“When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure ‘tis like the morn in Spring…”
Sure it is. Cloudy.
Cold. With just a hint of the bitter wind of Winter still in the
air. Wait a minute. That’s my
eyes I’m talking about. Sorry, I guess I got confused again. Oh,
I’m Irish alright, but most of you probably wouldn’t accuse my eyes of smiling
a lot. I’m more like Eeyore, “And a good day to you too. If it
is a good day. Which I doubt”.
But all that aside, I really am Irish. My Great-grandfather
Horner was born in County Armagh in the North.
He was the patriarch of an extended family who settled in the “Cherokee
Strip” in Oklahoma Territory in 1894. My
Great-grandfather Dunlavy arrived here much earlier and settled his family
in the Stephen F. Austin Colony in Texas sometime around 1832. So being solidly descended from the “Wild
Geese,” today is a good day for me without doubt. Even though here in Wyandotte
it’s cloudy, cold, a mist in the air with that subtle hint that Winter isn’t
quite gone yet, my Irish eyes are smiling anyway.
Thanks to the large emigration of brothers,
cousins, and countless friends from Ireland to the US in the 1800’s,
today—Saint Patrick’s Day—is still one of the more joyful holidays we
celebrate. It’s known for parades, parties, corned beef and cabbage, and
of course, green beer. (Unfortunately I’ve reached an age where green
beer doesn’t sit that well with me, but the Sergeant Major just told me she
thinks there’s some green bologna in the back of the fridge somewhere.)
St Patrick, though, was
actually British. He was born to Roman parents in the vicinity of the
England/Scotland border. While in his teens, he was kidnapped and taken
to Ireland by Niall of the Nine Hostages. (What a great name for a
terrorist, huh?) Anyway, Niall sold him for a few bucks, and his new owner put
him to work as a shepherd. For six years he lived alone with only his
sheep for company. Not much else is known of this period of his life, as
even then, people did not find it comfortable to talk about lonely teenage boys
and their sheep. But at some point, he began to hear a voice from
God. Go figure.
Anyway, the voice told him
that the time had come for him to escape, “See, your ship is ready”. Patrick
looked down the mountain but couldn’t see any ship. He couldn’t even see
the sea for that matter, so he started walking. Some 200 miles later he
came to the sea, and sure enough there was a ship. He got on it, and
sailed back to Briton where he was immediately captured by another band of
terrorists and sold back into slavery. The voice in his head told him
just to go with it for a couple of months and it would be OK. And so it
was.
He spent the next seven years just
banging around Europe trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his
life. After getting his fill of German beer, French cheese, and Italian
spaghetti, he decided that he would become a true servant of God. He
entered a monastery to study, and eventually returned to England as a
priest.
Meanwhile, back in Ireland,
the few Christians who were there were really having a bad time of it at the
hands of the Druids. It seems these Druids could really hit the “threes”,
and the Christians just weren’t able to get it through the hoop. (Hey,
it’s March, right?) So they called back to the Pope to see if he had anybody
on the bench who might be able to contribute. The Pope calls out Patrick,
makes him a Bishop, and sends him into the game.
They had a little success
then, converting Dichu, a major landowner, to the Christian side, and they
played defense OK, but the offense just couldn’t seem to get untracked.
Around Easter time, they decided to let it all hang out, and built a large
bonfire in honor of Easter. Now, this may not sound like much, except
that the Druids reserved the lighting of the first bonfire of Spring for their
High King, a guy named Laoghaire. To say they were some kind of pissed
off is to put it mildly. Things really got physical then, but Patrick
kept his cool, impressing the King, who gave him a chance to speak.
Patrick explained to the King,
that unlike the Druids who believed that there were many gods in nature, the
Christians only believed in one God who had three personalities—the Father, the
Son, and the Holy Spirit. Well, the Druids just fell out. They were
standing there laughing their asses off, when Patrick quickly reached down to
the ground and pulled up a sprig of clover. He pointed out to
Laoghaire: “Here. There is one stem, but there are three leaves
on it. So it is with the Blessed Trinity. There is one God, but
three persons stemming from the same divinity”.
Laoghaire was mightily impressed, and didn’t even ask what
Patrick would have done if he’d grabbed a four-leaf clover instead. So he
gave Patrick permission to travel throughout Ireland preaching the gospel of
Christ. He did indeed win many converts, the Dunlavy’s among them, and
legend has it that God granted him his one request—that the Irish would keep
their faith for all time and that they be spared the horrors of Judgment
Day. When that day comes it will be Saint Patrick himself who will judge
us. (Now you know why I made such a big deal of establishing my Irish
bona fides.)
The story ends on this day—March 17—in
the year 461 AD. Patrick went to be with
his Lord, and we Irish choose this day to honor his life.
“May the road rise up to meet
you.
May the wind be always at your back.May the sun shine warm upon your face.
May the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.”
--Old Irish Blessing
