Reflection of the Cup

Auld Lange Syne

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.

We twa hae run about the braes, (hills) and pou’d the gowans fine; (daisies) But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit, (foot) sin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, (stream) frae morning sun till dine; (dinner time) But seas between us braid hae roar’d (broad) sin' auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere! (friend) and gie’s a hand o’ thine! And we’ll tak' a right gude-willie waught, (goodwill drink) for auld lang syne.

Every New Year, we hear a song we only half-remember (or know) to celebrate a time we’ve mostly forgotten. We lean in with sentimentality, and belt out Auld Lang Syne (long, long ago), even the mumbled bits we've no idea the meaning. But beneath the nostalgia of the lyrics lies a melody that mimics the very movement of the human heart: a searching climb, a suspended tension, and a desperate need for resolution.

As I’ve listened to those musical scales this year, I’ve found my heart searching for a meaning deeper than sentiment. I’ve been looking for the "cup o’ kindness" in a world defined by rifts—politics, religion, theology, and the behaviors we use as a front to keep others at a distance.

The Internal Scales

We are a people of the ledger. We carry internal scales that are finely tuned to the fairness of our injuries. We climb the notes of our own righteousness, weighing every rift. In our human logic, we often feel that burying the hatchet is a dangerous concession—as if by dropping our weapons, or consoling our feelings unto wholeness, we are permitting the injury or validating the wrong.

But "fair" is a heavy burden. It is the architect of the rift. As long as we are fond of fair, we stay back-to-back, guarding our fronts and waiting for the other side to own the problem first. We use our theology and our politics as armor, forgetting that while armor is designed to keep things out, it also traps us in.

The Scandalous Turning

The ministry of reconciliation is not a legal settlement; it is a return to Love. In the melody of Auld Lang Syne, there is a peak—a moment where the voice must reach for a note it cannot hold alone. This is the moment where we must drop our fondness for fair for the fondness of Christ within all.

This is the scandalous grace of the Gospel: that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them. He didn’t wait for us to drop the front; He walked right through it. To take the "cup o’ kindness" is to decide that the Christ in the person across from you is more real than the politics that divide you. It is a refusal to let the "broad roar of the seas" be the final word.

Not Amnesty, but Restoration

We aren’t after mere pardon or a temporary truce. Jesus wasn't after pardon, and we shouldn't be either. Pardon is just a stepping stone; the destination is restoration. When we turn toward each other, we aren’t just not fighting—we are being grafted.

Love doesn’t just ignore a multitude of injuries(or sin); it overcomes them. It is a higher physics that absorbs the "fair" and replaces it with the infinite. When we reach for that "trusty fiere" (that firm friend), we are acknowledging that we share the same blood, the same Spirit, and the same Home.

The Kiss of Justice and Peace

This year, healing will come between hearts because we are choosing to stop looking for reasons to turn away. We are searching, with a holy hunger, for reasons to turn toward.

When we look into this cup, we find a startling reflection. We expect to see the lonely image of our own, but the liquid acts as a mirror for the New Creation. In the reflection of the cup, the face of our brother and the face of our Christ become indistinguishable. We see that we are not holding a drink of individual reprieve, but a communal life.

In this reflection of the cup, Justice and Peace have kissed. Justice is satisfied because the "front" has finally been dropped in favor of the truth; Peace is realized because we have recognized Christ within our neighbor. The cup we lift is not a toast to our perfection, but a drink to our participation in a Love that keeps no record of wrongs.

So, we take a cup o’ kindness yet. Not because the rift didn't happen, and not because the injury wasn't real, but because we have found something—and Someone—worth more than the weight of being right.