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At one time people from Glasgow and the West of Scotland seemed to have sectarianism in their genes. In the street where I grew up lived Mrs Tolley (not her real name) who was a matron in the Orange Lodge. She stayed next door to a Roman Catholic family, and Sunday to Friday they got on fine. But on a Saturday morning Sandra Tolley would affirm her true colours by opening her windows, turning on the record player and blasting The Sash My Father Wore into the somnolent neighbourhood. Fifty years on, there is much less rancour. People of different religious persuasions have learned to live peaceably. But sometimes genetically modified sectarianism raises its head, as last Friday when, in Glasgow, a small but officially sanctioned march in favour of Irish Unification was disrupted by loyalists, and riot police had to be brought in. You might wonder why such a march should provoke that degree of hostility, but the West of Scotland has a long history with Ireland. Ireland, after all was the first exercise in British colonialism. It was colonised by the English in 1169, and in the mid 17th century Scottish Presbyterians were involved in running the Ulster plantation (as it was known) and subduing the Catholic natives. In subsequent centuries waves of poor Irish emigrants crossed the sea to find work in industrial Glasgow. But why - when things have been calm - should sectarian songs be bellowed in Sauchiehall Street (as I heard on Saturday)? And why should loyalists disrupt an otherwise peaceful demonstration. Is there something in the water? Or is there something in the present era which evokes a fondness for our imperial past? A few years ago when working on a project for one of the peacemaking organisations in Ireland I stumbled across an incident in the Gospels in which Jesus - who is always saying Yes - actually says No. His disciples had gone into a non-Jewish area, a Samaritan town, to prepare for his arrival. When they realised that the townspeople didn't want to be evangelised, they asked Jesus to let them call down fire from heaven to destroy the inhospitable people. But he forbade it. We are not told why, but there may be a clue in that soon after this incident, Jesus tells the story which we call the Good Samaritan, a story which - among other things - is about how empathy is the antidote to animosity. And how the good of others sometimes requires the sacrifice of our favoured ideology.