Once again we are about to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, and as always there are detractors who insist that the St. Patrick of popular legend did not exist — or certainly no one who performed the wondrous deeds attributed to this man. Did he really lead the snakes out of Ireland? Does it really matter?
Great myths are part of the fabric of our tradition, and if they sustain us and bring us joy while causing no subsequent hardship to anyone else, they are to be encouraged and celebrated. Patrick is recognized as an Irish hero despite the doubts about his heritage. He is frequently portrayed as wearing green, and on March 17, the day of his death, we wear green as well. The day is marked by revelry and fun, and in many cities in America by parades. It is said that on March 17 everybody is Irish.
When I was growing up, we had saints for every occasion, and many of them have been disclaimed as we have become “enlightened.” Some of those disputed saints are my favorites.
While I admire St. Francis of Assisi for his goodness toward animals and the poor; St. Theresa for her virtue; St. Augustine for his brilliance; and St. Paul for his willingness to change direction, my hero saints are the ones most relevant to my life. For instance, I tend to be absentminded at times, and I often “misplace” objects such as keys, important papers, and things which I put away in safe places and later forget the whereabouts of those places. Therefore, St. Anthony, the patron saint of misplaced objects, is my special prayer recipient. He can be depended upon to jog my memory, and at times I’ve been convinced that he has moved a lost object to a place where I am likely to look. Even when I have looked in that spot, I am compelled to look again, and lo and behold! There it is where it was not. Now that’s my kind of miracle!
Another favorite of mine is St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. Even non-believers have been known to have his likeness on the dashboard to guide them on the dangerous highways. I named my youngest son Christopher, so imagine my dismay when I learned that as a saint Christopher may not have existed!
But then my Chris’ middle is Robin, so he’s named for a fictional character from a child’s nursery story, so that’s OK. My Christopher Robin is real. And I pray to St. Christopher each time I get behind the wheel. The latter may or may not be the real deal, but if I feel reassured, that’s got to be a good thing.
By the very act of praying, regardless of the recipient of our prayers, we are in communion with our heavenly Father, and if our petitions arrive “addressee unknown,” surely a divine interceptor forwards our messages to a Higher Authority, and they are carefully considered. Never does a sincere prayer go unanswered; we don’t always like the answer, but even when we have disagreed with the verdict, it turns out to be in our best interest in the long run.
Feel free to play and pray on the 17th and two days later you may celebrate St. Joseph’s Day, when the swallows return to Capistrano. Even they know how to observe a happy tradition. Who are we to argue with a species that spends a lifetime nearer to God than we? See you in church, and don’t forget your green.
Ann Dow writes from West Deptford.
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