The Stone of Scone:
A Christmas Tale
Essay Posted December 25, 2007 by James E. Nelson
By this point pretty much everything that we want to hear about Christmas has been said. Don’t get me wrong. Hearing and pondering the Nativity story are most excellent things, but I suspect you don’t need yet another overwrought observation on the subject from me. So if you are still longing to hear more about the Nativity, I recommend you stop reading now and point your browser here, to John Chrysostom's Nativity homily. Even in Bible College I was taught that Chrysostom (his last name literally means “Golden Mouth”) was the greatest preacher in the whole history of the church. Given his credentials, the Nativity homily is sort of like the last word on the subject. (If you really need a last word beyond what the evangelists Luke and John have to say.)
But this leaves me with a problem. Now that I’ve disposed of the expected yule-tide blather, what does one write about, other than a helping of “peace on earth” with a side dish of “Ho! Ho! Ho!”, on Dec. 25?
Let’s hearken back to a kinder and gentler time a half century ago when political terrorism took the form of fraternity pranks. It was fifty-seven years ago today when the Stone of Scone (pronounced “skuin”—talk like a Scot, and you’ve got it), as it was sometimes called, was freed from its English captivity and returned for fifteen or sixteen months to its rightful home in Scotland.
The story begins about 4,000 B.C.E. when Jacob used the stone as a pillow and had a vision of angels. (Or so the legend goes. You see, the Stone is also sometimes called the “Stone of Jacob”).
For some odd reason the family kept the stone in the garage (or the attic—the legend is fuzzy on this point) until the nation of Israel was carted off to Babylon. At that point, the prophet Jeremiah, his sidekick Baruch, and their merry band of followers who weren’t carted off to Babylon (this is the supposed lost tribe of Israel), brought the stone down from the attic (along with a couple of family albums) and carried them from Palestine across north Africa to the Iberian peninsula (where they stopped to rest for a while), and finally north through France, across the English Channel, and on to Scotland.
The fact that the Stone of Scone is a type of red sandstone native to the British Isles makes the miracle of Jacob’s stone and its journey from the Middle East even more remarkable! (No word on what happened to the photo albums, but my guess is that the damp climate of the Isles didn’t offer the photos any kindness.)
The trail of the Stone of Scone grows cold until the time of the Gaels (who came across from Ireland to Scotland in search of a good pillow). The story is that the Gaels were the first to use it as a coronation stone. An alternative story claims that the missionary St. Columba carried it with him and used it as an altar when he served the Eucharist to his converts. (Which version of the story is correct is up for debate. But, as an editorial aside, it seems to me that this is the least of this story’s problems.)
Lest you think this tale a complete figment of my imagination, the legend of Jacob’s stone, aka, the Stone of Scone, is part and parcel of the truly weird theological tradition called British Zionism, which had it’s zenith during the heyday of the British Empire. This interpretation of scripture insists that Jeremiah, after he was released from captivity, gathered up “the lost Hebrew tribe” and migrated east, eventually ending up in Britain. Thus the Brits and their limey Empire are the true Jews and true inheritors of the Old Testament promises and prophecies.
The defeat of the British Empire put both God and British Zionism in a bad light, so in it’s place, the Americans came up with “Manifest Destiny”—a uniquely American twist on the “we’re the real chosen people” theme, which not only rehabilitated God’s image as being on the winning side (he’s an American now, instead of a Brit), but also gave the Americans an excuse to go mucking about the planet as the Brits had previously . . . But I digress.
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Legend and weird theology aside, it is known that Kenneth MacAlpin, the first King of Scots, was crowned on this very stone in the mid 9th century, and every Scottish King since had his coronation on the same stone. The Scots were—and are—right proud of their Stone of Scone, although the Scots suffered their own day of infamy in 1296 when the English king Edward I captured it and took it back to England. A special throne was built with a shelf for the stone underneath the seat. From the 14th century on, English monarchs were crowned on the stone, in part to prove their role as “Lord Paramount” of Scotland, and their superiority to and authority over the Scottish King.
And so the story of the Stone of Scone came to an end . . .
. . . until Christmas Day in 1950 when four young Scots stole the Stone right out of Westminster Abbey, and through a comedy of errors (including the Stone breaking in two), returned it to Scotland. There was no joy in Mudville on that fateful Christmas day, although the Scots were rejoicing that their Stone had been returned home.
Not only had the English stolen the coronation stone seven centuries prior, they evidently stole the best police department in the British Isles, and possibly in all of Europe. (How else can you explain that Scotland Yard is actually located in London, but truth be told, all the best English stuff turns out to be Scottish in the end.) Scotland Yard was immediately put on the case, and the Stone was now too hot for the four young lads to hold on to. Convinced that the Scottish Kirk would not turn coat, they left the Stone at the altar of Arbroath Abbey, assuming that the loyal folks at the Kirk would not tell Scotland Yard (who weren’t Scottish at all, but mere Englishmen in funny hats) and keep the stone safe forevermore in Scotland.
But the officials of the Kirk did indeed inform the English, and the Stone was returned to Westminster Abbey after fifteen truly blessed months of residency back in Scotland.
The story does have a happy ending. In 1996 the Stone of Scone was removed from Westminster Abbey and returned to Scotland. It’s new home is in Edinburgh Castle. In spite of this 700 year travesty, the Scots are a forgiving folk, and have agreed to allow the Stone of Scone to be returned to Westminster Abbey for the coronation of the next monarch.
And thus we are left with the eternal question: After Queen Elizabeth goes the way of all human flesh and Charles (or William, or William’s grandson—after all, it appears the Queen may live forever), is finally crowned King of the Realm, will those thieving Englishmen return the Stone to Edinburgh Castle, or will they leave it under lock and key in Westminster Abbey for another 700 years?
If that should happen, we citizens of the world who love freedom, liberty, and a good mystery tale, can only hope that another generation of young Scots will rise to the challenge, and on another Christmas morn, will once again cast off the shackles of English tyranny and deliver the Stone to its rightful home.
Except, next time try not to break the thing in two, like you did the last time. Okay laddies?
Copyright © 2007 James E. Nelson (Just Another Jim). All Rights Reserved.
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