The scents of the Christmas season account for so much of its specialness. In fact, no other holiday has such delicious odors trumpeting its arrival. Think of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg wafting from the seasonal cookies and cakes in our ovens. Hot grog and spiced punch play their role in our panoply of smells as well.
But maybe the best odor comes from fresh Christmas greenery. I acknowledge that artificial trees and garlands do have practical benefits. For the last four years we have been enjoying a massive, surprisingly beautiful pre-lit artificial tree my daughter obtained for us. It has been imminently practical during the several moves we made after selling our ranch. It also helps logistically since ordinarily my December schedule is thick with travel abroad.
But pushing all such practicalities aside, do we not long for the magical scents that make our homes smell like Christmas. The scents proclaimed by the poets? The fragrances that bring us feelings of magic and expectation? And of these scents, what is more wonderful than balsam?
So where does balsam come from? Balsam is a sap, and not surprisingly there are different kinds of balsam depending on which tree is tapped in which region or country. The most popular balsam in the celebration of our Christmas in the United States goes by the Latin name of Ables balsamea and comes from the North American fir, native to Canada, the Northeast US, and the Appalachians.
The cultivation of this fir tree matters economically particularly in New England and Quebec. Not only are its branches iconic in our Christmas wreaths, but its sap is used in countless ways, including in medicines and adhesives. Growers have long been aware of the need to grow and sustainably harvest balsam, as this short clip shows.
If you want to learn more about the harvest of balsam as greenery from a professional grower, you may enjoy this explanation too.
The name balsam comes from the Latin balsamum which means “gum of the balsam tree.” The Semitic name busma and Hebrew word basam (בָּשָׂם) mean “spice” or “perfume.” The balsam of the Bible, named for the region of Gilead, had long been used in medicines, luxury salves, and perfumes. In Genesis (37:25) we learn that the caravan into which Joseph was sold as a slave by his brothers was traveling with camels bearing “spicery, balm, myrrh.” The most famous biblical reference, though, has to be the question “Is there no balm in Gilead?” (Jeremiah 8:22)—a phrase that appears in diverse contexts, including within gospel music.
The trees producing such biblical balm were different from our North American fir. Scholars have debated the possibilities including a Mediterranean tree known as the terebinth. But no matter the tree, the sense of something valuable and spiritually potent still transfers when we smell balsam at Christmastime today.
I am drawn towards balsam. The purchase of a balsam candle signaled the arrival of Christmas in my childhood. My mother was frugal but she insisted on buying a big balsam candle every year, lamenting its cost as she did. We did not burn the candle for several reason, including the fact that its scent would fill the living room the minute it was unwrapped. That festive scent lasted three or four weeks, changing a dull room into a space that was Christmasy.
Beyond our enjoyment of the fragrance, though, we can reflect upon balsam in other ways. A tree literally bleeds sap if punctured. So too did Christ when pierced on the Cross. Also, sap is a sign of a healthy, vital tree. Thick, pungent sap leaves a tree and moves into the actual lives and bodies of the people who use it for medicine, syrups, and fragrant salves.
Liturgical uses for balsam are highly significant too, starting with incense. In its most tender Christian use, balsam has been blended with olive oil since the sixth century to create chrism, the ointment used to make the sign of the Cross on the body, sealing the sacrament of Baptism as well as the receiving of converts.
We live in an era of artificial everything. Faux fur and faux marble, virtual dinners and chemically scented dangles that “freshen” our cars and closets. Maybe that is one reason the smell of real balsam, whether from a candle or sprig of fir, cuts through the dullness that overtakes us. Balsam penetrates our senses and opens our thought to something more beautiful. It reminds us of how potent something small can be. As we turn in this year’s Advent season to things that are tried and true, rooted in unshakable traditions, a bit of balsam may be just the right ingredient.