Tip of My Iceberg

photo courtesy of Eyestetix Studio on Unsplash

When I was a young mom, I loved the idea of making St. Patrick’s Day fun for the kids by creating green-themed meals, like green pancakes and green mashed potatoes (and reading Dr. Seuss’ “Green Eggs and Ham”). (Nobody told me that green food was unappetizing.) We’d look for four-leaf clovers, and everyone wore something green. Growing up in the Chicago area, the city dyed the Chicago River green every St. Patrick’s Day. It was years before I knew the true story behind the man whose death is celebrated on March 17.

Born in Scotland in 385 AD when all of Britain was under Roman rule, Maewyn Succat experienced much grief in his young life. He was kidnapped, by Irish pirates, smuggled to Ireland at the age of fifteen, and sold as a slave to a cattle and swine herder. For six years, he tolerated harsh treatment and horrific living conditions, longing to escape, more self-absorbed with his pain and discomfort than anything else. He’d been raised by parents who believed in the love and salvation of Jesus, and as he worked, he’d remember their voices speaking to him of hope and life.

One evening, when it seemed like he’d never be free again, he gave up his resistance and asked Jesus to forgive his sins. For the first time, he felt truly free. A short while later, he dreamed a ship was waiting for him, so he managed to escape and began the two-year trek home, where he finally made it back to his loving family. He settled into life back home, eventually becoming a priest. It was during his religious training that he took the name Patricius, the Latin form of Patrick, which means “father figure”.

After a time, Patrick felt called to go back to Ireland to preach the gospel to the Druids there. His family and friends were against it–nobody thought the Druids worth saving. But he persisted, spreading the good news of Jesus across Ireland, and also teaching the people how to read and write. He underwent much persecution everywhere he went, being beaten, enslaved again, and poisoned. He never tired of sharing the love of Jesus with the Irish, right up until his death on March 17, 461.

We’ve become obsessed with leprechauns, good-luck charms such as shamrocks, and green beer to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Or we do our best imitation of Riverdance, which is Irish stepdancing. Or it’s ignored as one of those minor holidays no one thinks about. What fascinates me is this man, whose life was so challenging found hope and purpose that motivated him to the end of his days.

It seems only fitting that I leave you with this Irish blessing:

“May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

The rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again (or for the first time),

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.”