I’d planned on posting this today, with an ‘Easter’ post tomorrow. But, although I’m not feeling as awful as I did Wednesday morning: that’s not going to happen.
It’s “nothing serious”. Probably the same “nothing serious” that’s been plaguing this household for a month and more. My temperature’s stayed below the 103° F threshold, so I’m a comparatively happy camper. And that’s another topic.
Now, about these cards: the first three are Victorian-era, part of this selection:
“…As with any art form, humor relies on knowledge of its social and historical context. Military motifs appear frequently in these quirky Victorian Easter cards. As Europe edged toward world war, is it possible that people needed to laugh at that which worried them sick? Humor generally doesn’t travel well to other cultures, not to mention other eras. Even so, these Easter cards are amusing, if not a little disturbing….”
I don’t find them disturbing, but my teens and the Sixties overlap almost exactly, and that’s yet another topic. Topics.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy these.
“…Beatniks and politics, nothin’ is new. A yardstick for lunatics, one point of view….”Rabbits riding chickens, led by a military hare. So many questions.
The fourth one: The text is “Happy Easter!” in Russian. This card was apparently published in the Russian Empire during the early 1900s, the Wikimedia Commons description dealing with intellectual property rights runs to nearly 300 words — but I’m pretty sure it’s in the public domain over here.
“Take me home, country roads”???
Finally, Easter is a very big deal.
I’ve talked about that before, and probably will again:
Minnesota drought conditions. (March 19, 2024; released March 21, 2024) via MN DNR
There’s a winter weather advisory in effect until 2:00 p.m. — but most of the snow has already fallen and/or gotten blown around.
I gather that three to five inches came down here. That’s three to five inches more than we had before. This has been an unusually warm and dry winter, so this snow is welcome. I hope it changes our status from “moderate drought” to merely “abnormally dry”.
I haven’t heard anything about my brother-in-law (February 7, 2024) — so I’ll assume that no news is good news, and that he can walk again.
Number-two daughter started radiation therapy March 11, so this is her third week of taking maybe three hours out of each weekday.
That situation has been uneventful, although I’m told that now everything has a metallic taste for her. Unpleasant, but probably not unexpected. The treated area is right under her chin. I’m just glad there hasn’t been nerve damage. Not serious damage, at any rate.
More good news: my son noticed a leaking pipe Saturday night, and we shut off water before some electronics in the area got damaged.
Even better, he rigged something that directed water away from the could-have-been-affected equipment. Long story short, we had running water again Sunday: and my wife had someone come in and fix the plumbing.
And best of all, heavy snowfall didn’t start until mid-morning, day before yesterday; so I got to Mass on Palm Sunday. There’s more weather forecast for the weekend, but I’m taking this one day at a time.
Holy Week, the time between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, is a very big deal. I’ll be talking about that later.
Caspar David Friedrich’s “Abtei im Eichwald”, “The Abbey in the Oakwood”. (1809-1810)
I did a Google search for [patron saint depression] the other day, and got this gem:
“How did the Saints deal with depression?” [redacted] [August 2023] “There is no evidence they had depression, they lived in faith, that Everything is controlled by God, and they accepted God’s Will in all …”
Not long before, someone in an online conversation had said ‘I’m dealing with depression, and need help’.
Along with potentially-helpful responses, someone chastised the supplicant. Seems that good Christians trust God and never experience such things as depression.
I’d done the Google search because I’d been asked to pray for someone who’s dealing with depression, and for someone else who’s suicidal.
About that: suicide is a bad idea and I shouldn’t do it. Nobody should. But giving up on someone who’s done it isn’t an option, not if I’m going to act as if what I believe matters. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2280-2283)
“We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.” (Catechism, 2283)
The reason suicide is a bad idea is, basically, that my life is precious. So is yours, and everyone’s: even when it doesn’t feel like it is. I’ll get back to that, very briefly, after listing a few resources. Starting with a phone number — 988 — and a web page.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline “…988 Lifeline is a national network of local crisis centers that provides free and confidential emotional support to people in suicidal crisis or emotional distress 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in the United States….”
Not everyone lives in the United States. And as important as crisis hotlines are: there’s more to life than crisis hotlines. With that in mind, here are a few resources:
Suicide Prevention (If you or someone you know is in crisis/What is suicide?/What are the warning signs of suicide?/What are the risk factors for suicide?/…) Mental Health Information, National Institute of Mental Health, National Institutes of Health
USCCB (United States Conference of Catholic Bishops)
“Youth Suicidal Behavior“, Daniel Brown, M.A., Art A. Bennett, M.A.; Frank J. Moncher, Ph.D.
Depression, Faith, and Making Decisions
Responding to someone’s plea for help with depression with “There is no evidence [that Saints] had depression, they lived in faith….” struck me as being about as helpful as giving a drowning man an anchor.
Maybe the person who wrote that really believes that someone who “has faith” can’t experience depression.
That’s not how it works.
Since I’m a Catholic, I think that believing is possible only through the grace of God, and workings of the Holy Spirit. And that it is something I do, using my intellect and my will: deliberately cooperating with God. (Catechism, 154-155)
There’s more to it. (Catechism 143-165, for starters)
Feelings, emotions, “passions” in Catholic-speak, are very real. And they’re an important part of being human. They connect “the life of the senses and the life of the mind”. (Catechism, 1763-1764)
By themselves, feelings aren’t good or bad. They’re just there. What I decide to do with my feelings: that’s where ethics, choosing between right and wrong, get involved. (Catechism, 1787-1770, 1776-1794, and more)
Whether I call depression a mental health disorder, psychiatric condition, or mood disorder: it’s real, and not the sort of blue mood that a good joke or a glass of lemonade can cure.
It’s also in the list of disorders I deal with, which include:
ADHD: Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, inattentive type
ASD: Autism spectrum disorder
Cluster A personality disorder
GAD: Generalized anxiety disorder
PDD: Persistent depressive disorder
PTSD: Post traumatic stress disorder
As I’ve said before, I’m a mess: but I keep trying to work with what I’ve got.
Assorted Saints
Some ‘lives of the Saints’ books give the impression that Saints were perfect people whose inhuman cheerfulness was matched only by their sappy soundbites. And who usually died of Victorian Novel Disease.
There really are Saints who fit that pattern, at least to an extent.
“…In 1857, 15-year-old Dominic contracted tuberculosis and was sent home to recover. He died shortly after his return.
“On his deathbed, Dominic prayed, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, assist me in my last agony!’ A change came over him and he sat up to say his final words: ‘What beautiful things I see!’…” (“March 9: Feast Day of St. Dominic Savio“, Clarion Herald, Official Newspaper of the Archdiocese of New Orleans (February 15, 2012))
I’m a very sentimental man, very emotional at any rate, and St. Dominic Savio’s last words inspire a homesickness of sorts: for a home I’ve never seen. But stories of the Saints like his aren’t the reason I became a Catholic, and that’s another topic.
Teresa of Ávila: Mystic and Troublemaker
Many Saints aren’t like Dominic Savio.
Teresa of Ávila was, among other things, a Carmelite nun who thought her order had gotten entirely too easy-going.
I think she was right, but quite a few of her fellow-nuns didn’t.
They’d gone through proper channels, getting official approval, when they eased up on the rules. Pope Eugene IV, for example, okayed rule changes about eating meat and being silent.
By Teresa’s time, about a century later, ‘observance lite’ wasn’t doing much to protect and strengthen the spirit and practice of prayer. That was Teresa’s view, anyway.2
The point I’m groping for is that Saints, even Saints who are famous mystics, don’t necessarily fit the ‘plaster statue’ stereotype.
Becoming a Saint
I’ll grant that Saints aren’t “normal”.
If they were, then they wouldn’t be Saints: or, rather, we’d all be Saints. Which would be nice, but isn’t going to happen, barring miracles; not just now, and I’m wandering off-topic.
This is as good a place as any for a (very) quick look at what makes someone a Saint.
“CANONIZATION: The solemn declaration by the Pope that a deceased member of the faithful may be proposed as a model and intercessor to the Christian faithful and venerated as a saint on the basis of the fact that the person lived a life of heroic virtue or remained faithful to God through martyrdom (828; cf. 957).
“SAINT: The ‘holy one’ who leads a life in union with God through the grace of Christ and receives the reward of eternal life. The Church is called the communion of saints, of the holy ones (823, 946; cf. 828). See Canonization.” (Glossary, Catechism of the Catholic Church)
Living “a life of heroic virtue” would be possible for someone who works up a sweat while turning a book’s pages.
But frailty isn’t required. Saint Peter was a fisherman before Jesus recruited him, and Pope Saint John Paul II enjoyed both skiing and kayaking.
As a Christian, my goal is — should be — becoming a Saint. Which doesn’t mean I should have a death wish, although Saints are, by definition, dead and in Heaven.
That reminds me: folks the Church recognizes as Saints are the officially canonized ones. After two millennia, it’s an extensive roster: but not a complete one.3 I’m about as sure as I can be about anything that there are a very great many unlisted Saints.
Cultural Legacies and a Disclaimer
Again, Saints aren’t your average Catholics. If they were, we’d be living in a very different world.
Some, like Hildegard of Bingen, weren’t exactly “average” in the sense of having nothing but living as if God matters to make them stand out. She was an administrator, author, composer, and scientist before “science” was a thing.
Others — well, living on a pillar where folks can watch them not eat will get attention, no matter what’s motivating the behavior.
I haven’t forgotten about Saints, depression, and making sense; but first I’ll take a quick look at Saints who chose unconventional career paths.
A very quick look, since I don’t feel up to sorting through my available resources.
Between a previous century’s taste for schmaltzy ‘lives of the Saints’, and living in a culture that’s been occasionally dominated by folks who think Henry VIII’s personal church is entirely too Popish4 — finding the Saint under the schmaltz and screed is a challenge.
So, with the disclaimer that these are sketchy descriptions, here goes:
João Duarte Cidade, AKA Saint John of God
“St. John of God”, 18th century painting.
St. John of God started life as João Duarte Cidade. He was kidnapped, seduced, or became the student of a priest — take your pick. Then he was a homeless orphan or apprenticed to a shepherd or maybe a farmer — again, take your pick.
The farmer wanted João to marry his daughter, but João signed up with Holy Roman Emperor Charles V’s army, under the Count of Oropesa.
After not being executed for alleged collusion in theft, he went back to the farm. Four years later, he re-joined the Count of Oropesa. A few stops after that, he was in Africa, herding sheep. Which gave him time to think.
Long story short, João renamed himself John of God, peddled books in Granada, where he listened to John of Ávila. Then — by standards of his day — he snapped.
The year was 1537.
Acting like a lunatic — publicly beating himself, begging for mercy, repenting his sins — got him dropped into a local loony bin. There he was chained, flogged, and starved: which was standard therapy at the time.
In my youth, he might have been lobotomized. Times change, and we learn: slowly, but we do learn.
John of Ávila had his own problems. He’d said that wealth doesn’t buy tickets to Heaven.
That offended the usual suspects, and got John of Ávila turned over to the Spanish Inquisition: but since the charges were bogus, that ended with his being cleared and released. The Spanish Inquisition — is yet another topic.
Long story short, João Duarte Cidade became a health care worker of sorts: suspected by decent folks, due to his mental health issues; supported by priests who realized that he was helping folks who needed help.
‘Stories of Seriously Sappy Saints’ don’t top my reading list. But I realize that some really did fit the swooning Saint stereotype.
One of those is Benedict Joseph Labre.
He was the oldest child of a well-to-do or middle class — like I said before, take your pick — family. As a child, Benedict was studious, and —
“…Even at that tender age he had begun to show a marked predilection for the spirit of mortification, with an aversion for the ordinary childish amusements, and he seems from the very dawning of reason to have had the liveliest horror for even the smallest sin. All this we are told was coexistent with a frank and open demeanor and a fund of cheerfulness which remained unabated to the end of his life….” (St. Benedict Joseph Labre, Catholic Encyclopedia (1910) via New Advent)
Already you know which way this is going.
Benedict tried to sign up with the Trappists, but didn’t qualify. Among other things, he was too “delicate”.
He didn’t, however, die during an epidemic that killed his uncle. They’d both been working with the sick and dying; so I figure that if nothing else, young Benedict had a robust immune system.
Two other monastic orders turned him down, so Benedict settled on becoming homeless.
‘Foolishness for Christ’ has precedents: like Alexius of Rome and Saint Roch. And we’ve got mendicant religious orders: focusing on working with the poor, relying entirely on handouts and the good will of neighbors.
Eventually, malnutrition and exhaustion caught up with Benedict. He died in April of 1783, after being taken — against his wishes — to a house behind the Santa Maria dei Monti in Rome.
There you have it: the intelligent son of a decent middle-class family turned his back on conventional values and rejected the materialistic mindset.
From some viewpoints, he must have been nuts.
Me? I grew up in the Sixties. I wasn’t, by a wide margin, the craziest of ‘those crazy kids’. But opting out of the rat race?6 It’s a decision I could and can understand.
Buying stuff I don’t need, with money I don’t have, to impress people I don’t like — never made sense to me.
Poverty, Terminal Illness, and Ham Sandwiches
Given my native culture’s assumptions, I’d better re-emphasize that world-class poverty and terminal illness are not what make Saints saintly.
It’s ‘living a life of heroic virtue or remaining faithful to God through martyrdom’.
Malnutrition can be a by-product of extreme focus on something other than keeping body and soul connected. But I’m not at all convinced that self-starvation is a good idea. Researching that would involve more time and energy that I have this week.
Maybe it’s not obvious, but I think Saints are genuinely holy folks. And I think visions really happen.
I also think that swoons are real, that they’re not necessarily visions, and that eating a ham sandwich or two can be a really good idea.
“…These swoons should be eliminated as much as possible; they should be resisted and the organism strengthened by more substantial food….” (“The Three Ages of the Interior Life: Prelude of Eternal Life,” Part 4, Ch. 51; Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange (1938-1939) via christianperfection.info)
Finally, about Saints and making sense —
Were John of God and Benedict Joseph Labre loonies? Maybe.
Are they Saints? Definitely.
Does than mean (all) Saints are crazy? Hardly.
Doing My Daily Prayers
Oh, boy. Knew I’d forgotten something.
An explanation for that prayer request I got.
One of the few things I can do for my neighbors is pray. That’s why I signed up for my parish’s intercessory prayer chain.
“Intercessory prayer” is a fancy name for praying on another person’s behalf. I think it makes sense: but I’ll grant that it assumes God, my neighbors, and me exist — that we’re all people — and that’s a whole mess of topics for another time.
The point is that I’ve got a pile of Post-it® notes in a file folder. Each has at least one prayer request on it. The pile is about halfway through my ‘daily prayers’ sheets. When a new request comes in, I put it on top of the pile, removing the oldest request.
I won’t claim that this is the best way to handle such things. But for me, it’s how I make sure I actually do my prayers each day.
It’s Friday afternoon as I’m writing this, so you’re in luck: there’s no time for a long look at prayer, prayers, praying, and all.
The short version is that prayer is important. It’s always possible. But it’s not always easy. (Catechism, 2697-2865)
There’s more about intercessory prayer, the Saints, and being part of a (huge) family of faith. (Catechism, 954-959)
But if I talk about that, there’ll be no time for the dark night of the soul.
Dark Night of the Soul
“The Light Amid the Darkness”, Father Brian Kolodiejchuk, Missionaries of Charity (June 30, 2010)
Saint John of the Cross — he’s one of 39 Doctors of the Church — they’re folks who’ve been recognized as significantly adding to what we know about what we believe — and if I go down that rabbit hole, I’ll still be writing this next week.
St. John of the Cross was in prison during the late 1570s. He was, from one viewpoint, conspiring with Teresa of Ávila: and that’s yet again another topic.
Or maybe not so much. A pattern I’ve noticed with Saints is that they often get in trouble with the powers that be. Then again, some of them were the powers that be.
The point is that time in prison gave St. John of the Cross time to think. Odds are very good that he sketched out his poem, “La noche oscura del alma”, then. In my language it’s called “Dark Night of the Soul”
A few years later, in 1584 and 1585, he explained the poem, one stanza at a time. It’s his “Declaración” treatise.7
I gather that one of the points in “Dark Night of the Soul” is that dry patches happen.
That knowledge is comforting.
Sometimes, — make that quite often — I don’t feel much like praying. Apparently it’s not just me. (Catechism, 2728, 2731)
I’m no Saint — that’s a goal and emphatically a work in progress — but “dark night of the soul” strikes a chord.
Doing what is needed at the moment, even though all the light and color has drained out of my world, has often been just the way things were. It’s been like that since my 12th year.
Happily, faith is a matter of the will and reason, not how I’m feeling at the moment.
“…The Moment Passed….”
Not everyone — and not all Saints — experience spiritual dryness, a stretch of life that’s singularly devoid of the emotional perks folks associate with ‘being spiritual’.
But some have.
And Mother Teresa of Calcutta may hold the world record for experiencing a spiritual ‘dry patch’.
It’s been a while since I’ve read expressions of shock and horror over a Saint not conforming to my culture’s notion of ‘being a Saint’. Can’t say that I miss them.
I was going to talk about Mother Teresa and her Missionaries of Charity,8 but it’s late: and I still have today’s prayers looming.
So here’s something Mother Teresa of Calcutta wrote:
“…Often I wonder what does really God get from me in this state — no faith, no love — not even in feelings. The other day I can’t tell you how bad I felt. — There was a moment when I nearly refused to accept. — Deliberately I took the Rosary and very slowly and without even meditating or thinking — I said it slowly and calmly. The moment passed — but the darkness is so dark, and the pain is so painful. — But I accept whatever He gives and I give whatever He takes. People say they are drawn closer to God — seeing my strong faith. — is this not deceiving people? Every time I have wanted to tell the truth — ‘that I have no faith’ — the words just do not come — my mouth remains closed. — And yet I still keep on smiling at God and all….” (Letter to Bishop Lawrence Trevor Picachy (September 1962), as quoted in “Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light” (2009) by Brian Kolodiejchuk, 2009, p. 238; via Wikiquote)
That’s the sort of faith I can take seriously: something that still works, even when emotions are pulling the other way, and starting prayers is an act of cold determination.
I’ve talked about that, and vaguely-related stuff, before:
Trappists (Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (Latin: Ordo Cisterciensis Strictioris Observantiae, formerly known as the Order of Reformed Cistercians of Our Lady of La Trappe)
“The Light Amid the Darkness“ Understanding the Heroic Faith and Love of Mother Teresa In View of Her Dark Night of the Soul, Father Brian Kolodiejchuk, Missionaries of Charity; Columbia Magazine; Knights of Columbus (June 30, 2010)
“Part of a Bronze Age settlement was uncovered at Must Farm quarry, at Whittlesey, near Peterborough, in Cambridgeshire, England. The site has been described as ‘Britain’s Pompeii’ due to its relatively good condition, including the ‘best-preserved Bronze Age dwellings ever found’ there, which all appear to have been abandoned suddenly following a catastrophic fire. Research now suggests that the site was less than one year old at the time of destruction….”
And see:
Must Farm Project Department of Archaeology, University of Cambridge
Must Farm Cambridge Archeological Unit, Forterra, Historic England, University of Cambridge
Now I’d better get back to work on this week’s post.
St. Patrick’s Day is a public holiday in Ireland (Republic of and Northern), Newfoundland, Labrador, and Montserrat.
It’s a day when folks wear something green. I’ve heard that some even drink green beer. Why anyone would think green beer is a good idea is beyond me, and that’s another topic.
Chicago celebrates by turning the city’s river green.
If today’s holiday post looks familiar, maybe you’re remembering the one I wrote three years back.
This one was going to be shorter. But aside from eschewing asides about Ptronius Maxiums, a Roman Emperor whose body got tossed in the Tiber, and Suffolk County’s Evacuation Day1 — fact is, I ended up adding a few paragraphs, and polishing the rest:
St. Patrick’s Day is a holiday that a fair number of folks celebrate.
I don’t have a problem with celebration as such. Merriment, however, has its critics.
St. Patrick’s Day has been denounced as:
Causing drunk and disorderly conduct
Being commercialized
Involving cultural appropriation
Promulgating anti-Irish stereotypes by means of leprechaun imagery
You can’t make this stuff up, and I talked about it back in 2021.
Then there’s the leprechaun issue. Seems that today’s leprechaun looks like 19th century anti-Irish stereotypes. Maybe so. Then again, maybe not.
Either way, I see no point in being upset when folks enjoy ‘being Irish’ for a day.
So I won’t rage against the dying of the light, pillory “plastic paddyness”, or express shock and horror over Chicago’s fleetingly green river.
About that: I don’t know, haven’t checked, and don’t care, whether some hyperventilating eco-warrior has been trying to save the beavers this year by abolishing a Chicago tradition.
The Chicago River turns green on the Saturday before St. Patrick’s Day, or on the day itself, when it falls on Saturday.
It’s been a Chicago tradition since 1962.
It started back in the early 1960s, when folks used fluorescein dye to trace illegal pollution leaks in Chicago. The stuff turned parts of the river green.
Doing so intentionally for St. Patrick’s Day seemed like a good idea at the time.
The EPA told Chicago to stop using fluorescein in 1966. The stuff’s not, apparently, environmentally friendly.
These days, the city’s plumbers turn the river green with a secret mix of vegetable dyes. The EPA’s okay with that.
At least one advocacy group wasn’t.
I see their point. A bright green river has an artificial look.2
Protest, Perspectives, and — King Lear?!
“Chicago River at Dusk”. Photo by Alex Goykhman.
But, festive green or no festive green, making Chicago’s river look natural isn’t going to happen: not while the city’s still there.
Moving along.
How come I’m not passionately protesting for or against something holiday-related?
Mainly it’s because I’m not outraged. Not about green beer and leprechauns, at any rate. And since I like being part-Irish, one of the last things I’d want is folks being forced to celebrate Irish heritage. That way lies madness.
Or, as Shakespeare’s King Lear said:
“…To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all! O, that way madness lies; let me shun that! No more of that.” (“King Lear“, Act III, Scene IV; William Shakespeare (1605? 1606?)) [emphasis mine]
Basically, folks ‘being Irish’ for one day a year doesn’t offend me. Maybe because I’m nowhere near pure Irish-American. Or pure whatever-American, for that matter.
Previous Prickly Problems
Alma White’s “Guardians of Liberty” defending their country against people like me. (1926)
Before talking about the “Saint Patrick” part of St. Patrick’s Day, maybe a clarification is in order. Or maybe not. Either way, here it is.
Today’s America isn’t simple.
Neither was yesteryear’s.
I could take that 1854 “No Irish need apply” want ad and Boston’s 1876 St. Patrick’s Day parade, assume a straight-line progression into the 20th century: and express shocked horror that A. White — I’m not making that name up — published “Klansmen: Guardians of Liberty” in 1926.
I could, but I won’t.
Or I could take the “Saint Patrick’s Day in America — 1926” cartoon as proof that Christianity in general, and American Christians in particular, are a threat to society.
That doesn’t strike me as reasonable.
For one thing, A. White, her Pillar of Fire Church, and the KKK’s second iteration, were not mainstream in 1926.
To her credit, A. White struggled long and hard in her efforts to defend America against folks like my father’s father. And me. I’ll assume that she sincerely saw Catholicism, Pentecostalism, the Irish, Jews, and foreigners in general, as threats to her native land.
I’ll also assume that A. White wasn’t your typical 1920s American. Or typical Protestant American, which isn’t quite the same thing.
Some of us were making speakeasies profitable and fueling her “anti-prohibition” concerns. Quite a few, judging from what I know of Minnesota 13.3 And that’s yet another topic.
I see people as anything but simple. America’s growing crazy quilt of people, backgrounds and beliefs? That’s even less so.
“…I am a Sinner” — St. Patrick, Shamrocks and All That
First lines of St. Patrick’s Confessio, in a Medieval collection. (ca. 1100)
“My name is Patrick… “I am a sinner, a simple country person, and the least of all believers. I am looked down upon by many….” (St. Patrick’s Confessio, English translation at confessio.ie)
Many scholars agree that St. Patrick wrote his Confessio and Epistola, Declaration and the Letter to the soldiers of Coroticus.
He calls himself as Pātricius in those documents. Which figures, since that’s a Latin version of Pátraic (Old Irish), Pàdraig (Scottish Gaelic), Padrig (Welsh) and Petroc (Cornish).
Or, in my language, Patrick.
Evidence in what Pātricius wrote says he lived in the 400s. Give or take a bit.
Pātricius may have been, by today’s ethnic standards, Roman, Welsh, Cornish, or Celtic. Or some combination thereof.
What’s more certain is that he was born somewhere in Britannia: an imperial borderland abandoned — or liberated — when Roman generals pulled out.
Documentation for that era is sketchy. Hardly surprising, given that folks were adjusting to life without Rome’s laws and commerce. But adjust they did. And by the seventh century, Pātricius was venerated as the patron Saint of Ireland.
There’s considerable debate over St. Patrick’s chronology.
But not, apparently, over whether or not someone named Pātricius was kidnapped, sold as a slave and then became a missionary. One scholar even said there were two Patricks.
Another debatable, and debated, point is whether Pātricius was the first Christian missionary in Ireland.
There’s a story about Saint Ciarán of Saigir that makes him the first. By a few years. Maybe that’s so, maybe not. What’s more certain is that St. Ciarán of Saigir was born in Ireland, which makes him the first Saint born in Éire.4
Shamrocks
St. Patrick and the shamrock are very closely linked. Even folks who aren’t Catholic know how he used the plant as a visual aid when explaining the Trinity.
It’s a good story, and may be true. But verifying it would be tricky, since its first written version pops up in 1727.
That’s when Caleb Threlkeld, a botanist and dissenting cleric, said that the shamrock is a particular sort of clover.
“…This plant is worn by the people in their hats upon the 17. Day of March yearly, (which is called St. Patrick’s Day.) It being a current tradition, that by this Three Leafed Grass, he emblematically set forth to them the Mystery of the Holy Trinity. However that be, when they wet their Seamar-oge, they often commit excess in liquor, which is not a right keeping of a day to the Lord; error generally leading to debauchery….” (“Synopsis Stirpium Hibernicarum…,” p. 168, Caleb Threlkeld (1727))
I’m not sure what Threlkeld was dissenting from.
I’m also not sure how long Threlkeld’s “current tradition” about St. Patrick’s shamrock had been around. For all I know, it’s an oral tradition that goes back to folks who saw St. Patrick pick a three-leafed plant while talking about the Trinity.
Over the last several centuries, the shamrock’s been positively identified5 as:
Black medick
Lesser clover
Purple field clover
Red clover
Suckling clover
White clover
Wood sorrel
I figure it’s one of those. Or some other plant with three-lobed leaves.
Or maybe the legend of St. Patrick and the shamrock is one of those tales that could have been true, but isn’t. Not literally, at any rate.
Legends and a Forbidden Pit
St. Patrick’s driving snakes out of Ireland has a ring of truth to it, since Ireland has no native snakes.
The legend is more than a bit dubious, though, since we’ve been learning that there never were snakes in Ireland. Not since the most recent glaciers melted.
Another story has St. Patrick comparing Christianity and Ireland’s pre-Christian beliefs with Caílte mac Rónáin and Oisín, a couple of Irishmen from Fionn mac Cumhaill’s outfit.
Cool story, but I gather that it’d be a bit like Billy Graham having a chat with Thomas Paine and Ethan Allen.
The ancient Irish heroes had been long dead when Pātricius was born. Besides; the Pat, Caílte, and Oisín, story doesn’t show up until the 12th century.
Still another story says that St. Patrick had the habit of pushing his walking stick into the ground wherever he stopped to talk to folks.
The locals in one place didn’t catch on to what St. Patrick was saying for a long time, but kept listening. By the time they got the message, his ash walking stick had taken root and become a tree.
Literally true, or hyperbole? I’m guessing the latter.
Then there’s Lough Derg’s Station Island, in County Donegal. It’s been a pilgrimage destination since the 5th century. Folks go to be near a cave, pit, well, or maybe sweat lodge, where St. Patrick stayed for what we’d call a retreat.
The earliest record we have of a legend connected with “St. Patrick’s Purgatory” dates to the 12th century. Again, we’re quite sure that folks started making pilgrimages to the place in the 5th century.
The cave’s been closed since 1632, by order of the English government. But we know where “St. Patrick’s Purgatory” is, and pilgrims still go there.6
Saints
Some Saints, like Sts. Patrick of Ireland and Francis of Assisi, are so famous that folks who aren’t Catholic know about them.
Others, like St. Edmund Arrowsmith, are off the radar for almost everyone.
And some, like St. Christopher, are famous but not well-documented.
Which is why his feast day is still celebrated, but hasn’t been on the official calendar since 1970. That, plus our having accumulated a great many saints over the last couple millennia and our mandate to keep liturgy focused on Jesus.
Some Saints, like Edmund Arrowsmith, had messy deaths. He was convicted of being a Roman Catholic priest in 1628; then promptly hung, drawn and quartered.
Others, like Pātricius and Francesco, kept living until accident, disease or old age caught up with them.
What makes Saints special is their “heroic virtue,” and how they “lived in fidelity to God’s grace….” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 828)
Like I said, martyrdom is Sainthood’s fast track. But folks who lived exceptional lives and died of natural causes were venerated as Saints at least by the fourth century.
Our process for recognizing Saints — canonization — has changed considerably. By the fifth century, public veneration of a Saint needed approval from a diocese’s bishop. That worked pretty well for a half-millennium.
But by the 12th century at least a few bishops and archbishops were getting sloppy, approving veneration in at least one case for someone who died in an accident caused by the Medieval equivalent of DUI.
Authority for signing off on veneration shifted to the Pope.7
Which reminds me of St. Patrick’s Day, beer, and celebrating.
Drinking, in moderation, isn’t evil. Getting drunk is a bad idea and I shouldn’t do it. (Catechism, 2290)
Due Process
Today’s canonization process includes two miracles: verifiable miracles. Not oddities like the ones spoofed in a 1992 comic strip.
The process begins with someone asking an archbishop to start looking into a possible Saint’s eligibility.
All three major steps — “Venerable,” “Blessed” and “Saint” — involve extensive background checks.8 It’s complicated, and can be frustrating.
But I think due process is a good idea in general. And a really good idea for canonization.
New and Improved Folklore
I very strongly suspect that St. Patrick’s folklore is still growing.
According to informal posts I’ve found on academic websites, his name isn’t Pātricius, it’s Maewyn Succat. It’s apparently one of those ‘well-known facts’: so well-known that its source isn’t worth citing.
When, where, and how, someone dug up Patrick’s ‘true name’ — that, I don’t know.
Maybe Pātricius was Maewyn Succat in his home town, taking a more widely-acceptable — or pronounceable — name for his career. Sort of like someone I knew whose name was Bogdan: but since he was in sales, his business name was “Bob.”
A less likely, but far more juicy, story popped up in 2011. Maybe earlier.
Apparently Pātricius couldn’t, according to a scholar or two, have been enslaved: because he couldn’t have escaped. That almost makes sense, since going over the fence in a foreign country would be tricky, at best.
One version of the ‘no escape’ scenario casts Pātricius as a Roman slave trader!9
But nobody, as far as I can tell, has said that Pātricius wrote plays, hiding the scripts in London, where they were discovered by Christopher Marlowe. Who translated and published them as William Shakespeare.
As I’ve said before, some things may be too weird even for today’s academia:
There’s more to say about Saints, veneration and the ‘treasury of the Church’, which isn’t cash or other material assents. But that’ll wait for another day.
Something new each Saturday.
Life, the universe and my circumstances permitting. I'm focusing on 'family stories' at the moment. ("A Change of Pace: Family Stories" (11/23/2024))
I was born in 1951. I'm a husband, father and grandfather. One of the kids graduated from college in December, 2008, and is helping her husband run businesses and raise my granddaughter; another is a cartoonist and artist; #3 daughter is a writer; my son is developing a digital game with #3 and #1 daughters. I'm also a writer and artist.
I live in Minnesota, in America's Central Time Zone. This blog is on UTC/Greenwich time.
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Blog - David Torkington
Spiritual theologian, author and speaker, specializing in prayer, Christian spirituality and mystical theology [the kind that makes sense-BHG]
