The kirkin' of the tartans

According to tradition, the Kirkin' o' the Tartans originated in Scotland. After defeating Jacobite forces in 1746 at the Battle of Culloden, the British government outlawed Highland dress. Legend has it that during this period, Scots would hide small pieces of tartan fabric on their person while attending church services. When it came time for the blessing, they would touch the bit of cloth.

However, there is no credible source for this tale. Sorry to be the bearer of this news if it is news to anyone here. It's true the English did not treat the Scots well and the story is credible, for sure. But it most likely didn't happen exactly that way.

Even so, Scottish Americans have been gathering as we are today to celebrate their heritage. What began among Presbyterians in New York City has spread and I’m grateful to be celebrating this the second time around here at St. Michael’s.

We tell stories so that we know who we are. Sometimes those stories literally happened. But whether or not they happened that way, they convey meaning and a sense of purpose. The story we tell today doesn’t have to be literal to be true. It speaks to the resilience and hope of a people even in the face of persecution. It speaks of resistance and clarifies identity. 

When I read The Little Engine That Could to my grandson, the point is not to insist that there was a little engine that did. It is to encourage him as his life unfolds to trust that you don’t know what you can do if you don’t try, and that often we discover that we can do lots more than we initially thought. 

In the reading we heard from the 65th chapter of the prophet Isaiah, the hope is that one day there will be peace in Jerusalem and its people a delight. No more weeping. No more distress. No more children dying. Old people dying after full lives. 100 years! They shall not labor in vain or bear children for calamity.

There’s no credible source in all of human history for this tale either. Jerusalem is often a mess, and sometimes a hot mess. Yet we stake our hopes and dreams on the possibility and the yearning for peace on earth and good will to all, We stake our hope on the idea that God’s plan is for the lion and the lamb to feed together and “they shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain.” 

Next year, in Jerusalem.

Things do not have to have literally happened for them to be true. We share a dream and when we speak of that dream we are empowered to live toward it. To be instruments of God’s peace here on earth as it is in heaven. As we respond, with God’s help, we make the story true.

This is how holy scripture works. Today we prayed one of my very favorite collects in the Prayerbook. We Episcopalians are not Biblical literalists. We are not fundamentalists. We believe, as we prayed, that holy scripture needs to be chewed on. We need to inwardly digest it. We need to sit with it, argue with it, pray with it, to find meaning. And the stories don't need to have happened to be true. 

I would suggest to you that this is the primary reason we come here week after week. To remember that dream in a world where it is so easy to feel discouraged and despairing about the future. We gather to strengthen one another and encourage one another to do the work God has given us to do. We gather in hope.

Those small pieces of tartan cloth were like sacraments in the story remembered today: outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace. Touching that cloth was a defiant act of insisting that the government doesn’t own us; we belong to a higher power, that in this place we call God; the creator of heaven and earth, the “abba” of Jesus.

We come here to taste and see with bread and wine that God is good, and that God’s plan for us and this planet is peace on earth and good will to all.

We live in the meantime, of course. We live in a world that too often feels like a scary place, a world where division and polarization and fear seem normal. But those are not normal. Those keep us from becoming who God means for us to become. We come and eat our little pieces of bread and sip the wine to remember that we are called to love God and to love neighbor; all of them. No exceptions. We come here to reclaim our identity as living members of Christ’s Body.

Today, we are all Scots. It’s worth remembering that although the word “Anglican” easily slips from our tongues, there would be no Episcopal Church without the Scottish Episcopal Church, because after the Revolutionary War it wasn’t England who was prepared to consecrate an American bishop-elect. Yes, we are part of something called the Anglican Communion. But our debt to the Scots is great and their influence on our Prayerbook is also noteworthy. 

When Samuel Seabury sailed to England to be consecrated, he could no longer promise allegiance to the king. So off he went to Scotland, specifically Aberdeen. And there on November 14, 1784, he was in fact consecrated as the first bishop of Connecticut and the first Bishop in the Episcopal Church. Two hundred and forty one years and two days ago.

Bonnie Scotland. May we give thanks today for all things Scottish: Bobby Burns, bagpipes, kilts, haggis, a wee dram of peety single-malt whisky, and shortbread all top the list of reasons I'm grateful to celebrate this day with you all.