My Dear J,

Last time I wrote I mentioned the story of the Southern Baptist Preacher and the Highlander, the bottle of Islay Malt Whisky and of course the Baseball game. At least I think it was a baseball game - is that what you call a "ball game"? Or is it what we call American Football? (We of course don’t call it football since we like the rest of the planet already play football, which you call soccer… gosh it is tiring speaking the same language isn’t it?)

Anyway this is a true story and worth the telling. I hope it illustrates very clear how easily cultural norms get locked into Christian experience and how, we can fall into the mistake of thinking that our way of life is actually endorsed as the Biblical norm.

Before I go any further I should own up to the fact that it probably wasn’t Islay Malt. That’s my own prejudice showing through having spent over six years on that lovely Hebridean Island. There isn’t a blended whisky made that doesn’t include one the eight Islay Malts!

Enough! I’ll be waxing lyrical shortly about peat fires and ceilidhs!

This story, which is a true one, was told one sleepy afternoon in early summer to group of undergraduate students training for the ministry at Glasgow University. Weary arms were holding up our heads as we fought against the heat, the monotony of the lecture and Friday afternoon. I was crushed up against the fireplace, in the old but lovely room. There were I guess about twenty-five of us listening to Professor (and that means Professor in the UK i.e. the head of the Dept – with a "Chair") Murdo Ewen MacDonald. He was in those days and I am going back now to 1977 an old man close to retirement. He seemed to us, young as were, to live on past glories and his lectures had cobwebs attached. He was however a lovely man and had been in his day a giant in the pulpit. A man, who could with his soft highland lilt, hold an audience or a congregation enthralled. He was really quite famous. He was I think a Lewis man or then it could have been Harris (or maybe even Uist?).

He was particularly popular in America and spent a great deal of time there as an invited speaker and preacher.

You should also understand that the Christian Sabbath was and still is a very big thing in certain areas of the Highlands of Scotland. Indeed it was throughout Scotland within living memory. Sundays were special days set aside for the Lord. On that day we went Church perhaps twice or three times. It was day where no trade of any kind was practised. No work performed. No cinemas were open or theatres. And often no cooking performed as the day was devoted, as a nation, to the things of God. It was a strong and powerful thing in the Scotland I grew up in. However, The Beatles, the swinging sixties and the revolution that followed saw the rapid demise of the practise in Scotland and now it can only be found in the Highlands, in occasional places, but it remains a strong tradition in the Islands. The thought of working on a Sunday was taboo and the playing of games just out of the question.

All this is necessary background to the story, Murdo Ewen told us that afternoon.

Murdo Ewen stepped off the plane to be greeted by a well-known Southern Baptist. In his luggage he carried a precious and expensive bottle of Malt Whisky. A treasured gift to share with his host. It is the highest of compliments for a highlander to take a wee dram with you.

After dinner that night Murdo Ewen presented his beautifully boxed bottle of uisge beatha (this is Gaelic for Whisky and means - the water of life – this is an indication of the very high regard in which this product is held) to his Southern Baptist host.

His host was thunderstruck. He was appalled that this gifted preacher and eminent clergyman from the Church of Scotland should drink alcohol and especially whisky.

The well-known words were in the air:

"How can you call yourself a Christian and drink alcohol…"

However the feelings were returned with a vengeance two days later on the Sunday. The morning went well and Murdo Ewen preached to a packed Church. After lunch his host proudly produced tickets for that afternoon’s ball game.

Murdo Ewen paled.

"How can you call yourself a Christian and go to ball game on a Sunday…."

How is Zoe? Does she still sit on the hoover? How as your trip with the family? Did you discuss my last letter? How’s the weather in your soul?

I want to share with you just one final quote then I’ll send this and go and watch the Cricket. It is the second day of the first test at Edgbaston. Australia collapsed yesterday which is causing some consternation there. England seem to be doing rather well which makes a change. However there is a 50% chance of rain so if it rains no play!

Do you like Trollope? I am reading through the entire Barsetshire series and am currently thoroughly enjoying "Framley Parsonage"

The scene is a public lecture. The speaker Harold Smith is trying very hard to win support for a mission to civilise the inhabitants of Papua New Guinea. Mrs Proudie is the Bishop’s wife (she is de facto the bishop). She is a dreadful woman. A woman much given to Sabbath keeping.

"It is to civilisation that we must look," continued Mr Harold Smith, descending from poetry to prose as a lecturer well knows how, and thereby showing the value of both – "for any material progress in these islands; and – "

"And to Christianity," shouted Mrs Proudie, to the great amazement of the assembled people, and to the thorough wakening of the bishop, who, jumped up in his chair at the sound of the well-known voice, exclaimed, "Certainly, certainly."

"Oh yes, Christianity of course," said Harold Smith upon whom the interruption did not seem to operate favourably.

"Christianity and Sabbath-day observance, " exclaimed Mrs Proudie who, now that she had obtained the ear of the public, seemed well inclined to keep it. "Let us never forget that these islanders can never prosper unless they keep the Sabbath holy."

Enough!

I look forward with eager anticipation to your next letter and your sets of questions, although I do want to share more with you about what I learned on Islay!

Every Blessing,