The Scent of a Fish

I still remember how it smelled: the ink, the raw fish, the blank newsprint. I was 9 years old, in grade 3, and taking part in an enrichment group at the public school I attended in Coquitlam, BC, Canada. I haven’t thought often about that experience, but when I think about rubbing the ink on the fish and then pressing the paper over the fish to reveal the black reverse image—scales, fins, eyes, and all—I don’t remember what the art looked like. I remember the scent of the experience.

It's 30 years on and I’m looking at this experience from another angle. I’m a student again but I’ve become a teacher in the meantime. My study is how to creatively explore the themes of food and theology using actual food treated as artistic medium, interwoven with devotional experiences. I started thinking last fall about how to bring fish into a creative devotional practice. The scent of the ink, fish, and newsprint came back to me.

The Japanese fish inking practice, called gyotaku, was historically used to document which fish was caught by whom. I guess no one got away with arms spread wide saying “It was this big!” You can learn more about it through a TED ED talk, an interview with two American gyotaku artists, or an online gallery’s showing. Your own online search will reveal some beauties.

A foundational understanding in food and theology is the importance of the body theologically, both practically and eschatologically. We reject a mind/soul/body separation and embrace the whole person God has created, spirit and body enmeshed. We recognize that what we do with our body has worshipful meaning, for all the world is God’s creation. We affirm the Apostle’s Creed, believing in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. Because of this foundation, we pay attention to the body and look for how our actions provide insight to our walk of faith.

The sensory experience of the body heightens our awareness, and scent particularly plays a role in memory. Call to mind that special food your grandmother used to make, and you are transported back to her kitchen in your memory. The body knows. The body remembers. High church with its liturgical “smells and bells” accesses this reality, infusing our memories of worship with incense. Maybe in the North American Protestant evangelical church the scent of coffee is the equivalent, ubiquitous in its presence either before or after the service: coffee time equals Christian fellowship time.

We don’t have many references to scent in the Bible. We find it describing perfumed people who are desirable (Song of Solomon) or by contrast, a person stripped of their glory, including their perfume, a shameful state (Isaiah 3:24). The scent of Jacob’s clothing is part of the deception of Isaac (Genesis 27:27). The scent of smoke is a pleasing sacrifice to God (Philippians 4:18) and in Daniel, the miraculous survival of the men in the hottest furnace is topped off that the men didn’t even smell of smoke (Daniel 3:27). The stench of something dead, either literally in the case of manna that had molded overnight (Exodus 16:20), and of Lazarus dead four days in the tomb (John 11:39), or as metaphor for the actions of believers (2Corinthians 2:16) rounds out the instances of scent.

We know from our own experiences that all of life includes smells. When we read the Gospel stories, how often do we ask ourselves to use our imagination to dwell more deeply in that story? In the Parable of the Sower, what does the earth smell like as the sower scatters seeds? We inhale and think of rich loam, sandy soil, hot sun on rocks, the scent of the plants themselves. What would the Upper Room where the disciples share the Passover meal together smell like? Dusty until everyone’s feet were washed? The scents of the meal hopefully were tantalizing enough to make everyone focus on that instead of how other adult bodies, probably unperfumed, smelled. Or what about after Jesus’ resurrection when the fishermen disciples are out in the boat and they find Jesus on the shore, grilling fish (John 21). That’s a distinctive smell and it links us to eating, that necessary act of survival, of pleasure, and of friendship.

The Hebrew Scriptures offer us more experiences about fish. We are familiar with the opening scenes of Genesis where God creates the earth, including fish swarming the waters (Genesis 1:20-22). We remember the plagues that God rains on Egypt, including when the rivers were turned to blood and the fish died and stank (Exodus 7:17). We see reference to Jerusalem’s Fish Gate, which reminds us that fish were a major part of the diet and economy of Isreal (2 Chronicles 33:14, Nehemiah 3, 12, 13). The prophets describe fishing in metaphor and even describe Isreal as being like hooked fish, dragged along the earth (Isaiah 19, 50; Jeremiah 16; Ezekiel 26, 29, 38, 47; Hosea 4; Amos 4). Who can forget Jonah, swallowed by a fish. Only after he prays repentance does the fish spit him out (Jonah 2).

Then we come to the New Testament where we find Jesus recruiting fishermen, calling them to become fishers of people (Matthew 4:19; Mark 1:17). Jesus performs miracles of provision in the form of unimaginably large catches of fish (Matthew 13; Luke 5; John 21) and feeding of a multitude (Matthew 14-15; Mark 6; Luke 9; John 6).

Fish as creation. Fish as provision. Fish as a place of repentance. Fish as metaphor. Fish as miracle.

The sensory experience of making gyotaku.

Eating fish together, as Jesus did with his disciples.

The task I have set myself is to find a way to imaginatively explore these themes with Christian community.

Take the fish in your hands and carefully look at it. Praise God for creation, exquisitely made. Consider the overlap of scales, the composition of fin, the scintillation of light on fish. Place the fish on the board, ready your ink and paper. Thank God for good food to eat, for the variety of the sea’s bounty. Write one word to symbolize your calling or repentance. Set aside. Forgive us God, when we deliberately wander from your calling. Just as Jonah did from the belly of a fish, we repent of our disobedience. Deliver us we pray. Begin to ink your fish. How are we to be fishers of people, O Lord? Teach us to share your good news. Press your paper over your inked fish. Thank God for miracles. Let us intercede in prayer for those around us. Carefully clean off your fish. Prepare for cooking. Let us thank God for food to eat and friends to share it with. After your gyotaku has dried, cut it out. Cut a slit in the mouth and insert your folded word of calling/repentance and glue it in place. Hang your fish on the display board.

In truth, I’m not that concerned with what the gyotaku looks like in the end. I’m more interested in the process—just as in our Christian walk, we are assured of the end (our telos) but we focus on our journey of faith. I hope we will have opened our senses and imagination to something new. I hope the scent of fish, of ink, and of paper stays with us, reminding us each time we smell them again of the theological possibilities of food.