Incense is a large part of Catholic ritual. Two years ago at my Holy Thursday Mass I was standing in the back of the church waiting for the procession. I was to carry the oil of catechumen. I had spent the previous two years looking for signs and when I looked toward the front, I watched the incense rise and rise and then as it fell again in twisting spirals of smoke, its wisps joined into the shape of a Star of David. And then it was gone. I had received my sign.
Breathing in the incense at not only last night’s Holy Thursday Mass, but nearly every time I have seems to transport me to the ancient times and lands of my people. I haven’t gone anywhere but it’s drier, it’s sandy and my mind can’t help but wonder how these rituals and beliefs got started. History is an amazing thing. FAith is also. There is something about the scent of the incense traveling through my nose, reminding me of a place I’ve never been, but will always belong to.