Amazon Doesn't Smell
It was a sad day. I walked into Borders on Friday night and it was full of the thundering herds trying to save a buck on the shelves full of liquidated books. In the past, Borders had a kind of quiet, inviting feeling when you walked in--like a gentle voice saying, "Find yourself a book and sit down for a minute. Catch your breath and have a cup of coffee." Friday night it was noisy and bustling, like the opening night of Rummage Sale and the check-out line stretched all the way back through the cavernous store between the valleys of emptying bookshelves. It just wasn't the same. Of course, it wasn't. Borders is dead, going out of business. The one thing that was the same was the smell. I could still catch a whiff of the smell of new books just waiting to be discovered. That smell always takes me back about 25 years. I was the pastor in Dexter and I served as the volunteer chaplain for Hospice. We would meet early every Friday morning in Ann Arbor for the case conference, then I would stop by the downtown Borders for a bagel and a cup of coffee while I worked on my sermon in a place where no one could find me. I loved the coffee and the bagels, but I also loved the smell. Amazon doesn't smell.
I have to admit that I am part of Borders' problem. Today I probably buy more books through Amazon than in the bookstore because it's cheaper. I gave up the intimate warmth of a morning at Borders for the sake of convenience. I gave up on the smell. Oh, not all the time, mind you. Instead of weekly, more recently I would stop by the store periodically on a Saturday morning or when I was on my way down Woodward. When I did I'd often buy a book or a greeting card or at least a cup of coffee, but my pattern of weekly visits went by the wayside. I enjoyed the smell when I made it, but I just wasn't there very often.
I suppose you could do church on-line. We could deliver the sermons right to your laptop, stream the worship on-line, pass on the prayer concerns via email and receive the offering electronically. In fact, we already do most of that. But you just can't really be the church without the smell, the touch, the feel of the bodies in the pews, who like books on the shelves draw you in and make you feel at home. St. Paul called the church the Body of Christ, even though he knew it was made up of the all-too-human bodies of men and women, kids and babies like you and me. Sometimes it smells good--like new books and a cup of coffee. Sometimes, like Noah's ark, it stinks to high heaven, but there is no getting round it. The church just isn't the church without the warm bodies and the smell. Amazon doesn't smell.
I am really going to miss Borders and I fear for a culture that doesn't appreciate the touch and texture, the sight and smell of real books. I guess maybe if I had been there every week, it might have made a difference.
See you in worship this week. And we hope it smells good.
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