Frankincense. Who knew?

This morning I put away some of the Christmas Décor. Since we don’t take down our tree until January 6,  just the stockings and a few other things have been boxed up ready for storage. 

Snippets of Christmas music danced in my mind as I packed them away. I love to sing. I love to sing Christmas songs, as they are generally so happy and sentimentally touching. Humming a strain of Karen Carpenter’s “ there He lies, there with the lambkin, only swaddle for His garment,” I picked up the Santa with the wobbly ( and now after 22 years) detachable head that Randall played with as a baby, the train set of ornaments from Craig’s first Christmas, but left the cards received on the shelf where they had been nestled among pine branches. A sympathy card for my late father’s passing sits among them. I paused.

Celebration and sorrow on the same shelf.  “ Prince of Peace o’er all the universe ♪ alleluia al - le - lu - ia,” swelled in my mind.

We sang a Latin piece from the 1500's, Personent Hodie, for Christmas Eve, as we processed. Walking slowly down the aisle of our glorious stone cathedral, in half-light, banners on every pillar, I felt transported to another time, where somber music gave glory and honor to the Christ Child. 

My son Brett and other tenors and their bass counterparts intoned, "Magi tres venerunt, parvulum inquirunt, Bethlehem adeunt, stellulam sequendo, ipsum adorando, aurum, thus, et myrrham ei offerendo," while I and my soprano section echoed 'aurum, thus, thus, thus, aurum, thus, thus, thus' 

"The three Magi came, in search of a little child, They go to Bethlehem, following the little stars, worshiping him, gold, frankincense, and myrrh to him offering."

Frankincense favored heavily in the soprano descant in the measures listing the Gifts of the Magi, more than gold.  Gold, for a King. Myrrh, to foretell of His death, 33 years hence. (Celebration and sorrow, at the manger.) 

Frankincense, used in the Temple for centuries, and in the manger ostensibly to ward off the smells of the animals huddling nearby. Through the magic of the Internet I discovered this fact of the tree which produces the fragrant resin:

<Frankincense trees are also considered unusual for their ability to grow in environments so unforgiving that they sometimes grow directly out of solid rock. The means of initial attachment to the stone is not known but is accomplished by a bulbous disk-like swelling of the trunk. This disk-like growth at the base of the tree prevents it from being torn away from the rock during the violent storms that frequent the region they grow in. This feature is slight or absent in trees grown in rocky soil or gravel. The tears from these hardy survivors are considered superior for their more fragrant aroma.>  Who knew that the source that kids have quipped as Frankenstein had such resilience?

The source goes to say that frankincense trees are on the decline due to over-exploitation and beetle infestation, and includes a reference to Herodotus, who documented the trees being dangerous to harvest due to venomous snakes inhabiting them. 

Huh.

A tree that can grow out of a rock which produces ‘tears’ used to create fragrance, which is being attacked by outside forces and at one time, habitually surrounded by snakes.

Huh.

The Church grew from Peter, the Rock anointed to carry forth the Good News. (Peter was a mess. Over emotional, doubtful, outspoken, passionate, impetuous. Not at all a candidate for ministry.) There were tears shed over the death of Christ, not only for His suffering, but for the loss of the overthrow of the government oppressing the weeping populace. 

People of faith still stand on the Rock, the foundation for the Cross, but are buffeted by the winds of  denominationalism, greed, scandal, the rise of secular ‘civil rights’ which afford all other belief systems to flourish but quell public Christianity. Snakes of all types slither into churches -- tradition, pride, ego, past hurts, failures, over-emphasis on budgets, business- instead of ministry-principles at play. 

Over the centuries, the fragrance of the Church, inviting and warm and laced with notes of hope, has evolved into knock-off denominational scents that pass for Christianity because of similar labeling. These knock-offs turn away agnostics and atheists and those who have been hurt by the "Christians" who bathe in self-righteousness and religious practices, not faith. 

There are many true Christians in mainline denominations, to be sure, but they seem to be outnumbered by Churchgoers who believe in grace-by-works and social standing.

Nonetheless, the fragrance of Christianity, the true fragrance, is not at all offensive, and it has no denominational overtones, no political undertones. It has lingered for over 2000 years. As the cliché says, Wise men still seek it. 

It is pure. 

May you breathe of it, the scent of peace, the soft smell of comfort, the aroma of hope; the lavish lingering of Love that has no boundaries, in this coming New Year.