Of Smells and Bells: A Catholic Perspective on the Sensory Aspect of Our Faith

My childhood memories don't exist like scenes out of a movie. There are no conversations or storylines. Instead, they are emotions triggered through one of my senses.

Molitor Dairy Barn

The distinct sound of the milkhouse door slamming shut. The smell of the freshly cut alfalfa fields, a freshly laid cow pie, or the wormy smell of a gentle spring rain. 

The sight of our road, knowing with this last turn, I was almost home. 

The feel of warming my freezing hands between the leg and udder of the cows on a frigid January, down in the milking parlor. 

The taste of the sweet clover heads we plucked from the pasture.

The smell of fresh cut alfalfa reminds me of the many hours spent in this very machine, cutting field after field as a boy-crazy teen.

There is no time stamp, no definitive core memory attached to it, but those ordinary senses have the ability to take me back in time.

The most interesting part is that they reach somewhere deep into my subconscious and tap into my emotions.

The sound of the bobcat firing up makes me smile, but the sound of a baby calf bawling gives me instant anxiety, remembering many a stubborn calf who refused to take the bottle.

The smell of iodine is a welcome memory, remembering the countless hours standing in the "pit" of the milking parlor with my sisters and neighbor kids. Yet the smell of wet chickens grosses me out as I remember scalding the birds before plucking while butchering chickens. 

Odd that it was also done with family and friends, but NOT as welcome a memory. (My kids wash their 4-H fair birds, which is why wet chicken is a smell I still get to "enjoy.")

'The sight of rain on the horizon brings a sense of relief, while dark, ominous clouds invoke fear.

Out of all of our senses, sounds and smells trigger our memories the strongest because they bypass the brain's standard processing hub and go right to the olfactory bulb, which is physically wired next to the hippocampus, responsible for memory, and the amygdala, which is responsible for emotion.

Because we experience many smells for the first time in childhood, a particular scent will take us right back to our youth.

And sounds, particularly music, light up multiple regions of the brain simultaneously and link them to an emotion. It's what makes a wedding song so special, or the tears flow upon hearing "On Eagles' Wings," even if you aren’t at a funeral.

This summer, we decided to have a little fun with our blog and revisit a past post.  

I am paying tribute to one of my very first blog posts, published July 8, 2021, titled "Of Smells and Bells."

Using the knowledge given above, I wrote about how the Catholic church is a genius in her approach to the Divine. Our simple minds can't fathom the wonderful mysteries of our faith, but we use "smells and bells" to help further bridge the gap.

I mentioned in that post that hearing the bells during the consecration at Mass was the signal that Jesus was here now, even though, to the eye, it appeared as if nothing had changed.

From years of experience, the smoky aroma of incense tells my subconscious that I am witnessing something supernatural.

Incense is symbolic of the prayers of the faithful rising to heaven.

The smell of Chrism oil on my baby's newly baptized head assures me that, though my eyes could not perceive a change, there was a permanent mark on his soul, claiming him for Christ.

Baby James' baptism last month!

These senses can reach beyond the veil where my eyes cannot see and speak the supernatural language of my soul.

I invite you to step back in time with me and read this old post to meditate further on the sensory treasures of our faith.

Until next time, your sister in Christ,

Leah

Click here to read the past post! Of Smells and Bells