The old girl came out onto the power line about a thousand metres down wind from me. She just sort of popped out of the brush and was suddenly there in my binoculars. She was not alone. Her young cub of six months was comically gamboling along beside her as she ambled determinedly, in typical black bear fashion, down the edge of the power line towards me.
I happened to be there on an assignment that was exclusively venison oriented. Black bear was definitely not on the agenda, doubly so because of the cub. But I was delighted she had shown up. Long ago I learned that hunting imitates life in that the best stuff is what happens while you are trying to make something else happen. And so I sat back to enjoy what was happening in my binoculars.
I knew that she could not see me, even at 1,000 metres. Black Bears (Ursus americanus) are noted for their myopic vision. However, they are also noted for their tremendous sense of smell and hearing. The hearing and eyesight I could control by sitting absolutely still. But the sense of smell and the slight breeze blowing from me to her; well only time would tell.
At about 800 metres the large old sow veered from her path along the edge of the power line right-of-way, turned 90 degrees and headed straight to one of the large power poles in the middle. Without hesitation she strode purposefully up to the pole and stood up on her hind legs to her full height. Turning her back she leaned against the power pole and in perfect Disney-like fashion, she moved up and down on her hind legs and gave herself the most vicious back rub I have ever witnessed any species take pleasure in. Her joy complete, she then turned around on her hind legs and gave the power pole a powerful embrace that would have popped the eyes out of any living thing. Then, she pivoted 90 degrees and went right back to where she left off in her journey towards me at the edge of the right of way, the cub skipping along beside her like a hyperactive pup.
At about 600 metres distance, she stopped at the edge of a trickle creek and she and the cub helped themselves to a salad of dandelion greens and new grass shoots. Satisfied with the appetizer, she resumed towards me, obviously looking for a main course, which at this time of year in this neck of the woods usually consists of ripe, frost-sweetened wild rose hips.
At about 500 metres the old she bear ran nose first into a glass wall. She literally hit something invisible, recoiled, wheeled around abruptly and sprinted off the power line, pasting her cub in the seat of the pants to get him moving as she ran by. I put down my binoculars, lifted my armpits and sniffed self-consciously, sort of like I sometimes do when I fear my body odour might have offended someone.
"Well I'll be danged!" I said to the rough looking raven who had been scrutinizing the she bear and me from atop a big Douglas Fir snag with the hope that something digestible would come out of our encounter. "I must smell down right putrid to that old she bear to construct an invisible odiferous wall around myself like that." The old raven laughed at me and swooped off in search of more certain delectable outcomes. I was left alone with my thoughts.
And I thought mostly about how I smelled. I had just been reading the apostle Paul's letter to the Corinthians. He writes: "In the Messiah, in Christ, God leads us from place to place in one perpetual victory parade. Through us, he brings knowledge of Christ. Everywhere we go, people breathe in the exquisite fragrance. Because of Christ, we give off a sweet scent rising to God, which is recognized by those on the way of salvation — an aroma redolent with life. But those on the way to destruction treat us more like the stench from a rotting corpse." (2 Cor 2: 14-16)
Paul seems to be saying that whether I know it or not, as a Christian, I smell. I find smell is a helpful image for describing being a faithful Christian. It means that whether I say anything or not, do anything or not, think anything or not, I am never anonymous as a Christian. Hiding out is not even an option. Christian presence is as pervasive as odour. So why would I spend any time or energy trying to hide out in my society? Why would I waste any energy trying to live undercover? As I live a faithful Christian life in a multicultural cosmopolitan world I am going to smell, and I am going to "hang a little stank" on everybody and everything I rub up against. I am going to stand out and people are going to notice. It is just part of being an authentic Christian, part of being a faithful Christ-bearer. This is a liberating thought for me, one that encourages a healthy 'let it all hang out' approach to living a faithful life for Christ in my world.
Part of being a faithful Christian also means, that to God, I will always smell sweet. To those who are in the process of being touched by God's saving ways I will reek of the good smell of life. But there will be some who will recoil at the very scent of Christ on me. They will hit the invisible wall and run. I will always offend some when I live for Christ. I will offend some outside the church and I will offend some inside the church. That's just the way it is. This too is a liberating reality. There is not much sense in running myself ragged trying to never offend anyone as I live for Christ, when it is inevitable that some are always going to be offended; some extremely so.
Smelly Christians, faithful Christians, don't have to worry about issues of anonymity nor offensiveness, just faithfulness. Our one job is to be true to our following after Christ and authentic in bearing him in the world. I find this one job to be a do-able thing, with the help of God of course. It is the running away to find a protective anonymity on the one hand and the slaving away to please everyone on the other that worries and tires me to hell.
