Good Friday

Holy Week Reflections: The Aroma of Heaven

Art by Matt Shaw

Today, I’m thinking about fragrance. I’m thinking of the kindness of God. Though his son was crushed more than once—first during the dark night of the soul in the oil press of Gethsemane, then in the long hours that would come in Jerusalem (hours in which he was denied, rejected, interrogated, falsely accused, mocked, tormented, derided, spit at, struck, slapped, bound, scourged, stripped, and punctured), then culminating on a Roman cross in Golgatha (where there was more excruciating pain, darkness, loneliness, and death)—in every moment Jesus would have been radiating the aroma of a king. The extravagant amount of oil lavishly poured on him a few days prior (and even more, days before that) would have still clung to his hair, skin, and garments.

Those loving acts by the obedient women of Bethany weren’t just about his burial. The Father was giving his Son a gift in his final hours.

Every moment of his passion—his complete suffering in body and soul—he would have been dripping with the fragrance that would remind him of who he was. In the moments when he was silent before the chief priests of the Sanhedrin and before the Roman governor Pilate, the pleasing aroma was testifying on his behalf to all who were present. God was hiding “easter eggs” in the natural, hints of what He and all of heaven were smelling in the spiritual.

Jesus would have to go through the full experience of the sacrifice to become our Passover Lamb, taking all the chastisement and punishment for our sins unto Himself so that we might be made clean and whole, but all along the way, God was showing him and the world that He had his back.

I see the scene of the high priest tearing his robe when Jesus confirms his relation to the Father. The Father responds in kind by ripping the veil of the temple from top to bottom, the moment Jesus gives up his spirit. When God does an act, it has layers of significance, galaxies of meaning.

I see the sun darkening for three hours in the middle of the day—a solar eclipse divinely timed where space itself bowed down to God’s hand (if you’ve never looked into the research Nasa has done on this, I recommend it!)—as the Father showed everyone in that region how He felt about His Son hanging naked and bruised on the Roman cross.

I see the upside-down kingdom on glorious display when the soldiers watch in awe as a man is being treated with the worst that humankind can offer, yet, being filled with strength from God, is enabled to compassionately utter the words “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” They marvel that this man never curses his god, as they’ve seen so many criminals do on their crosses in death, but rather he shows submission even in his last breath: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” I see the earth rattle in response, punctuating the depths of this moment that will change history forever. Author

Joshua Pauling

describes it as “the great reversal of redemption, which is remaking you and the whole world.”

“And when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he cried out and breathed his last, he said, ‘Truly this man was the Son of God!’” - Mark 15:39

“When the centurion and those who were with him, keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were filled with awe and said, ‘Truly this was the Son of God!’” - Matthew 27:54

“And all the crowds when they had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts.” - Luke 23:48

I am beset with sorrow thinking of the suffering of my lover and Lord, and yet filled with utter wonderment at the Father who affirmed and stood by him at every turn. Even, I believe, when Jesus cried out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” (but that’s a topic to be saved for another day).

Prayer: Lord, I take a moment to intentionally reflect on all you endured. I put myself in each scene and try to imagine your anguish of soul, your agony of flesh. I breathe in deeply, taking in the fragrance that accompanied you; the fingerprints of God that were all over you. Jesus, I praise you! Oh Lord, I thank you for suffering in my place. I thank you for your remarkable love. Father, give me strength and grace in my times of suffering, that I may exude the aroma of heaven when I am pressed.

Art by Joy Morykon