Smell of Death, Fragrance of Life

"For we are to God, the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and [to] those who are perishing." (2.15 NIV). Paul goes on to say that to one group we are the smell of death and to the other we are the fragrance of life. To whom are we the smell of death?

The simplest explanation is that we are an odor of death to those perishing. But what is so attractive about that? We are part of a triumphal procession throughout the world (2.14 NIV). We are parading, carrying the incense of knowledge. Knowledge in whom? Knowledge of Christ is being paraded.

But what if verse 14 is something different? What if God causes us to be triumphant so that the knowledge of Christ is spread everywhere? Paul is thankful that God opened a door in Macedonia. It is the situation that prevented his visit to Corinth. Since God opened the door, he needed to go to Macedonia, knowing that God needed him there.

We are in battle. We are to be bold and venturous going through the doors opened by God, going forth like Gideon's army to take on a spiritual army that's greater in number than us. As we go into battle, might we have some wounded? Might we have some casualties? Of course, we would capturing some prisoners from the other side.

We are the aroma of Christ. What is that? Is it like incense, used in worship and funerals (to cover up the smell of decay)? Or is there another allusion for the aroma of Christ? A pleasing aroma to God is found in the Old Testament when Noah sacrificed and burned some clean animals and clean birds. Despite later complaints by God through the prophets that He is not pleased with the sacrifices, sacrifices indicated our willingness to be obedient, committed and trusting in the one true God. Paul exhorts us to be "living sacrifices--holy and pleasing to God" (Rom. 12.1). There's a difference between involved and committed--as illustrated by the story of the pig and chicken wanting to show appreciation for Farmer Brown. The chicken's idea was to make his favorite egg-and-bacon breakfast for the farmer reciprocating his months of caring for them. The pig replies, "That's fine for you to suggest: you're just involved, but I'm making a commitment." Y'shua's commitment was pleasing to God. Our living sacrifice would be too.

To some, the living sacrifice would appear as death--a denial of self and a surrender to God. To others, it would appear as life through forgiveness and victory. Both perspectives could appear within the church and outside the church. Which way you view it might depend on which side of the sacrifice you are. Before you pick up your cross, it might feel like death. After the victory, it might feel like life.

To unbelievers, for certain, it would seem crazy. It might even seem crazy to believers. In some churches, you might hear people espousing the benefits of going to the mission field except if their own children are thinking of going, and they're facing a long separation from them, and perhaps a long separation from their grandchildren. The triumphal procession to the open door seems like death to them. To those on the other side, those in the field ready for harvest waiting for the few workers to bring in the harvest, the open door and those coming through are an aroma of life to fill their spirits.

Could a missionary be prideful? Perhaps. Paul seems to hint at this in vv. 2.16-3.2. "Who is adequate and up to the task?" he asks. Those that want to mitigate the sacrifice and skirt around the battle, they might seek ways to corrupt the word so it's not so abrasive to people. They might seek to be popular and thus avoid the stones being thrown, imprisonment, other tortures and, minimally, isolation from society and name-calling. For such a sacrifice perhaps there could some reward? Some applause by the church body? Some pay or room-and-board?

Paul says, "No." It's a sacrifice and as such it's pleasing to God and He's your only audience, your only Master and Commander. The only reward is to see the churches being planted and watch them grow.