Today was communion at my church. (We’re a non-denominational church with similarity to many Baptist churches, in that we observe the Lord’s Supper periodically rather than every Sunday.) As we prepared to start the service, I was sitting on the platform (getting ready to lead worship) behind the communion table. The scent of the grape juice somehow was quite strong where I was seated. It struck me that the fragrance of communion — the sweetness of the juice or wine, the flour scent from the wafers — is like the fragrance of the old burnt offerings given as sacrifices before Christ’s death.
The smell of bread and wine is part of the experience of remembering. It’s one of those almost intangible things that bind us together as the Christian community. It’s the same thing the first believers experienced in their house churches, or that the medieval monks knew in their cloisters, or that persecuted believers know in totalitarian countries throughout the world today. In a way, it goes beyond words, to one of the most basic and instinctive senses God gave us.
I believe He gave us this sacrament, with its varied sense experiences, in part as a symbol of the fullness of the gospel. We see the redness of the wine, we smell its sweetness, we taste its fruits and tanins, we feel its warmth; we see the roughness of the bread, we smell its earthiness, we taste its grains, we feel it crumble; we think about Christ’s death; and we know with all our being what the gospel means.