Kevin McKenna: Kindness not brimstone lies at the heart of the Kirk

He moves to the other side of the road where three police officers are waiting for a cavalcade of dignitaries to arrive: among them John Swinney, First Minister of Scotland. Mr Swinney’s government recently told the Scottish people that you risked being lifted for making just this type of statement. 

The cops overlook the dissident codger’s early morning brimstone though, divining that he posed no threat to the other major eminence who will soon be here: Prince Edward, the Duke of Edinburgh. For the duration of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, the Duke is the Lord High Commissioner of the proceedings, representing his big brother, King Charles. 

In the New College Quadrangle stands a statue of John Knox, hallowed patriarch of the Protestant Reformation in Scotland and fierce sentinel of its first flames. A guard is forming beneath him, comprising a 16-strong company of the Royal Company of Archers, the King’s bodyguard in Scotland. 

Some of these men are drawn from the oldest aristocratic houses in Scotland. In the distance, a canon roars to salute the arrival of the Prince. Do I espy some involuntary twitches among the yeomen? For them, the sound of gun-fire is usually followed by a dead pheasant. 

British monarchs have sworn to uphold the Protestant religion in Scotland and maintain Presbyterian Church Government. An oath taken by Charles in September, 2022 after he’d been proclaimed King underpins the constitutional independence of the Church from the state. 

An hour or so later, the Duke is addressing the members, elders and ministers. “How’s this going to go,” I’m wondering. His late mum, Elizabeth was devoted to her Christian faith and referenced it in almost every speech she made. Edward made It’s a Royal Knockout. However, unlike that ill-judged pantomime, Edward knocks it out the park with an eloquent, affectionate and poignant lesson that seemed to come from the heart. 

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I’ll always oppose hereditary privilege, but I’ve come to accept that the very existence of his family brings comfort to others and often those who have experienced trauma. He speaks with nuance and feeling. “Listening without judging is a special skill,” he says. 

He references the work of his wife, Sophie with victims of conflict-related sexual violence around the world. “Probably the greatest challenge that you as ministers face is representing the Church and God when those in grief or strife are seeking answers,” he says. 

“In a world where we are often too quick to seek blame and where we are always searching for some rational explanation, some can ask difficult questions of God and of their own faith.” I feel sure his mum would have been proud of him. 

The ceremonials heralding Edward’s appearance here, built on the symbolism of power, conveys a false impression of the Kirk. This is an institution that prides itself on its democracy and the power of the people. John Knox, the old stone warrior standing in the quadrangle, right arm aloft, drove the notion of universal education centuries before it became the norm in the civilised world. 

The church he founded is probably the most democratic organisation in Scotland. 

Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh in his role as Lord High Commissioner to the 2024 General Assembly of the Church of Scotland (Image: Getty)

The torch passes between the outgoing moderator, Sally Foster-Fulton and her successor, Dr Paterson. “Do you approve of this nomination of Dr Paterson,” she asks the people and they grant their assent by stamp their feet and applauding. Then, the new Moderator enters and we all stand. The Rev Sally, a native of South Carolina gives him a big hug which I’m not sure the Rev Shaw was expecting. This goes down well with the ladies around me. 

“You are beloved of Christ,” she tells him. “You are a unique never to be repeated creation of the divine. You have been chosen to inspire us to guide us and to be completely yourself.” She places her chain round his neck and he kneels. 

“This is a marathon not a sprint and sometimes the pace picks up a bit,” she tells him in a mesmerising southern drawl. She asks us to “walk with him and the people he shares the journey with”. I’m moved beyond words by this and can’t really explain why. 

At this stage in a Catholic ritual you’re usually choking on incense smoke and making yourself dizzy with genuflections. There’s cramp in your right arm after about 20 signs of the cross. 

At an Irish wedding last year, an old priest had told me that the one thing he’d change about the Catholic Church would be to admit women priests. When you see and hear the Rev Sally Foster-Fulton you know it makes sense. And she’s looking different class in an elegant three-quarter length black coat which makes me want to get one too. 

The Rev Dr Paterson delivers his address in the style of an after-dinner speaker at a sportsman’s charity fundraiser. He’s good at this. It’s witty, profound and real. He speaks with authority 

“The church is facing some huge challenges,” he tells us, “and as Moderator I am conscious that I must remain neutral, but I will listen, I will be there and I will care. 

“I also offer the church such gifts and abilities that have sustained me in ministry so far - and in doing so I thank my congregation (I’ve been in the same charge for 33 years) for teaching me the ropes, and for being patient, for forgiving my mistakes, for putting up with my silly jokes and my wind-ups, and for letting me go for a year - and to the many who have made the journey through this morning (maybe to make sure they really are getting rid of me for a year).” 

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Back out in the quadrangle I see Archbishop Leo Cushley, head-to-toe in Presbyterian black. There’s not a hint of Roman crimson or purple. He tells me he loves attending the General Assembly. “I love the humour and kindness here,” he says. “The Kirk is lazily portrayed as dour and cold, but it’s nothing of the sort. I’ve always felt welcomed and at home here.” 

At this point, the new moderator interrupts us to invite him to lunch. I’m down for a chat with Dr Paterson afterwards. I’m unsure though, as to which form of address to use and I hear myself saying: “I think I’m seeing you later, Moderator.” It’s a Yosser Hughes “I’m Desperate, Dan” moment and I’m looking for a wall to bang my head against. 

You look around at the seasoned, eager faces here to witness these sacred transactions and you realise that if this old pillar of Scotland didn’t exist we’d be reduced. Their vast programme of social outreach – often proceeding unsung at the margins – is worth tens of millions. It stands in the gaps that secular governments miss. If they weren’t here our tax bill would be more onerous. 

The Kirk’s CrossReach programme sits at the heart of a vast network of social care projects it’s been delivering for more than 150 years. It makes the Church of Scotland one of Scotland’s largest care providers, most of it supplied free and relying mainly on volunteers. 

It also goes to the heart of authentic Christianity: unconditional love, care and support for society’s most vulnerable and broken people. Without this, Christianity is worthless. 

Much is made each year of the inevitable decline in church attendance, but the Kirk provides a security and a sense of belonging that helps form Scotland. It continues to influence our national character and what we think we are: steadfast and decent; stubborn and undemonstrative. 

Later, in his study, the Rev Paterson tells me: “So many of our people do amazing work with all sections of the community. They see how the church works and how it works with the people we are called to serve. I want them to know that we’re here to serve them and to listen to their ideas.” 

I tell him I’ll pray for him. And I’m also telling myself I need to get along to hear this man preach, rapid.