Of Fresh Cut Grass

As I get older I find many perfumes and colognes give me a headache. It is one of the reasons why I prefer to drive into Boston rather than ride the subway standing next to a millennial young man who thinks the better he smells, the better he looks – Not. For me, the smell of fresh cut grass, or hay, is a most pleasant experience. It is an experience because smells trigger the memory section of the brain.

I enjoy the weekly task of cutting the lawn; except in ragweed season. It is time alone without a phone, it is exercise, it provides the satisfaction of a job completed, it looks nice and smells good, but, most of all, it links the past with present. Who thought cutting grass could be a religious experience?

The senses are a gift from God that on occasion allow us to experience time travel; particularly the sense of smell. The smell of white paste could quickly put you back in the first grade. Churches are a potpourri of sights and smells. Orthodox churches blend icons and incense. A Friends Meeting House offers us a blank page on which to meditate on our own thoughts, often with a hint of wood and musk. Each home, each church has a look and smell, a feel. For those who attend the church they were baptized in, just walking through the door can flood the mind with memories triggered by the smell, or the picture of Jesus knocking at the door.

Music, we are finding out, also triggers a different part of the brain. Alzheimer’s patients who have forgotten their grandchildren’s names can remember both the words and tunes of songs. Lillian, my mother-in-law, who had advanced Alzheimer’s, sang us Noel – in French! How many of us are fine at a funeral until they sing our favorite hymn? This is why, I believe, sacred space is so important. For the older church goer, there becomes a delicate balance treasuring the sensory church experience and worshiping the building that houses a lifetime of memories.

Many faith communities in New England are facing the reality that keeping the building open will close the church. For the outsider, looking only at the numbers, the decision looks simple. But the outsider does not have the sensory memory. For them, the fresh cut grass just looks nice. There is no smell that triggers them; transports them back to childhood. This intangible experience cannot be factored into the financial equation. Such things are not about price, they are about worth. In our painful, often heartbreaking decision to leave the building behind so that we can be the church, let us remember that a church, a home, can be a friend. And before embarking quickly on a new faith journey, let us take time grieve our old friend, to say goodbye in a way that satisfies, that produces a pleasing fragrance that will be remembered for years to come.