; it simply does. And that fragrance, in turn, awakens a desire for food. Vigen, upon smelling the rose, searched for it to buy it and take it home; it awakened a desire and a memory in him. Much the same way, as John of the Cross says, a desire for God is not born in us; God exists, and in passing near you, like a spiritual scent, awakens a desire.
To take things back to the beginning of class, one of the first authors we looked at, was Annie Dillard – and I discussed this somewhat when we covered it. But Annie does not create what she sees; she even said – and I’ve quoted it – that beauty exists whether we will or sense it. Beauty, then, in the visual realm, can be a “scent for the eyes,” awakening our desire for God. Similarly, throughout Vigen’s book, he postulates that beauty in creation, and in the garden, stems from the beauty of The Garden, that of Eden, which we lost when our first parents sinned. Because microwave popcorn does not necessarily smell good in and of itself; but it awakens in me the memory, too, of eating popcorn. Just as, for Vigen, the scent of the rose awakened in him the memories of his youth; and scent is linked more powerfully to memory than any other sense.
Which brings me to Jesus: how often in the gospel does Jesus link the kingdom of God (or Heaven) to something desirable? In a word: often. It is like a priceless treasure which a man finds in a field. He covers it back up, goes home and sells everything he has and buys the field. The treasure was not put there by the man; but upon discovering it, he acts in such ways as necessary to be able to obtain and enjoy it. The same thing happens with the pearl of great value. And when God reaches out and touches us, and we sense it – through fragrances literal and figurative – we reach back, searching for the source because we recognize its value and are willing to give everything to obtain it.
But when we seek the thing itself, and not what is behind the thing, we fall into depravity. When beauty, and pleasure, and enjoyment are sought for their sole purpose alone, then we fall into the world of Kant, and of all post-modernists: it is your interpretation; it is what you make it; so where can there be true definition? So we have art made of toilets, or sex, or the grotesque – anything and everything. When all beauty does not point to one thing, it will point to anything; and when it can point to anything, it will point to everything; and when it points to everything, then it will point to nothing, because everything will be “beautiful” and the term is meaningless. And then beauty is gone – no longer to be sensed, no longer to be sought, no longer to point us to God. All that is left is outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.
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