The sweet scent of grass mown

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning with nine others, commemorating Hywel Harris of Trefeca, Welsh language contemporary of the Wesleys who evangelised in rural Wales through the Welsh language, together with Daniel Rowlands and Wiiliam Williams Pantycelyn. Their thinking and preaching was the foundation of the mission to urban and rural poor of Walsh Calvinistic Methodism, Mid 19th century, half of all churchgoers in Wales identified with the Presbyterian Church of Wales. It was a powerful movement in social reform and education through its Sunday schools and adult class meetings. 

In second half of the twentieth century, the devoutly puritanical PCW  declined and is now a tiny minority, as are other Welsh non-conformist churches. Welsh language and culture thrive and aren't afraid to draw on the treasury of past poetry and music, but there's an absence of public discourse in Wales about faith matters in a secular society. Rugby and to a lesser extent other sports have captured religious fervour and gathered communities of fans which masses of people identify with today. Perhaps sport in a secular society enshrines a high set of values that are present because of a christianisation of culture that has been going on for half a millennium. How can Christians persuade others that making the world a better place needs more than decent, honourable, heroic, successful sporting role models to bring about urgent change that's necessary for the survival of humankind and planet earth?

Clare went into town shopping this morning and returned with a salmon, plus laver bread and cockles for a treat. I cooked sea bass with rice and Swiss chard for lunch, and I made an experimental sauce with some of the cockles to go with the fish, like we had when we were in Aberaeron. Clare wasn't all that keen but I was quite pleased with my effort, using juice from the fish, olive oil, lemon, a splash of white wine with a smidgin of miso. We had the rest of the cockles with laver bread for supper.

There wasn't much of interest to watch on telly tonight, so I spent the evening after supper completing the preparation of next Thursday's Morning Prayer and uploading it to YouTube. Then I went out for a late night walk around the park to complete my daily quota, as I only walked for an hour in the afternoon. Small groups and couples were sitting out in the dark chatting quietly at half past eleven. It was still a comfortable twenty degrees. The aroma of cut grass was everywhere - the sports pitches has been mown, and the sweet scent pervades the night air as jasmine and honeysuckle do in a closed garden. It awakened memories of December 2012, spent in Taormina. Several Palm trees in the church garden were dangerous and needed to be felled. As chainsaws worked on them the same sweet grass scent filled the air. That was how I realised for the first time in my life that Palm trees are giant grasses, not trees at all. Because of the heat it's not been easy to complete all my walking in the afternoon this week. There's something special about being out and about in fragrant night air. It's relaxing, and makes me ready for sleep.