Only after this event is it possible to understand the Scots Confession, having observed the ferocious Scots’ valiant attempt for a few hours to avoid the adjective “dour” which was created solely to describe them.
The Scots are a simple people. Their great writers do not address exalted themes like, The Faust Legend; Pilgrims to Canterbury; Hamlet, Prince of Denmark; or Paradise Lost. Scot poetry extols the simple verities of Scottish life — lice, mice, whiskey, cows, barns. In fact Nathaniel Hawthorne discovered that most Scots, while apt enough in performance, could not recognize the Scarlet Letter well enough to read it out loud.
Obviously, any group of people, not chained to trees, who will listen to a bagpipe could not be ordinary. My own ancestors were French Huguenots, but I should admit that I married into the family “McClure,” a sept of the clan “McLeod,” which means my children are all full-blooded Scots. Scotch is a dominant characteristic as the great Austrian botanist, Gregor Mendel discovered. It was Mendel’s son who wrote the Reformation Symphony and also the Hebrides Overture.
According to Sir Walter Scott, the Scottish character is molded by stubbornness and shows to best advantage in adversity. Obstinacy is an enduring and endearing part of their nature. For example, a Scottish elder voted against relocating the church building, but in the next few years the church doubled in size and effectiveness. Elder Angus was asked if he had changed his mind. “No,” he replied, “Apparently moving the church was God’s will but I still think it was a mistake.” As I remember, all my elders had this same mind set.
Nevertheless, while not the body, presbyters – ruling and teaching – are the head and heart of the Presbyterian church. With or without an established physical connection to John Knox, I think most American Presbyterians would reestablish their theological connection on reading Scott’s wonderful book, Old Mortality. This history should cause a pause for those contemporary Presbyterians who see no great benefit in red-blooded elders and no great problem with purple-garbed bishops. These ecumaniacs are already halfway along on their pilgrimage to Canterbury. I, for one, am kissing no bishop’s ring — or anything else prelatical for that matter. Long live our intransigent Scottish heritage!
And for those fortunate few who, until this moment, have been spared the recipe for Scotland’s national dish, haggis is a pudding made of the heart, liver, lungs, and other parts of sheep or calf not mentionable with ladies present. This disgusting mixture is seasoned and boiled in the animal’s stomach which is carried reverently into the annual Robert Burns dinner on a platter and marched around preceded by a guy wearing a skirt who is pushing air down a big straw into a knapsack which produces the bleat of a sheep in considerable pain. The astonishing thing is nobody laughs. Haggis demonstrates that to be a true Scot you must have guts. In a recent movie Rob Roy crawls into the putrefying carcass of a dead cow. He is not trying to hide from his enemies, as you might think; he is looking for some tasty parts to put in the haggis for the Robert Burns Supper.
Charles Partee
Presbyterian Outlook
May 2002
