Day 9: The Feast of St. Patrick

Traditionally Lenten restrictions on eating and drinking alcohol are lifted on St. Patrick’s Day, which is most certainly part of its appeal as a worldwide holiday. My Lent carries no such restrictions but I did decide to pass on writing after I came home last night. I will, however, share a brief thought on the day. Last Sunday Missi and I participated in the Shamrock Run instead of attending worship in the morning and decided to make it up by attending evensong at an Episcopal church. They were celebrating the mass of St. Patrick and we had heard through the facebook grapevine that a trip to the Horse Brass Pub would follow. Who were we to resist such sanctification?

During the mass I heard, for the first time, the story of Patrick and the Paschal fire. One of Patrick’s hagiographies tells the tale of a night of some import among the Celts. I do not recall the reason but on this night no fires were to be lit before the king lit his. The whole country sat in darkness and waited on the king. Patrick, there as a missionary, defied the ban. It was the night of the Paschal moon (marking the Passover and thus Easter week) and his lone light shone out across the entire valley as a beacon of defiance.

The legend goes on to tell that no one could extinguish the fire but Patrick himself and that it was on that night, when the people gathered at his fire, that Patrick explained the holy trinity to them with a shamrock. It wasn’t those stories, however, that grabbed my imagination as I left the bar last night. As I walked through the frigid, rainy St. John’s night I pondered that single fire, a statement of defiance turned invitation. There was no drunken rabble around, no green beer or fake Irish accents or Flogging Molly tribute bands, just a quiet, wet night and me with my thoughts on the fire and the trinity and the Paschal lamb. That is a feast worthy of celebration.