What is in Kelvin's Head?

Passion Sunday Sermon

19/03/2013

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I realised yesterday before I wrote this sermon that I have no idea what spikenard smells like.

That it is basically an essential oil derived from the root of a plant related to Valerion which grows in the Himalayas was fairly easy to establish. But what does it smell like.

And what does Christianity smell like, for that matter.

This woman, Mary of Bethany appears in two significant places in the gospels and in both stories, smell is one of the most important features. Firstly she is there when Lazarus is raised from the grave â€“ with the fear of the stench of his rotten body a distinctive and memorable part of the story. And now she pours her perfume on another body â€“ a living body. For she anoints Jesus with her spikenard and wipes his feet with her hair. And her actions are in strong distinction from her sister who serves the meal.

There are so many questions to ask of this gospel reading. Who was she? Why did she do what she did.

And what does spikenard smell like? And why do we read this right now, on Passion Sunday when by tradition and habit our thoughts turn towards the cross.

I decided yesterday afternoon that the most fundamental thing I needed to know was what spikenard smells like.

(It is amazing what a preacher is prepared to do in order to put off actually writing the sermon).

I came to the conclusion that the West End was the perfect place to buy spikenard â€“ if you canâ€™t buy it round here, where can you buy it.

Well, an hour trudging around in rain soon proved to me that it is probably pretty hard to come by anywhere. Health Food shopkeepers shook their heads. Herbalists gazed at me with regret. Even the woman in the esoteric crystal shop up on Queen Margaret Drive admitted to her sadness that spikenard was not something she could help me with. (And she seemed to have answers to problems Iâ€™d never even thought of).

I came wearily home. And I turned to the internet. And quickly I found some information. I managed to get a description. I found it on an aromatherapy website, so as any of the many medics in the congregation will affirm, it must be 100% true.

It said… (more…)

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

kimberly

12/08/2009

ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

Reply
kimberly

12/08/2009

the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

Reply
kelvin

12/08/2009

Its not just me though, and not just fours.

Reply
Aaron Orear

12/08/2009

I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

Reply
Erp

12/08/2009

I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

Reply
RosemaryHannah

12/08/2009

Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

Reply
Elizabeth

13/08/2009

Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

Reply
Ritualist Robert

14/08/2009

Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

Reply
Steve

14/08/2009

I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.

Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.

Reply