I am a pushover for aromas. There are certain smells that just have an effect on me, either positive or negative. For example, I love the smell of a freshly mown field in the heat of an August day. The smell of grass and dirt, along with the baking heat of the afternoon sun, take me back to the days of football at Dobyns-Bennett High.

I hated the practices, loved the games, was thrilled by the sound of the band (distracted by the intrusive appearance of lovely cheerleaders not that I noticed, being bound for the ministry), and reveled in the recognition of being a football player on a top-notch team.

The aroma of frying sausage, the smell of homemade biscuits, takes me back to a warm bed in the winter hills of east Tennessee, listening to the clatter of pan and dishes, just before Mom roused me for the day ahead.

I love the smell of a football, of a freshly bathed and powdered baby, of a new car, and of that special perfume that Cindy holds in reserve for those special occasions.

These are smells that I hate. I detest the smell of poverty that I learned to recognize when working as a social worker years ago. The smell of poverty clings to you, gets in your hair, permeates your nostrils. It lingers in your senses long after you have left the actual environment. It is the smell of dirt, of perspiration, of urine deposited in inappropriate places, of moldy, rotting food, of stagnant grease, of surrender, hopelessness and despair.

I hate the smell of untimely death. I have experienced that aroma all too often in my years of ministry. You can't put your finger on it, but you learn to recognize it at the scene of murders, suicides, accidents, and automobile crashes. It is a sad smell, if smells can have an emotion, a tragic fragrance.

But I guess the fragrance I love the most these days is the aroma of church.

Not too many years ago, I didn't even know that churches could have a distinctive smell. Then, I attended a New Year's Day service at a cathedral in Jacksonville, Fla.

As I entered the sanctuary, I noticed a faint smell. It was a sweet smell, not unlike but dissimilar to, flowers. It was a welcoming, warm, comforting fragrance... and totally unknown to me.

Before the service began, I noticed a significant increase in the mystical, sweet aroma. It had such impact on me I began to weep, right there in church. It was the aroma of incense being offered up as an act of worship.

I was shocked! As an evangelical Protestant (we are always protesting against something!), I had preached against such unnecessary, empty, ritualistic things in church, calling them "smells and bells, incense and nonsense." Now, here I was, overpowered by my senses, inhaling deeply to catch every portion of fragrance that wafted through.

Soon, I began a study on incense in the scriptures, surprised, yet comforted, to discover that incense had a prominent role in both Testaments.

In Malachi 1:11, the use of incense is actually commanded by God, who says, "...and in every place incense shall be offered unto my name, and a pure offering: for my name shall be great among the heathen, saith the Lord of hosts. (KJV.)"

A Baptist friend of mine pooh-poohed this reference until I pointed out that just two chapters over, the same Lord, in the same book, commands that the tithe (and Baptists love the tithe!) be brought into the storehouse. (Mal. 3:10.) He "um-ed" and "err-ed" and "harrump-ed" and finally remembered an appointment he was late for.

Then, offering of incense was considered, in and of itself, an act of worship. In the New Testament Book of Revelation, I discovered, to my great surprise, that Heaven is a smoky, fragrant place.

John saw that the inhabitants in Heaven, gathered around the throne, brought, in one hand, a golden harp, indicating worship and music, and, in the other hand, "golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints." (Rev. 5:8.)

During the Roman persecutions of the first 300 years of the Church, the use of incense in worship was abandoned. Rome had decreed that Christians should offer up incense in honor and adoration of the emperor. The penalty for doing otherwise could be loss of possessions, imprisonment or death.

Understanding that offering incense was an act of worship reserved for deity alone, and fearing that any use of incense might be seen as emperor-worship, the Christians declined the order and ceased the use of incense altogether. For this refusal to give to the state that which was reserved for God alone, multitudes went joyfully to their martyrdom.

Eventually, Rome fell and the use of incense was restored to the Church, both in the Catholic and Orthodox traditions. It wasn't until the Reformation that incense was thrown out with the baptismal water (not really... Reformers continued to preach infant covenant baptism as well as believer's baptism for repentant adults) by European zealots who desired to take a stand against the abuse and deadness in the Church they had known.

So, for 500 years, or so, a large minority of people who are Christian believers have never known that church "has a smell."

Incense is, among other things, to remind the worshippers that "God is present," not because we, like the prophets of Baal, have worked ourselves into a "worship frenzy," but because He has promised to never leave or forsake His people. He is present because He is Father amongst His children.

It is a reminder that our prayers are heard in Heaven, that other smoke-filled place. It is a reminder that the "cloud of Glory," experienced in Solomon's Temple, is a present-day reality.

It is the smell of peace, the odor of welcome, the aroma of worship, the fragrance of Heaven. It is the scent of coming home.

[Father David Epps is rector of Christ the King Church. He may be contacted online at CTKCEC@aol.com or by mail at P. O. Box 2192, Peachtree City, GA 30269.]