In the 26 years I have been posting Friday thoughts in one form or another, I am pretty sure this is the first time I have written about a roadkill. For everything there is a season…

I noticed the carcass at the side of the county road as I was making my way from our house into town. But it wasn’t the usual racoon or opossum. Its black fur with a white stripe gave it away immediately. “Poor Pepé Le Pew,” I thought as I drove by, and for a few seconds did not think much more about it.

Then it hit. 50 yards or so from the scene of the crime, that unmistakable aroma hit my nostrils, even though the car windows were up. In another 100 yards the stench receded. The roadkill’s olfactory assault had been far worse than its visual assault.

If you want to know more about the chemistry and physics of skunk spray vaporizing and wafting cross-country, you may read more here. Suffice it to say, “humans can sense the presence of these (noxious) compounds at concentrations of ten parts per billion. This is equivalent to tasting a pinch of salt distributed across one ton of potato chips.”

The skunk gets hit by a passing car or sprays an agitated dog, and we smell the offending odor half a mile or more away, long after we pass the roadkill at the side of the road or the skunk scampers into the underbrush to get away from the neighbor’s dog (according to Reddit, so it must be true).

So what does a malodorous roadkill have to do with “living life faithfully and fully in our ‘not the way it is supposed to be’ world”?

Well, that skunky smell got me thinking about the aroma we might leave behind after we’ve left a room or ended a call. Do we leave a pleasing scent when we are long gone?

The Apostle Paul uses the metaphor of aroma as he writes to the Corinthians. (2 Corinthians 2:14-16) The image is of the triumphant Roman general in a victory parade. In addition to his victorious centurions, the procession often included a display of booty plundered and opponents captured. The captives themselves were often forced to scatter incense along the parade route. Mixing his metaphors, likens the aroma of a victor’s parade to the fragrance of the priestly incense offering in the Old Testament Tabernacle.

The image of skunk spray and the chemistry and physics of its lingering effects may not be as compelling a metaphor for the Christian life, but surely we are called to live lives that make a difference long after we leave the room or end the call. Do others smell Jesus as we walk by?

The idea of Roadkill Christianity may not have much marketing potential, but being the salt of the earth may be like just a pinch of the stuff adding flavor to a ton of potato chips.