When the Duke of Cumberland defeated the Jacobite army under “Bonnie Prince Charlie” at the Battle of Culloden in 1746, he and the government of his father, George II, initiated a harsh campaign designed to wipe out any remaining loyalty to the Stuart royal family. British troops marched through small Highland towns. Oaths of loyalty were demanded. Land and livestock were confiscated. Weapons were outlawed, and the clan tartans and plaids were forbidden in the Highlands. Children were required to pray for King George II. Oaths of loyalty were demanded. Breaking any of these laws meant six months in prison. A second offense mandated exile to the colonies as an indentured servant. In the brutal reality of the crackdown, families were starved and displaced, farmers shot in their fields, and scapegoats hung on the roadside.

The methods used by the victorious government had a different effect than intended. One author famously wrote that the Duke of Cumberland was doing more to win followers to the Jacobite cause than Prince Charlie ever had. Within months of his victory over the Jacobite army, the Duke of Cumberland had a new nickname: “Butcher Cumberland.” Although thousands of people were torn from their homes and sent over the ocean, never to return, those that did remain found ways to resist.

Not far from where I live is a pub on the island of Seil called Tigh an Truish. As an island, Seil wasn’t under the same ban on Highland dress. Scots from the island had to change into trousers before crossing over to work on the mainland, and they hung their kilts up in the pub before crossing the shallow sound. When they returned, they would exchange their trousers for kilts. Local legend has it that mainlanders might sometimes cross over to the island as well to wear their kilts and plaids freely. The name of Tigh an Truish translates to “The House of Trousers.”

Raising a glass to the king’s health as a sign of loyalty took on new meaning and weight in the days and years following the defeat of the Jacobites. Scots were required to toast King George II, the king who had banned their language and clothing and shattered their neighborhoods. Anyone who refused to raise their glass could face the wrath of the government. So some Scots took to placing a bowl or cup of water on the table. Bowls for washing one’s fingers were particularly useful for this. Now when they would raise their glasses, they made sure to pass the glass over the water. This way, they were no longer toasting the health of George II. They were instead toasting the “King over the water,” the king in exile. (Word eventually got out about this practice, and finger bowls were banned on royal tables in the United Kingdom until the 1840s.)

Highland culture would hold on in these and other subversive ways despite even greater upheaval and turbulence in the following years. It hung on long enough for story to change. The bans on dress and language and even weapons were repealed. In 1815, the great-grandson of George II (also named George) visited Edinburgh in Scotland. This George was prince regent at the time. He would later be crowned George IV. For his visit, he wore the fèileadh beag or “small kilt” his predecessor had forbidden. It was made with a specially-commissioned, custom-designed Scottish plaid.

As my family and I were sitting around the dinner table on a Friday night, we couldn’t help but be inspired by the broad strokes of this story. The girls had just experienced their first ceilidh dancing at school, a part of Scottish culture that grew out of the resurgence that came with George IV’s kilt. While we can’t pretend to have experienced persecution like that of the 18th century Scottish Highland people, we have felt the pangs of our own upheaval and fear. And we also know what it is like to serve a King who is not with us, a King who sometimes feel like He is separated from us by a great ocean while other voices demand our loyalty. How do you and I maintain our allegiance in the face of others who would assume His throne?

When Pilate asked Jesus if he was a king, Jesus replied that he was. But to clarify, Jesus said, “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my followers would fight for me.” Jesus stated unequivocally that violence would not be the way His followers would establish His Kingdom. By rejecting coersion and violence, Jesus opted for something more powerful and more pure. Jesus invited us to love one another. By creating a culture of love and care within his disciples, Christ could move outside of the coercive and oppressive structures of earthly kingdoms. He could offer those of us who follow Him a set of tools that could survive this world’s story of anger and hate long enough for that story to change. Or at least for our story to change.

So here is a toast to our King over the Water! I raise my glass to the One who walked on it, the One who cleanses me with it. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. While we wait for your return, I’ll put on the garments you’ve given me. I’ll dance to the song of your love, and I’ll welcome anyone who wishes to join!