Originally published 9/6/16
My faith in Christianity - and humanity - has been restored by the delightful encounters we had with other humans in Scotland. Christians often get a bad rap, which sometimes they deserve, though I'd rather they not act in a way that deserves it in the first place. My best friend, Lair, always said Christians were only nice from 11 a.m. to noon on Sunday. The rest of the time, not-so-much. I've experienced the worst in Christians personally, as well, at church. After I separated from my first husband, my Lutheran pastor told me I couldn't have communion until I met with him, then he refused to meet with me. Nice. In the Episcopal church, just after I married Michael, we were both targeted for raising questions about the priest selection process, and I was summarily fired and banned from the church that received me after the Lutherans put me out. So I get the not-so-much part. As a priest's wife-in-training, I hate that. It seems easy enough, to follow the Gospel of Christ. To love God above all others, and to love your neighbors as yourself. But, not-so-much. Both my native land and the country we're in are struggling with that right now; we're having difficulty loving neighbors who want to immigrate to our respected countries, and our leaders are spouting rhetoric that encourages walls and restrictions and sanctions on our neighbors. In the US, it's become clear that many law enforcement decisions are still made based on color rather than character, and the call to deport immigrants continues. Despite our international love affair with food and cooking shows, there are more restaurants than ever, and few families invite others into their homes. Intra-personally, we have a difficult time loving each other; family members are not speaking, and Episcopalians hesitantly greet one another during the dreaded "Peace." Our trip to Scotland washes me with new hope, however. On our Saturday visit to Caerlaverock Castle, Michael was giddy with questions, and with the amount of Maxwell tartan and crests available in the gift shop. (We love branded merchandise. We always get the shirt. And the mug. And the key chain. And the tie. The list often goes on.) As ridiculous Americans, we were quite entertaining to the two docents, with whom we quickly struck up more serious conversation about the castle and its history. Joseph was particularly knowledgeable, and enjoyed someone who had pertinent and particular questions. (That would be Michael.) After our walkabout, as I was in the toilet (they don't know what a restroom is), Michael invited Joseph to have tea with us in the tea room. (Every attraction, museum, castle, garden shop, has a tea room.) He was delighted to sit with us for 30 minutes and talk more about Edward I, and the Covenenters and the Maxwells. Michael even shared his scone with Joseph.
Michael and Joseph. What a treat to share tea with a knowledgeable docent.
On Sunday, we went to church at St. John's Scottish Episcopal Church, on Lover's Walk in Dumfries. Sung Eucharist was at 11 a.m., and, just as at Christ Church Greenville, it was the silver-haired service. (I don't know why that is. Young families with children also go to the 9:30 service, and the older crowd attends the 11.) So it was a quiet service, but lovely with a pipe organ and a choir of 24. Afterward, we decided to attend coffee, another Episcopal tradition. Coffee and tea (lemonade in the summer) after church for a bit of fellowship. I think that's because Episcopalians don't socialize before church; I've just noticed that Baptists tend to be talkative before church, whereas Episcopalians enter church quietly, and don't talk before the service.
That's one of the neat things about being Episcopalian, by the way. Things are the same wherever you go.
So at coffee, Neale Lawson, a man in his late 70s asked if I was visiting. Of course he knew I was, because he's been a member of the small parish for 40 years! How nice of him to ask though. Michael came over, and we started to talk about why we were there, and what we were doing. We shared that we had been to Caerlaverock Castle the day before because Michael was a Maxwell, so we wanted to see where his people came from.
"We live near Caerlaverock," Neale said with a sly smile. "And I have volumes of Maxwell family history."
Well, you could have knocked Michael over with a feather. There's nothing he or his dad like more than a family history book.
"Well, we'll have to come see it," Michael kind-of invited himself, not thinking that he would take us seriously.
"Come for tea today, then, if you have time," Neale invited us.
"We'd love to!" Michael was giddy, again.
Jenny, Neale's wife, joined us.
"They're coming for tea!" he announced to his wife. Jenny was stunned, but delighted.
Are we really going to someone's house for tea in Glen Caple, Scotland, that we've just met at church?
We received directions and a time to be there, and agreed to meet again.
What a treat, to be invited to someone's home that doesn't require admission. To see how someone really lives here. To visit with them, and find out a little about their lives.
Neale had more books about Caerlaverock and the Maxwells.
We had a lovely visit, as well as scones and tea with the Lawsons. The entire time we were there I could hardly concentrate, as I was just so stunned that they invited us into their home. We talked about the Maxwells, and about life in Scotland, children, weather, and Neale's hobbies, Jenny's life in India, vintage cars and miniature trains.
Neale has restored 4 vintage cars. He's an electrical engineer, that's why. You can see Michael looking at the car, pretending to be knowledgeable about something. But all he really knows is that it's a car.
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Hebrews 13:2
I think Joseph, Jenny and Neale, and the kind hostesses we met at the Woodland hotel, including Loren, George and Alec, were the angels to us. They all showed us kindness and hospitality that I don't think I have ever experienced. Michael and I talked about it on the way home (back to Cambridge) yesterday, and how we must always remember it, and extend it to someone else we don't know as we move forward in our life at church.
"Why not invite every visitor to our house every Sunday after church for tea?" Michael thought aloud.
"That is radical," I said, a little afraid of the idea.
When we were sitting at Jenny's table, sipping tea and eating scones, I thought, we could be murderers, or robbers scoping out their house. We're not of course, but they didn't know that. What they knew is that Jesus always depended upon the hospitality of others, and extols us to do the same. Jesus was, for all they knew, a traveling vagabond with a crazy story.
I fear hospitality is becoming a lost art because it seems not-so-easy, to engage in conversation with someone you've just met, and provide a snack. But you've met because of a common interest that spurs conversation, and, as Jenny did, scones can always be purchased at the tea house across the street. Suddenly, it becomes a little easier.
We had a lovely visit with Neale and Jenny.
Michael says, you never know who Jesus is. In his day, Jesus was unexpected. In our day, he could be too. Sitting down for tea with a stranger, or inviting a stranger into your home is a radical idea. It's also a Christian idea. I'm glad to see that in Scotland, the radicals have the upper hand.
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