Saint Patrick 1600 Years Later

The Irish came over to the United States in huge numbers in the mid 1800's during and after the famine. Irish priests followed in an effort to care for the souls of those who left. Most of the immigrants had lived in Irish rural settings with laws that suppressed Catholic faith practice; many of the immigrants were not well schooled in their own faith. Met here with extreme prejudice like most groups of poor uneducated immigrants, the Irish flocked together and worked hard to become Americans.

Many got a jump start to citizenship by joining in the Civil War—signing up literally right off the boat. Many of the Irish had a propensity towards tough physical labor and joined the railroads. Taking these tough jobs earned the Irish some much needed respect, but they still needed to band together to get a footing in their new home. The one occupation most of the Irish seemed to avoid was farming, having just come from the failed potato patches that their families had “leased.”

It’s pretty certain that Saint Patrick did not drive out the snakes from Ireland. But it is fairly certain that the faith of the Irish was God’s gift carried over by Saint Patrick and many others in the centuries following his mission. Patrick’s gift helped hold the Irish together in the toughest of times under the rule of the English and helped those post-famine Americans in the tenements of New York, Boston and other cities. While we, both Irish and non-Irish alike, may hold up a glass to celebrate the day, I’d like to make my own toast to the Irish priests and sisters who helped “civilize” many of us both Irish and Irish alike in the path of Saint Patrick. May the generosity and sacrifice of Saint Patrick and these good people live on another 1600 years.

Saint Patrick's Breastplate

I love Saint Patrick's Breastplate because it is a dramatic, kind of desperate prayer to match the life of the great Saint. The famous prayer commonly called Saint Patrick’s Breastplate, traditionally attributed to him, is beautiful, yet simply written. The prayer does not appear in Patrick’s meager writings, but it has been handed down over the centuries and can be found in many different variations today. It speaks for those of us today who see and seek divine strength and intervention in daily life. A small part of the prayer follows:

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun
Brilliance of moon
Splendor of fire
Speed of lightning
Swiftness of wind
Depth of sea
Stability of earth
Firmness of rock.
I arise today
Through God’s strength to pilot me:
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s way to lie before me,
God’s host to secure me
against snares of devils
against temptations of vices
against inclinations of nature
against everyone who shall wish me ill,
afar and anear,
alone and in a crowd.

Approaching Saint Patrick's Day

It is my view that Saint Patrick should be appreciated for his courage, his simplicity and his incredible legacy of success. Kidnapped as a young man from Roman Britain, Patrick was desperately afraid of imminent death as he literally "slaved" away as a shepherd in the fields of Ireland as a young captive. His famous prayer is not some delicate little verse, but a heartfelt almost desperate appeal to God for protection--he didn't just ask for a helping hand, he wanted to be surrounded by Christ as he went about his business. And Patrick did go about his business. After reaching safety at home following years in captivity, he decided that he must go back to face the pagan Irish to convert them.

Unlike the learned Saint Augustine who wrote the foundational work on the Trinity, Saint Patrick was said to have explained it simply to his pagan Irish audience using a clover. It worked. Patrick's life is surrounded in rich traditional stories although there is little we know with certainty. We do know that Patrick and many brave priests that followed him were able to convert the Irish without bloodshed. We also know that fifteen hundred years after Patrick, his legacy spread throughout the United States. Following the almost unfathomable exodus of Irish from their homeland to a new home in North America, the Irish Priests and Sisters followed to make a superb mark on our society here by throwing themselves into their work with the same zeal and courage as Saint Patrick himself.

Don't Wait too Long

In my personal experience, the Irish can be a bit pig-headed and stubborn. They can hold grudges against others, but they can also punish themselves unmercifully with equal determination. They can hold onto guilt and emotionally limp through life. Today, some Irish who are Catholic want to blame their religion for much of this guilt, but there are outlets for expelling the guilt in the faith itself and doing it sooner rather than later is best. We all know that it's best to get rid of the guilt and get on with the next challenge.

A dear relative of mine at the age of 65 told me that he had screwed things up in his life when he was a teenager. Rather than put that guilt to bed, he held it close at hand for a fifty years. It became his personal mantra -- I screwed up then and I can't get anything right since. Unfortunately, it also led to him holding the bar very low in terms of his own behavior. He really hadn’t even done anything so terrible, but he could never see himself with a clean slate.

How many people do we know who have done the same thing? Certainly, I can count myself in their number. What are we holding onto ourselves that needs to be put to rest. As another of my relatives used to advise me, “leave it to the man upstairs.” Admit your mistake and move on. Moving on is just as important as admitting your mistake. There is no need to go through life chained to our sins like the ghost of Marley in the Christmas Carol. A life led by regret is not a very well-lived life. As Marley said, “…no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused!” Those opportunities come when we look forward, not backward.

La Crosse Irish Fest

We attended the La Crosse Wisconsin Irish Fest for a few hours this year. We had a little tour of the fest on Saturday morning--first seeing some harpist get together with Kim Robertson for a workshop. It's always fun to see someone who knows and loves music as much as Kim get together with like-minded people of all ages. We stopped in the Cultural tent while the crowd was still so thin you could count those there on one hand. A radio show was being broadcast and it was fun to see the show host talk to his loyal listeners with a handful of people present -- he did a fine job and it was amusing to listen to his selection of songs as well as his banter.

With my two youngest daughters in tow, we watched Kate Flannagan's dance troupe that included several of her granddaughters. They demonstrated a little cultural flare. Kate’s son joined in accompaniment on guitar and the Flannagans sang some traditional songs. Kate seemed more concerned with presenting the Irish dance heritage and songs than providing the perfect performance. I enjoyed her approach.

One dancer was cuter than the next and it was a joy to see the kids doing their best. They did not look like kids that do a hundred shows a year and they displayed a “this is something special attitude.” I was also happy to see that Kate’s dancers did not wear those exaggerated wigs that are so fashionable with the Irish dancers. I mentioned that to my daughters who straightened me up right then and there. My girls said they loved the wigs the kids wear. We did see a couple of what I would call the more tony troupes come by the next day in full regalia.

Going into the main stage tent on Saturday, we saw Athas a traditional Irish band from Milwaukee, but we were a long way from the stage and after a quick fish and chips it was time for us to go. We could not stay for the marquee bands: Gaelic Storm and Screaming Orphans that were on the schedule. We also missed Salsa Celtica, a Scotish fusion band that played on Friday night that looks like it definitely would have been worth the price of admission.

We came back on Sunday morning to attend mass. Attendees are expected on Sunday to bring some canned good for the local food pantry for admission and we complied. The Cultural tent had its sides furled up to let some air inside and it worked pretty well. The “Celtic Cross’ was the name of the music group that played for the mass. Some of the tunes were traditional Irish folk tunes with religious lyrics. I am not sure the band’s origins, but my guess is that they are locals who might call themselves something else on other Sundays. As a visitor, it was interesting to see all the LaCrosse people at Mass—many who apparently know each other well. They were all smiles on that muggy morning. I believe there is a very strong Catholic tradition in LaCrosse, Winnona and the surrounding areas. I love outdoor masses especially at events of this kind and it was wonderful although certainly hot and humid.

After mass we spent some money at the Tea Garden for some scones and Coffee. We wondered over to the main tent and sat outside on a picnic bench, but were able to see the Celtic Tenors from the side. At the fest, there seemed to be a group of people parked in front of the main stage tent "in the good seats" who were there to stay. I suppose this is normal for such events. The Celtic Tenors were great. I wished they could have had a go without their microphones, but the acoustics would not have worked for it. The terrific harmonies and sweetness of the voices can come across rather harsh when amplified. One of my girls who sings from the minute she gets up to the end of the day, was especially appreciative of the fine performance.

I find Irish fests entertaining, but usually hot, crowded and often exhausting. The LaCrosse Fest is small and manageable with a good variety of entertainment that is sure to improve each year.

Frank McCourt

I suppose there are thousands or blogs discussing Frank McCourt's work, his life and his death. I've only read his books and for me it's interesting to read what others say who knew him personally, especially as a teacher. Andrew Greeley spoke about how Irish Catholics tell such great stories and that was what made them who they are. If you read Teacher Man, you know that McCourt was an English teacher who had a tough time reaching students at his first school in a tough area whose students were bound for the trades and saw limited value in his subject. McCourt survived by telling his students stories and they couldn't get enough of them. "Hey teach, tell us another story." But at the same time, McCourt wondered if he was really any good at teaching. I don't think this was false modesty, I think McCourt's sense of himself was something he struggled with and he shared this with readers throughout Angela's Ashes.

I have heard that McCourt separated himself from the Catholic faith. But I hope he was a Catholic when he died. One thing about Irish Catholics is that as bad as some may be at being Catholic, they are often heartbroken without the faith and the church is much less without them. They might put up a good front, but they are not right without having the connection to the faith. I am not saying that may not be the case for other faiths, I'm just saying for most Catholics you carry the loss around with you whether you acknowledge it or not.

McCourt is quoted as saying that he wanted no funeral service whatsoever and that he just wants his ashes tossed into the Shannon. I'd like to tell Frank, that he doesn't go away at all with the ashes. He is still with us in many ways and I pray that his soul is in a better place as well.

When I read Angela's Ashes, I read a few chapters at a time and after each reading, I would hug my children a little harder than before and love them deeper. As wretched as the episodes in McCourt's book, they gave me a greater sense of life's worth not a lesser sense. God's grace is in those who overcome all their miserable experiences. If it takes some until they are 50 or 60 years old to do it, so be it. God is more patient with us than we are with ourselves.

Poetry of Life

My father was an Irish American with an Irish poetic nature. He seemed to care little for money. He was not very practical in many ways. He enjoyed talking to people more than anything else. His life was very spiritual in that he connected to people of all kinds and I think he did in fact see the face of God in them.

I often look at the world through a lens that is perhaps one part my own making and one part his. And often when I look through my lens today, I see many things that are soul sapping. I often wonder what my father would make of it -- maybe you wonder what those you have lost long ago would think as well.

We are now in a state of developing and buying an endless supply of gadgets and technology that are sucking the life out of us. Often such things are backed by some expert suggesting that it is good for us and quite often they are also backed by some mega-industry that spends huge sums of money to make sure we understand just how good we have it and how lost we would be without what is they are selling.

Still, you have to be quite gullible to believe all of it. A case in point woud be the commercial of the guy who sits in his bathroom with his friend watching a movie because he doesn't have the right kind of TV service.

Call me naive, but cell phone or phone-like instrument use continue to astound me. I saw a woman today who was riding a bike on a bike trail. She was all decked out in a colorful spandex outfit with all the latest gear. No doubt she was aerodynamic in most every way and no doubt she was getting great exercise. But for this woman, getting great exercise and communing with nature was simply not enough. She had to multi-task. She had a special headset connected to her helmet that allowed her to talk on her cell phone as she sped along the trail.

I have to wonder who was this woman talking to and what it would be like to receive a call from someone riding a bike. Was she calling some subordinate with a great marketing idea that she wanted put in action immediately? Was she making a duty call to an elderly mother? Was she calling a girlfriend to gossip about a date or a friend?

I don't think I've been called by someone riding a bike yet. But occasionally, I get a call from someone who is fitting me into their lives at an opportune multi-tasking moment for them like this biker. They are driving home from work or walking in the city to a store close to where they live. They might be washing dishes or they have something that they are doing at the time that gives them some dead time for the brain and they decide to fit me in. I don't get angry or upset at this. I take the call as best as I can. I am not a very good phone conversationalist -- in fact I am awful, but I know they are reaching out to me in some imperfect way. Perhaps much like I would have done if the cell phone was available to me when I was 25 years old. Often these callers are my kids who are reaching out. I wonder if the cell phone was not around, would I still hear from them? Perhaps they would call me on Sunday nights and our conversations would be very brief.

I am blessed to have a Mother who is lively and almost 90 years old. I do make some duty calls and I am very bad at it. She knows it. But, we still have some poetry between us because I get my fanny in a car and drive down to see her on a regular basis. My wife and my two young children come along and we make it an outing. Almost every other week we go to see her. On some days, we get there and I wonder why the hell I made the trip. I might be out of sorts or the traffic was so awful it took two hours to get there. But for the most part, the visits are a lifeline - not just for my mother, but for all of us. She has always tried to be as pleasant as possible and she is good company. For our part, we try to be the same for her.

On some occasions, we will pack sleeping bags and spend the night. We may order a pizza at a place just a block from my mother's apartment. My mother, my wife and I will sit out on my mother's little patio next to the apartment parking lot and have a few beers with our pizza. We have some very good conversations and laughs - the kind you never get with a cell phone. Often, I pick up my mother at her apartment and she comes to stay with us for a few days at a time. My wife loves to shop and off they go to a local junk shop to look for something very cheap that they can admire and that gives them a little joy.

My son is a master at cell phones and computers. But after spending years studying a certain technology, he has decided he likes people better than machines. I am proud. He got involved with helping foreign students at his university adjust to life in the US. And now this has become a passion for him. He wants to teach foreign students. This summer he is involved in a program at school where he is teaching and touring with a dozen students from Taiwan. He has friends from many countries and from every race. He has become our eyes to the world and if there is ever a hint of some underlying prejudice on my part in conversation, he chips in to help me along.

The Good Lord has my number. Maybe you feel the same way. If ever in my life, I have seemed to make a harsh judgment about someone, pointed a finger and criticized -- it has come back to haunt me. Now the Good Lord gets some help from not only my son, but my two young daughters who are his eyes and ears when he is not around.

I have a long way to go to understand people who are different than myself. A long way to go. but, I think that in coming to an understanding of people who are different from us, the joy is in the little things. This past weekend we had a house guest from China -- a friend of my son who stopped in to visit on her way to school. She was absolutely wonderful -- sweet and strong at the same time. She followed my wife around and wanted to understand all our habits and what Americans do in their homes.

On Saturday morning, I had burned some toast to the point where there was enough smoke to set off the smoke alarm. I quickly grabbed the toast and threw it out the back door onto the deck. Our guest saw me toss the toast, but she did not know it was burnt. She kept looking outside at the toast. It dawned on me that she thought this was some kind of American toast tossing ritual and she was puzzling about what it was all about. When I told her that the toast was burnt and once the smoke cleared I would grab the toast and toss it into the garbage, there was a million dollar smile of understanding on her face. You don't get that from a cell phone. My father would have loved this girl.