Early Years and First Call to Ministry
I am an only child. This may account for the fact that I do tend to be somewhat self-centred and self-opinionated. I would not, in all honesty, describe myself as a natural team player. People who know me and are well disposed towards me will probably say that I have always been quite an independent thinker. Those who are less well disposed may consider me to be somewhat of a maverick or perhaps even a loose cannon. I certainly have the reputation across the board for being unpredictable and for often surprising people. My own mother said of me that I was a “dark horse” and she was never entirely sure of what I was thinking.
So, although I have a very long connection with the mainstream evangelical tradition in the Church of Scotland, I have never been one who blindly follows any one party line. In Kirk politics, I have often taken a pragmatic approach, which some colleagues at times have found both puzzling and frustrating.
I first saw the light of day in Aberdeen during World War II. In fact, I was born on 20 April 1943, the day before the worst air-raid to hit that city. At the time, my parents were resident in Peterhead (Aberdeenshire) and my father was Principal Classics Master at Peterhead Academy.
Not surprisingly, people can see in me some similarities to both of my parents. However, I am not obviously like either of them. In particular, I do not seem to have inherited many of their respective abilities and talents. My father was somewhat of an intellectual. After mopping up many school prizes at Robert Gordon’s College, he had also clocked up two First Class Honours degrees in different subject areas when such awards were much rarer than they are now.
In spite of his academic achievements, he was always modest and unpretentious. Whilst some people have unfavourably compared me with him intellectually, he never once made such an unfair comparison. I do readily admit that I am not half the man that he was.
My mother was much more artistic. She was a brilliant pianist (LRAM in pianoforte), a competent organist, a good singer and could turn her hand easily to drawing, painting, embroidery and such like. How far, if at all, I have inherited any of my parents’ talents and attributes, other must judge.
I was always close to both of my parents and still miss them.
I have been connected with the Church of Scotland for just about as long as I can remember. My parents were “Kirk” people, although not fanatical in any way. My father was an elder for most of his adult life. As a schoolboy and as a student, he had attended Torry United Free Church in Aberdeen, then, as now, a strongly evangelical congregation. My mother was brought up in church culture as her father (my grandfather) was an enthusiastic and committed church organist in Peterhead from the age of 18 to the age of 80.
My earliest recollection of church was being taken to an infant Sunday school in Bridge Street Church in Wick sometime around 1945. At the time, my father had recently been appointed Rector of Wick High School. Right through my childhood and my teenage years, God was very real to me and I do not recollect having any particular problems of doubt. This means that I cannot point to a great “conversion” moment in my life when, as it were, I saw the light. I cannot really remember a time when I hadn’t seen it although, like most people, I have blown hot and cold over the years.
When I was aged five, we moved from Caithness to West Fife, after my father had been appointed Rector of Dunfermline High School in 1948. It was a huge cultural shock for me. Apart from Sunday school, I had never really interacted with other children before. People in Caithness speak quietly, whereas in West Fife people tend to be rather loud-mouthed. It seemed to me that everyone was shouting. I found this scary and I can only describe my first day at school in Dunfermline as among the worst days of my life. Fortunately, I did settle down surprisingly quickly. Children are much more resilient than we sometimes give them credit for.
When I was aged ten, I contracted viral pneumonia. This is the only time in my life to date when I have been seriously ill. The doctor was in a state of considerable anxiety as he had lost a strong young farmer to the same virus only the week before. Antibiotics were of no use. I was comatose and withdrawn. I sensed something was wrong because of my parents’ forced jollity and their whispering with the doctor outside my bedroom door. The doctor was visiting me up to three times a day, although unable to do anything of consequence. I thought that there was at least a possibility that I was going to die.
I wasn’t really afraid because I did believe, with a simple and childlike faith, that Jesus would take me to heaven. I was a bit worried, however, as to how I was going to manage without my Mum and Dad to look after me. I did not realise at the time how difficult it must have been for them to face the real prospect of losing their wee boy. In any event I made a full recovery and have enjoyed remarkably robust health throughout my adult life. This is something that I do not take for granted and hope that I never will. We can never know what lies ahead of us.
During our twenty year stay in Dunfermline I went to Sunday school at Dunfermline Abbey and, as a young man, I was actively involved in the life of Erskine Church which was, at the time, located in the centre of the town.[1] This congregation subsequently moved out of the town centre and relocated in a residential area.
In my early teens, I was certainly affected by the “Tell Scotland” movement and the visits of Dr Billy Graham. Dr Graham made a particular point of working with local churches throughout Scotland. It was a time of real refreshing and renewal and its effects were long lasting. Even people who were not card-carrying evangelicals surprised themselves by being caught up in the momentum.
There was, at the time, a young doctor in Dunfermline who had a severe drink problem. He was on the verge of losing his career, livelihood and family. In those days, the police were able to turn an occasional blind eye to drink driving in a way that would not be tolerated today. However, he was on his last warning. Without telling anyone, the doctor in question went to the Billy Graham Crusade in Glasgow and “went forward” in the Kelvin Hall. He experienced a remarkable healing and never touched a drop of alcohol again. In typical Scottish understatement, people in Dunfermline remarked that there must be something in this religion stuff, right enough!
In my mid-teens, partly as a result of visiting Oberammergau in 1959, I seriously thought about converting to Roman Catholicism. I loved the ritual and order as well as the more mystical aspects. I was also very much aware that for Catholic people, their religion seemed to make them happy, whereas the opposite often seemed to apply in Presbyterianism! Also, as this was before Vatican II, the Mass was still being said in magisterial Latin, which aesthetically greatly appealed to me, although I make no pretensions to being a classical scholar. Anyway, the Roman Catholic Church had a narrow escape in that this adolescent phase soon passed and I returned to the fold of the Kirk.
Both as a child and as a teenager, I was somewhat of a mystic and a day-dreamer. I was often, it seemed, somewhere else. I generally preferred my own company to that of my peers. Even now, I still value a degree of solitude.
My parents were concerned that I spent too much time on my own and felt that I would benefit from the company of other young people of my age. I was sent to join first the Cubs and then the Scouts. I think it was good for me and in many ways I enjoyed it. I did not much care for the annual camps with their rain-sodden tents, terrible food and unspeakable sanitary arrangements. However, in those days such conditions would have been considered as character forming. Maybe they were. At a later date, I was connected with the Boy’s Brigade, an organisation for which I also have considerable respect.
At school, I was very interested in religious studies. In my time, the exams for the Higher Leaving Certificate were held just before the Easter holidays. This left us with a summer term that was filled with interesting (and non-examinable!) activities and projects. I chose as a religious studies project to go in search of Saint Serf, a Celtic Saint, known as the Apostle of the Ochils. I cycled for miles over several Saturdays, accompanied by a long-suffering school friend (whose daughter, Rev MaryAnn Rennie, is now the Minister of Dunfermline Abbey).
In my sixth year at school, I wrote a booklet entitled “Lochore and Ballingry – A Parish History” [2] which was also serialised in the local newspaper. My teachers and peers expressed considerable surprise. Schoolboys do not generally write articles for newspapers. I was told (neither for the first time, nor for the last time) that I was a “dark horse”. The articles gained me the school Divinity prize, one of the very few prizes that I have ever won throughout my entire life.
I was very well behaved at school, although by no means academically distinguished. As my father was Rector of Dunfermline High School, I maintained a low profile throughout my time there. I was told in later life that, both at primary and secondary school level, I had the reputation among my teachers as being the one pupil in the class who was most likely to ask a really awkward question. Some people might say that I have not greatly changed in that respect.
At school, I absolutely hated games and gymnastics, I suppose largely because I am not a team player. I was fortunate in that my gym teacher at school was very understanding and did not force me. I was allowed to go running or swimming on my own or with one or two pals to count as the equivalent of a gym period.
I also have had a great interest in hypnosis and altered states of reality since I was schoolboy. I see no problem with hypnosis being used in Christian circles although some people will rush to condemn it, usually out of ignorance and prejudice. I see great value in the responsible use of Christian meditation. It may seem odd for someone who is known to be in the evangelical tradition of the Church of Scotland to be somewhat of a mystic. I am sorry if I don’t fit the template. As I have already said, I do not always tow any party line.
I was ordained as an elder of the Church of Scotland at the tender age of 21, which was probably too young.
I originally took a degree in law (LL.B) from Edinburgh University. It was actually easier at that time to get into Law than into Arts, provided the applicant had a pass in Latin. I note with some amusement that when I applied for admission to the Law Faculty, I was accepted by return of post even with my very minimal entrance group. Those were the days! There was, however, a high drop-out rate at the end of the first year.
In the early 1960s, only some ten per cent of young people went on to University. We Scots all got our fees paid (by memory the fees for the whole year amounted to around £35!) plus an allowance from the Scottish Education Department. Even wealthy students received a minimum grant of £50 per year. There was no anxiety about finding employment after graduation as there were more jobs available than people to fill them. Life was simpler and, relatively speaking, cheaper. Students did not leave University with huge debts as some do today. Indeed, in those days, nobody wanted to lend money to students. We were expected to be impecunious.
I enjoyed the Law course well enough, although my heart was not entirely in it. I studied harder than I needed to as I had rather low self esteem when it came to academic matters and did not consider myself particularly bright. At school, as I have indicated, I had not been the sharpest knife in the box. I was surprised to find that I was passing the law exams quite comfortably.
I well remember my graduation day in the McEwen Hall in Edinburgh. In fact, I had what would now be called an “aha” moment. I had always assumed that if anyone went to University s/he would emerge at the other end knowing a great deal. Actually, I somewhat ruefully realised that although I had managed to pass a lot of tiresome exams, I had forgotten most of what I had swotted up and that I probably did not know very much that was actually worth knowing. This was a significant discovery for me. I believe true wisdom often lies in being aware of what one does not know. Whilst I do value the privilege of University education, I realise that it is not the “be all and end all” of everything. The most important lessons of life are not taught there or indeed in any place of learning.
After graduation, I served the traditional two year law apprenticeship with an Edinburgh firm of solicitors. It was a useful experience although my heart was even less in legal practice than it had been in legal study. I did, however, enjoy conveyancing, which had been my strongest subject at University. During my time of apprenticeship, I decided that I wanted to test my growing sense of a call to the ministry of the Church of Scotland.
For the first time in my adult life, I felt really thrilled and excited.
My destiny was calling me. My life’s work was beginning to open up before me; or so it seemed.