Making Scents of the Tomb: An Interview with Nina Naficy Dyrhsen and Magda McSparran

On April 22, eighteen diverse artists created fourteen stations based on the ‘Way of the Cross.’ Tribe of Los Angeles produced this stations event called “Via Crucis” in the Smash Labs space at Big Art Labs.

The last station, #14 “Jesus Is Laid in the Tomb and Covered in Incense,” was curated by two Tribe of Los Angeles members, Nina and Maggie. Their curation primarily engaged the olfactory sense, using scents to evoke an experience of the tomb that was poignant and memorable. I recently spent just a few moments asking them to describe their approach to using smell as a primary point of worship engagement…


Curator: You two were charged with curating station #14, “Jesus Is Laid in the Tomb and Covered in Incense.” What was your general approach to creating this space?

Maggie: The station was created for people to accept loss in a comforting space. Death has become so sterile and removed from our life experience that it is no longer seen as part of our human transition. It is often seen as something foreign and untouchable. I wanted the space to feel safe, a place to grieve, a place to accept loss.

Nina: I agree. Overall, I think we wanted to create a space where people felt comfortable to mourn. Most of the scents [we] used are known for their calming effects, but I’m not sure we were completely certain that the layering of the scents would work, we just imagined they would. I think our sense of smell is a great vehicle for bringing us closer to ourselves, it’s subliminal, it can be so telling and honest. Strangely for me there’s a vulnerability attached to it.

Curator: Can you talk more about what you mean by “vulnerability” as it relates to smell?

Nina: I’m not sure how to explain the vulnerability. I guess my sense of smell resonates with me on a deeper level. I know immediately how it makes me feel. There’s something primal, honest and immediate about it, so there’s very little analysis. It’s simple. I either like it, or I don’t.

Curator: What about you, Maggie? What is the significance of smell for you?

Maggie: My memories are always associated with scents. The memory of my mother smelling of Nivea Cold Cream when I was little, my memories of summers in Guatemala filled with the scent of burning firewood, and my memory of falling in love with my husband who smelled of Old Spice shaving lotion (before it was cool).

Curator: What were the materials that made up the centerpiece, on the floor in the middle of the room?

Nina: The centerpiece was fresh potting soil, planted flowers, fresh herbs, and a raw lamb shank on top. It was important for me to remind people why they were in the space to begin with. Having the lamb shank was meant as a reminder of death, decay, loss, life, and whatever other personal associations it may have conjured up in people. It was funny to hear people’s responses to the lamb, some forgot there was lamb, some asked if it was real, some didn’t realize it was there, and it made some people cry. (I didn’t mean it, or want it to be an exact metaphor for [Jesus as] the sacrificial lamb.)

Curator: What were the specific herbs you used in the centerpiece?

Nina: Chamomile, lavender, sage, rosemary, and bay leaf.

Curator: Any other particular scents used in the space?

Maggie: We also had a pot of various herbs boiling in water. These included rosemary, basil, rue, geranium, and rose petals, all of which are considered to have medicinal properties to promote healing and wellness.

Nina: The potpouri we used to infuse the room the night before (which I ended up rolling in cheese cloth and laying on the lamb) is called Santa Maria Novella. I learned about the potpourri through the [art] gallery I worked at and thought it created an ancient, comforting scent. It smelled of time. I felt it would be a good base scent for the room. In fact, our storage room at Tribe [where station #14 was set up] still smells of it. The product description from the website reads like this:

Santa Maria Novella now seals each bag in Florence to assure perfect freshness and a longer lasting scent. Once you’ve been enveloped by the magic scent of Santa Maria Novella’s potpourri, you’ll understand why generations of captivated followers flock to Florence to stock up. Scrupulously handmade using ancient methods, this incredibly long-lasting, beautifully fragrant potpourri is a full-bodied blend of herbs and flowers (a secret formula), all grown without pesticides in the Florentine hills exclusively for Santa Maria Novella. Each batch is collected by hand, soaked in essence in enormous, centuries-old earthenware jars, sealed with wax, then aged for several months, and carefully packaged as it has been for centuries. No synthetic fragrances. All ingredients 100% organic and pesticide free.

Curator: In addition to appealing to peoples’ olfactory sense, you also engaged the sense of taste. Would you describe the way you did this?

Nina: I found the recipe for a drink called Sekanjabin, on this blog. I was inspired to make it for the station after reading of its medicinal, soothing and cooling properties. Since we were working with temperature (a boiling pot of herbs in a small enclosed space) offering a cool soothing drink seemed appropriate.

Curator: Which other senses did you intentionally engage in this station?

Maggie: Sight. The entire small space was draped with pure white sheets and white scent-less candles, providing some minimal lighting for the space. We hoped these simple visual aspects would add to the calm while not distracting from the scents we had blended.

Image © Paynie


Nina Naficy Dyhrsen is a member of Tribe of Los Angeles. She and her husband, Eric, are also part of the Tribe leadership team.

Magda McSparran won’t admit she’s an artist, but her husband Nolan will tell you she is. She will, however, admit to engaging in creative pursuits when inspiration strikes. Maggie is a member of Tribe of Los Angeles and is currently serving as Chairman of the Board. And, she loves bikes!

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Gardening as an Act of Worship

This post was written by Christine Sine.

Over the last couple of years millions of people throughout the Western world have started growing their own vegetables. Community gardens have sprung up on vacant lots, parking strips and church properties. Congregations have enthusiastically embraced the need to grow produce, often to help provision food banks and ministries to the poor.

Unfortunately there is often a total disconnect between what is going on in the garden and the worship inside the church. Yet it seems to me that gardening is one of the most profound acts of worship we can engage in. God’s first act after completing creation was to plant a garden – the garden of Eden. And in the first sighting of Jesus after the resurrection he is mistaken by Mary Magdalene for the gardener because that is precisely what he is – the gardener of the new creation.

So much of our garden activity is performed kneeling, in the position of prayer and supplication. I kneel to weed, to plant and often to harvest and in this position I often find myself meditating and praying. If I am troubled by some seemingly insurmountable problem, there is no better place to thrash it out than on my knees in the garden. And if I am irritable or depressed, there is no better therapy than garden weeding.

However there is far more than that that makes gardening a worshipful act. I often tell people that I read about the life, death and resurrection of Christ in the bible, but in the garden I experience it. Every time I plant a tiny misshapen seed and watch it burst into life from its earthy tomb I feel as though I have seen the Easter story reenacted. Early Celtic Christians were very aware of this. Three days before sowing, farmers would sprinkle the seed with water in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. If possible they would plant on a Friday. The moistening hastened the seed’s growth and planting on Friday was always a reminder of the Christ’s death and burial. Planting was always symbolic of the planting of Christ, the seed of the new world in which resurrection life will come for all humankind as well as creation. This year Earth Day and Good Friday converged and I wrote a liturgy that brought these observances together. But I found I could not stop there and on Easter Sunday expanded the liturgy into a new blog post Jesus has Risen, A New Creation has Begun to incorporate the resurrection of Christ as well.

There are other wonderful and worshipful lessons. I read about the the faithfulness of God to Israel in the Old Testament, but I experience it every time I watch the rain fall and nourish the seeds that have been planted. I read about the miracle of the fish and loaves but I experience just as profound a miracle every time I am overwhelmed by the generosity of God’s harvest.

So perhaps this summer we should take our worship outside into the garden and curate a whole new experience of worship for our congregations. The gospel stories come alive in the garden, not just because we understand more fully the agricultural parables which Jesus so often used, but also because the garden is the place in which we can truly anticipate God’s promise for the future. In the garden, as we watch the plants grow and bear fruit in their season it is not hard to believe that one day all creation will indeed be made whole, restored and renewed to become all that God intends it to be.

© Christine Sine
Image © iStockphoto


Christine Sine is the Executive Director of Mustard Seed Associates. She is also an enthusiastic gardener and author. Her most recent book is To Garden with God. She blogs about gardening, liturgy and worship at Godspace.

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The View from Your Pew

Date: April 22, 2011

Time: 7 p.m.

Location: Des Moines, Iowa

Church: Des Moines Intentional Eucharistic Community

Artist: Ted Lyddon Hatten

Caption: This Good Friday/Earth Day installation included 40 jars of myrrh, acrylic on wood panel (5′ diam.), four bowls, candles, and a few LED lights. Worshipers were given a small envelope of myrrh upon entering the sanctuary. After a few words about myrrh (botany: it is secreted by the plant to staunch a wound; ancient liturgy: used as a burial spice; contemporary liturgy: burned as incense), worshipers were invited to pour their myrrh on the wounds of our world as they prayed for healing. These images cannot capture the sound the tears of myrrh made as it fell on the earth panel – think rainstick without the stick.

Images © Ted Lyddon Hatten


Send us the view from YOUR pew. We’re looking for images of your community at worship. Some examples here. Submit yours here.

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The View from Your Pew

Date: April 17, 2011

Time: 10:30 a.m.

Location: 2535 E. Broadway, Pearland, Texas, USA

Church: St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church

Caption: Each year, during Palm Sunday Worship, right after the reading of the Passion Narrative, the sermon is replaced with a short meditation. After this, parishioners come up and drive nails into the Cross when they feel moved to do so.

Photo © Jim Liberatore

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The Terrible Silencing We Cannot Master

In place of our regular Friday guest post, we’ve decided instead to share words appropriate to the solemnity of the Day. This prayer is by Walter Brueggemann.

Holy God who hovers daily round us in fidelity and compassion,
     this day we are mindful of another, dread-filled hovering,
     that of the power of death before which we stand
          thin and needful.
All our days, we are mindful of the pieces of our lives
     and the part of your world
     that are on the loose in destructive ways.
We notice that wildness midst our fear and our anger unresolved.
We mark it in a world of brutality and poverty and hunger
     all around us.
We notice all our days.

But on this day of all days,
     that great threat looms so large and powerful.
It is not for nothing
     that we tremble at these three hours of darkness
          and the raging earthquake.
It is not for nothing
     that we have a sense of our helplessness
     before the dread power of death that has broken loose
     and that struts against our interest and even against our will.
Our whole life is not unlike the playground in the village,
     lovely and delightful and filled with squeals unafraid,
     and then we remember the silencing
          of all those squeals in death,
     and we remember the legions of Kristy’s
     that are swept away in a riddle too deep for knowing.
Our whole life is like that playground
     and on this dread-filled Friday we pause before
          the terrible silencing we cannot master.

So we come in our helpless candor this day…
     remembering, giving thanks, celebrating…
     but not for one instant unmindful of dangers too ominous
     and powers too sturdy and threats well beyond us.

We turn eventually from our hurt for children lost.
We turn finally from all our unresolved losses
     to the cosmic grief at the loss of Jesus.
We recall and relive that wrenching Friday
     when the hurt cut to your heart.
We see in that terrible hurt, our losses
     and your full embrace of loss and defeat.

We dare pray while the darkness descends
     and the earthquake trembles,
     we dare pray for eyes to see fully
          and mouths to speak fully the power of death all around,
     we dare pray for a capacity to notice unflinching
          that in our happy playgrounds other children die,
               and grow silent,
     we pray more for your notice and your promise
          and your healing.

Our only urging on Friday is that you live this as we must
     impacted but not destroyed,
     dimmed but not quenched.
For your great staying power
     and your promise of newness we praise you.
It is in your power
     and your promise that we take our stand this day.
We dare trust that Friday is never the last day,
     so we watch for the new day of life.
Hear our prayer and be your full self toward us.
Amen.

Good Friday/1991


From Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann, p 159. © 2002 Fortress Press, admin. Augsburg Fortress. Used by permission. No further reproduction allowed without permission of the publisher.

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