A Sweet Aroma

What dominates the landscape of the farm on which is built our home is not our house, but the old wooden farmhouse which stands at the head of the lane.  It has always been said that it was built around 1910 which means it has weathered more than just a few storms.  It is surely one of those old houses which could tell tales of the people who lived within its walls if such a thing were possible.  With a new tin roof put on it about twenty years ago, the old heart pine wood most likely sawmilled from trees which once grew nearby is still in good condition.    

It may seem strange to some to think that a place lived in so long would cause a sense of fellowship with those from the past, but to one who walks here now, it seems like the most normal thing in the world.  There are so many places filled with things seen and unseen which speaks reminders that we are not the first to walk and work this land, nor will we be the last.  It has a history greater than the years any of us have lived.  To be here is to simply be where others have been before us.  There have been the cries of pain, the laughter which comes from gathering on the front porch, and memories in the air of tables filled with the bounty of the farm.  

In the life of the church which I once served as pastor, we had this annual service of remembering the saints who had gone before us.  It was full of ritual, holy communion, and a sense that we were not alone but only separated from the great cloud of heavenly witnesses by a very thin veil.  Perhaps, this fellowship sensed with those who lived and died here on this land before me is a different kind of taste of the same moment.  This lingering presence of the saints who have gone before us is ever present and indeed a sweet aroma inhaled by the soul.