A Cup of Kindness
26/01/24 05:15
Last night, in pubs across Scotland, glasses were hoisted and shouts of Sláinte Mhath! resounded. That’s because every year on January 25, on the evening of the day of his birth, Scots celebrate their cherished poet, Robert Burns. (They also celebrate him on July 21, the anniversary of his death. Sláinte Mhath! one more time.)
“Rabbie,” as he is affectionately called, penned more than 700 poems in his lifetime, including one traditionally recited every year on Robert Burns Night: “Address to a Haggis.” And then they pass out the forks and knives and serve it up. (If you’re not familiar with this National Dish of Scotland, it consists of a sheep’s lungs, liver, heart, and other parts, mixed with oatmeal, onions, and suet, and baked in the sheep’s stomach — which some say is why the Scots invented Scotch whisky). See what you missed last night.
Back to Robert Burns. You might not be abundantly familiar with this rhymester’s repertoire, but I guarantee you’ve heard — and probably even sung — one of his lyrics. Even in Old English, you’re sure to recognize this:
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?
Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
A current-day translation of the Scottish words auld lang syne would be old long ago. The song is about fond memories of the past. Taking a cup of kindness refers to men and women sharing a drink to symbolize friendship that has lasted through the best and worst of times.
The poem has five verses. As outdoor enthusiasts, two of them engender countless fond memories of wilderness experiences Judi and I have had, with each other and with friends, at home and abroad. Here they are in standard English:
We two have run about the hills,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we've wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.
We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.
And the last verse goes like this:
And there's a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
I wish for the life of me that Christians could consistently have closure like that. Not necessarily the drinking part, but the simpatico part.
All my days I have been around ministry organizations, in the States and overseas, where staff and volunteers have come and gone. The coming part is always celebratory: New team members are often seen as saviors, surely able to fix what those before them broke. But in a relatively short time, expectations to excel exceed ability to perform. The rapid descent from the status of special to that of ordinary actually makes them appear less than ordinary. Parties are too busy, too proud, or too inept to seek a remedy for what has turned into a rocky relationship. By the time the termination or resignation is official, fellowship is broken, usually for good. There is no genial auld lang syne.
Did you know that more than half of the Christians who go overseas to serve as career missionaries never complete their first term on the field? They leave for reasons that could have been rectifiable — often conflict with other missionaries or their sending agency — and never go back into mission work. Again, no cordial auld lang syne.
The same thing happens in churches (and associations) where people possess a dangerous avidity that compels them to walk if they don’t win. When Judi and I were over here in 2016, we spent time in the Outer Hebrides — essentially the last stop going east until you run aground in Labrador. One Sunday, in a small village, we had a choice of attending the Church of Scotland, the Free Church of Scotland, the Free Church of Scotland Continuing, or the Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland.
I asked a local to orient us. He said, “These different churches all came about because of fights and splits over one thing or another down through the years.” Shaking his head he added, “And they still don’t get along. That’s why church attendance is pitiful around here.” He then stared off at the rain clouds rolling in from Iceland and made this sad observation: “I don’t know how these people can think their faith will make any difference in the world if they can’t come together and love one another on this little rock in the Atlantic.”
You’d think that with all the legendary beverages in Scotland they would at least want to share a cup of kindness.
The truth is, Christians do not do closure well. And many believers carry for decades the scars of departure, be it from a full-time ministry job, a mission field assignment, or a church they loved.
Succession is the dominant subject these days in many Christian camps and city missions (and certainly other ministries). Even though I’m no longer officially in leadership capacity at an association, I continue to hear from association members — specifically outgoing CEOs — who see me as a trusted friend in whom they can confide about the pangs of departure. There’s a lot of hurt out there.
If you are involved in ministry on any level, I urge you to take some time — call it a Robert Burns moment — to think about closures that have happened in your organization over the years, and see if there might be someone who you suspect (or know for a fact) is still hurting because the closure didn’t go well—be it their fault or yours, or one of your predecessors. Consider reengaging and working to bring about the kind of closure that demonstrates ultimate Christian love and can alleviate the anger and anguish that is probably afflicting this person (or persons) like an incurable chronic illness.
And if not work related, you might want (need) to do this totally on a family level, immediate or extended.
What you can give those suffering is central to the Gospel. It’s what's talked about in Isaiah 61 — the attributes that Jesus’s coming to earth can bring to its inhabitants:
“Rabbie,” as he is affectionately called, penned more than 700 poems in his lifetime, including one traditionally recited every year on Robert Burns Night: “Address to a Haggis.” And then they pass out the forks and knives and serve it up. (If you’re not familiar with this National Dish of Scotland, it consists of a sheep’s lungs, liver, heart, and other parts, mixed with oatmeal, onions, and suet, and baked in the sheep’s stomach — which some say is why the Scots invented Scotch whisky). See what you missed last night.
Back to Robert Burns. You might not be abundantly familiar with this rhymester’s repertoire, but I guarantee you’ve heard — and probably even sung — one of his lyrics. Even in Old English, you’re sure to recognize this:
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?
Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
A current-day translation of the Scottish words auld lang syne would be old long ago. The song is about fond memories of the past. Taking a cup of kindness refers to men and women sharing a drink to symbolize friendship that has lasted through the best and worst of times.
The poem has five verses. As outdoor enthusiasts, two of them engender countless fond memories of wilderness experiences Judi and I have had, with each other and with friends, at home and abroad. Here they are in standard English:
We two have run about the hills,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we've wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.
We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.
And the last verse goes like this:
And there's a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
I wish for the life of me that Christians could consistently have closure like that. Not necessarily the drinking part, but the simpatico part.
All my days I have been around ministry organizations, in the States and overseas, where staff and volunteers have come and gone. The coming part is always celebratory: New team members are often seen as saviors, surely able to fix what those before them broke. But in a relatively short time, expectations to excel exceed ability to perform. The rapid descent from the status of special to that of ordinary actually makes them appear less than ordinary. Parties are too busy, too proud, or too inept to seek a remedy for what has turned into a rocky relationship. By the time the termination or resignation is official, fellowship is broken, usually for good. There is no genial auld lang syne.
Did you know that more than half of the Christians who go overseas to serve as career missionaries never complete their first term on the field? They leave for reasons that could have been rectifiable — often conflict with other missionaries or their sending agency — and never go back into mission work. Again, no cordial auld lang syne.
The same thing happens in churches (and associations) where people possess a dangerous avidity that compels them to walk if they don’t win. When Judi and I were over here in 2016, we spent time in the Outer Hebrides — essentially the last stop going east until you run aground in Labrador. One Sunday, in a small village, we had a choice of attending the Church of Scotland, the Free Church of Scotland, the Free Church of Scotland Continuing, or the Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland.
I asked a local to orient us. He said, “These different churches all came about because of fights and splits over one thing or another down through the years.” Shaking his head he added, “And they still don’t get along. That’s why church attendance is pitiful around here.” He then stared off at the rain clouds rolling in from Iceland and made this sad observation: “I don’t know how these people can think their faith will make any difference in the world if they can’t come together and love one another on this little rock in the Atlantic.”
You’d think that with all the legendary beverages in Scotland they would at least want to share a cup of kindness.
The truth is, Christians do not do closure well. And many believers carry for decades the scars of departure, be it from a full-time ministry job, a mission field assignment, or a church they loved.
Succession is the dominant subject these days in many Christian camps and city missions (and certainly other ministries). Even though I’m no longer officially in leadership capacity at an association, I continue to hear from association members — specifically outgoing CEOs — who see me as a trusted friend in whom they can confide about the pangs of departure. There’s a lot of hurt out there.
If you are involved in ministry on any level, I urge you to take some time — call it a Robert Burns moment — to think about closures that have happened in your organization over the years, and see if there might be someone who you suspect (or know for a fact) is still hurting because the closure didn’t go well—be it their fault or yours, or one of your predecessors. Consider reengaging and working to bring about the kind of closure that demonstrates ultimate Christian love and can alleviate the anger and anguish that is probably afflicting this person (or persons) like an incurable chronic illness.
And if not work related, you might want (need) to do this totally on a family level, immediate or extended.
What you can give those suffering is central to the Gospel. It’s what's talked about in Isaiah 61 — the attributes that Jesus’s coming to earth can bring to its inhabitants:
…garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting
We all can be thickheaded and thin-skinned. And whether you, yourself, have been a victim of cold shoulders or heated words, the cause of Christ is worth the work—and make no mistake, it will be work. You might even need to engage professional help.
But don’t let that hold you back. Reach out and do it: Pour a cup of kindness — not just for auld lang syne, but because the world, more than ever before, needs to see that reconciliation is possible when Christ is part of the process.
