Happy Friday! It’s hard to believe we’ve made it not only to November but to November 5! That means Thanksgiving, at least here in the U.S., is in less than three weeks, Advent starts in just over that, and Christmas Day is a mere seven weeks from tomorrow. Thankfully, I’ve got my turkey ordered, and I just now hit purchase on my Advent candles. But I haven’t done a lick of Christmas shopping yet, and those stories about supply chain nightmares aren’t getting any better. {DEEP BREATH}
That’s why exploring our senses is the perfect for this month, a way to ground ourselves in the concrete and tangible, in the here and now, when the holiday hoopla and other stresses of modern (and pandemic) life threaten to undo us.
So before we get started, take a minute to check in with your senses. What do you see? What smells are around you? What do you hear, taste, or feel? How is your body situated in the world? What beauty can you identify?
Now, let’s begin.
1. The Senses and Sacramental Living
Grief has come to me in many surprising ways. I’ve been surprised how it comes and goes, lingering not just in my memory but in the places I go. I’ve been surprised by its intensity: in many ways, I began to lose Mom years ago. So I thought my grief after her death might be less severe, less painful. I was wrong. I’ve also been surprised how sensory grief is, and as we talk about exploring our senses this month, I guess that’s where I want to start.
Most of the time when I think of Mom, I think about the softness of her skin, especially her cheeks, as I’d rub Olay lotion onto her face each time I visited. I also think of the smell of that lotion, floral and light, along with the apple cinnamon air freshener plug-in I religiously kept refilled. Of course there was also the faint smell of urine we were never ever to get out of the carpet from the time she first moved in. I think of the bright colors of nail polish I would paint onto her fingers; the sound of her laugh that changed from high and musical to low and growly as she declined; the taste of the white cheddar puffs she enjoyed so much when popcorn became too hard to eat.
So many of my experiences with Mom in her last few years were limited by a body that was hunched and contracted. When she died in August, she hadn’t stood on her own legs in almost a year and hadn’t walked in more than two. Her neck could no longer support the weight of her head, and her throat and mouth could no longer form words or even swallow safely. But she could still see and hear; she could smell and taste. And she could feel, especially when I held her hand and she squeezed as hard as her grip allowed.
Now that she’s gone, I think often about her life as a younger woman. I remember her when she was healthy and vibrant and busy. I think often about the bags and bags of cookies and rolls and other treats she’d bring each time she visited, and the meticulous decorations she’d set out for every season and holiday. I remember the funny way she’d run, and the irritating way she’d clear her throat over and over as she was settling down to sleep. But I also miss the more recent version of Mom, the woman who had little left but the joy of sensing the world. The woman I could see and touch with my own eyes and hands.
Which is probably why, in her absence, I’ve found myself so desperate for sensory experiences in my own life. Why I’ve developed a new routine of rubbing lotion into my own face morning and night so my skin feels as soft as Mom’s did. Why I keep baking pies and cookies and breads despite my own desire to eat fewer sweets. Why I’ve been so attentive to the way the fall air smells and the ways the leaves glow in the sunlight. Why I light candles each day when I work.
When I pay attention to the world around me, it’s almost like Mom is still here with us too.
::
I’ve wondered if the disciples had a similar experience just after Jesus died. When Jesus was arrested and whisked away to the temple, the disciples still had the taste of Passover wine on their lips, the feeling of cool water and Jesus’s calloused hands on their feet, the image of matzah crumbling into little pieces dancing in their eyes, the sound of Jesus’s voice praying over them in their ears, the smell of burnt lamp oil lingering in their noses. As they retreated to their homes for the Sabbath, did the sights and sounds and smells keep Jesus close to them?
Of course Jesus was physically close to them again just three days later: inviting Thomas’ touch, offering fresh grilled fish on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, praying over them in a voice they’d come to know as well as their own. But he wasn’t going to stay; about that much he was clear. And of the many things he wanted them to remember, the sensory expression of his presence—the way he experienced the world with his body—was chief among them. So important, in fact, that he invited them to practice it for themselves, over and over again.
Here’s how Paul tells it:
“The Lord Jesus, on the night when He was betrayed, took bread; and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, ‘This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me.’ In the same way He also took the cup after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in My blood; do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.’ For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.” — 1 Corinthians 11:23-26
The sacrament of communion straddles two realities about the kingdom of God: a sacrifice and a victory. A reality and a hope. The already and the not yet. And by establishing his kingdom both in the flesh through incarnation and in the spirit through resurrection, we invites us to experience both realities—even now—through all the bodily, sensory realities that hint at the invisible.
“We are not simply pointing toward a reality which will eventually have victory over this reality,” writes Joel Clarkson in his book, Sensing God: Experiencing the Divine in Nature, Food, Music, & Beauty. “Through sacrament, we are entering a new reality in this very moment in history. And even more profoundly, this reality isn’t something which transcends, alters, or disregards our world but something which shows what it was meant to be—and will be again someday.”
When we pay attention to the world around us, it’s like Jesus is right here with us, too.
::
Because our sensory experiences are by definition bodily experiences—Merriam Webster defines a “sense” as “a faculty by which the body perceives an external stimulus”—I supposed it’s not too far of a reach to say that incarnation, that “state of being invested with bodily and especially human nature and form,” is about Jesus taking on the senses, bringing dignity and honor to the very acts of seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, and touching.
Jesus lived close to the earth. He was born surrounded by animals. He moved about slowly, on his own feet or on the backs of animals. He ministered in close proximity to people. He wore clothes made of natural fabrics. He paid attention to the flowers, trees, and crops. He knew what good wine tasted like.
And what he showed us while he was physically present on the earth is the same reality we experience of Him even now: “The whole universe is itself sacramental, nature intertwined with the activity of Christ moving in and through it,” as Clarkson writes.
And it is incumbent upon us to sense it, to experience it. Otherwise, we are no better than the idols the Psalmist describes, made of “nothing but silver and gold, the work of human hands.”
“They have mouths, but they do not speak;
They have eyes, but they do not see;
They have ears, but they do not hear,
Nor is there any breath at all in their mouths.” — Psalm 135:15-17
But Jesus shows us that there is more to this world—and the next—than a tasteless, odorless void. We were made for more, we were made to experience more. We were made to sense it.
I wonder … how attuned are you to your own sensory experiences? How do they connect you to Jesus? What roles do the senses play in your memories? How do they help you feel more connected to loved ones you can’t be with, either through death or some less permanent separation?
2. Books on Sensing God
As we jump into this new theme for November, I want to recommend two books.
The first is Sensing God: Experiencing the Divine in Nature, Food, Music & Beauty by Joel Clarkson, which I mentioned above. I assumed I’d like this book based on on the title alone. But it was far better than I imagined. Clarkson offers a rich theological and biblical basis for sacramental living, but he also shows readers what it looks like in his own life. From morning sunrises and concerts in Royal Albert Hall, to memories of childhood illness and jumping from cliffs, the stories in this book peel back the curtain to give readers a glimpse of the dual reality of the kingdom.
The second book is Awaken Your Senses: Exercises for Exploring the Wonder of God by J. Brent Bill and Beth A. Booram. I’m not even sure where this book came from, but when I was recently sorting through my book collection I found it and knew it would be the perfect companion this November. It’s divided into 30 chapters, with six for each of the five senses. Each chapter offers a brief reflection followed by an exercise to help us tap into the senses to experience God’s presence.
Here’s what the authors say about the book in the introduction:
“Since we live so much out of our thinking, we often become divorced from our souls and bodies. We lose a sense of place, of rootedness in life. Using our senses helps us live in present time. That’s important because the present is the only place we can experience God. We can’t experience God while thinking of the past or planning the future. Neither exists right now. God can only be experienced in the reality of the present moment. When we attend to life with one or more of our senses, we immediately enter real time and awaken to the possibilities of God in it.”
3. Our More-Than-Five Senses
Did you know that we actually have more than five senses?
This Wikipedia article suggests there are as many as 14 senses, which is for sure way more than I’ve ever heard of. But I love the explanation given by Andre White, assistant professor of neurobiology at Mount Holyoke College, about why we seem to be stuck on the big five. “Part of it has to do with the fact that those five senses or sensory systems have discrete, identifiable organs,” White says.
In a recent episode of SHORT WAVE, the daily science podcast from NPR, hosts Maddie Sofia and Emily Kwong talk with White about the senses and particularly the “sixth sense,” or sense of balance, which is controlled by our vestibular system.
“The vestibular system is pretty subtle, though, right?” Kwong says. “Many of us take our balance for granted. You start to notice it when there's, let's say, damage to your ear - that can impair your balance - or motion sickness. That's when your vestibular system, for example, says you're going in one direction, and your eyes say you're going in another direction. Basically, the vestibular and other systems send conflicting messages.”
You can learn more about the sense of balance and other senses by listening to the podcast or reading the transcript. Just click the button below.
4. A Little Housekeeping
Though it feels a little out of the ordinary, I have some housekeeping to take care of before we wrap up this week.
First, congratulations to Crystal H. for winning a copy of Afton Rorvik’s Living Connected! Thanks to everyone who posted and emailed comments. I hope those of you who didn’t win might still be able to purchase it or request that your library purchase a copy.
Finally, with Advent quickly approaching, I wanted to share a few resources now so those supply chain issues don’t snag your order later in the month.
Last year, I created a free resource for subscribers called The Awe and Wonder of Advent. It’s for those of us who, despite our good intentions to slow down and reflect on the ‘reason for the season,’ too often pass up the mystery and holiness of incarnation for Christmas shopping and holiday parties. It’s free, and you can download it now.
For Advent this year, I’ve ordered The Light Has Come: Prayer Cards for Advent, Christmas and Epiphany for our family. Each of the 25, 4x6 cards includes an original watercolor illustration by Phaedra Taylor on one side, and on the other: a bible verse, a short prayer, and a unique activity created by David Taylor. Learn more by visiting The Rabbit Room.
I also ordered these Advent candles again for this year, which fit perfectly in my tabletop wreath.
Here is a list of Advent books I’ve read over the past few years, all of them so helpful for reflecting and resetting during the weeks leading up to Christmas. View the list over on Bookshop.org.
Finally, I’ll be reflecting on and writing about Advent here on The Wonder Report each week throughout the season. I look forward to sharing that time together with you.
Thanks again for sharing this time with me. As always, if you’d like to send me a note or ask a question, you can hit reply and end up in my inbox. Or you can also leave a comment on this newsletter, which will live in the archive over on Substack. It’s one of my favorite features of this platform.
Thanks again for being a subscriber. One of the reasons I write is because of readers like you!
Until next time,
Charity
My grandparents are gone now, but when I visited, I remember many lilac bushes outside their home. I can't smell lilac without thinking of them. My grandmother was a baker and when I see or smell a pie, I always think of her. Pies were her specialty, especially black raspberry, as she had bushes and used her own raspberries. My grandfather grew up on a farm and then had a garden when he moved in the house I knew. In the summer, we would snap beans and shuck corn from the garden. I can feel the heat as we sat outside, working and chatting. So many wonderful memories and the senses bring me back to those times together.
Our three children are grown up and we never changed their rooms... we didn't make offices or crafting rooms... we just left the rooms as they were. I did take over the girls' closets for my clothes and such : ) So, as soon as I go into their rooms for whatever reason, the memories and senses wash over me. I touch the comforters on their beds and think of bedtime stories and tucking in as they were young, then sleepovers as they got older and I can hear the giggles of pre-teens and teenagers. I hear the creaking of our old staircase as someone walked down the steps. Back then, we all had alarm clocks (not smart phones) to wake us up in the morning and my husband still uses an alarm clock, so I hear those "beeps" as all the alarms might wake the 3 teens up at different times. All beautiful memories using my senses. It is all bittersweet, as I ask myself, "where did the time ago" as I think we all do. I am grateful for those senses that take me back to another time of my life.