Dunsin Oyekan - Fragrance To Fire Lyrics

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Fragrance To Fire - Dunsin Oyekan

Meaning & Inspiration

I’ve held this worn-out Bible so long the leather has turned smooth as river stone, and my joints ache more when the winter rain sets in. When I listen to Dunsin Oyekan, I’m not looking for a rhythm to tap my cane to. I’m looking for something that survives the night when the house is quiet and the doctor’s news isn't what I’d hoped for.

"First it was fragrance, then it turned to fire."

That line caught me off guard. Most of my life, I’ve treated worship like a quiet offering, a sweet-smelling incense drifting up from a small altar. That’s the "fragrance" stage—the early days of faith, all peace and soft prayers. But fire? That’s different. That’s refining. That’s the furnace. I remember years where the only thing I could offer God was the wreckage of my own plans, and it felt less like a pleasant scent and more like something being burned away.

Scripture talks about this, doesn't it? In Leviticus, the fire on the altar was never to go out, but fire also consumes. By the time you’ve buried a spouse or watched a child wander into the thickets, you realize that worship isn’t always a soft song. Sometimes it’s the only thing keeping you upright when everything else has been razed to the ground.

Oyekan sings about worship as a weapon, and I suppose that’s where the hesitation sets in for me. When you’re young, a weapon sounds like something you use to conquer, to claim victory, to see the "earthquakes" and the "thundering" move the world around you. But after forty years, I’ve learned that the "battle" isn’t always about getting what I want or forcing the walls to fall. Often, the win is simply staying faithful while the walls are still standing, holding tight to the hem of His garment while the smoke billows around you.

I look at my hands—spotted, trembling slightly—and wonder if they still hold the authority he’s talking about. Or is this just the heat of the moment? Does this resolve last when you’re staring at a blank wall at 3:00 a.m.?

Perhaps that’s the point. The fragrance is the surrender, but the fire is the endurance. I don't need a song to give me a win in the sense of a trophy; I need a song that anchors me to the Father when the world feels like it’s shaking. If this worship is truly a weapon, then maybe the victory is just the act of showing up, day after day, refusing to stop bowing, even when the strength has long since leaked out of my bones. It isn’t about making noise; it’s about the fire clearing out the clutter so that only He remains. That’s enough for me.