Patricus - The Saint of Ireland

Deep feelings and endless thoughts of revenge captivated the young man’s mind. For two weeks now, all he had thought about was the retribution he would inflict upon his captors when he got free, if he ever got free — something he knew would never happen.

Just a fortnight ago the sixteen-year-old had been enjoying his fairly sheltered life as a Roman citizen on the west coast of Britain near the small town of Bannaventa Berniae. From all the comforts that came with having a father who was a local magistrate and living in a country villa with servants to do most of the work, mindlessly playing on the beach close to his home was only one of many leisurely activities. But in a flash without any warning, all the happiness and comforts were replaced by fear and hardship when Patricus was attacked by a gang of professional Irish slave raiders.

It was efficient, violent, and traumatic.

Rome had begun its decline a decade before; as a consequence its ships no longer secured the Western Sea surrounding the Celtic Islands. Without Roman rule, other ships were free to sail unmolested. As such, no political authority was concerned about Irish kidnappers. During the one-day journey across the sea, and now in iron shackles, all Patricus could think about were the stories he had heard as a child concerning the heathen culture of the Irish. While he never thought they were all true — how they would eat human flesh, shamelessly commit incest, and smear the blood of slain victims on their faces — he now seriously questioned them. As his kidnapping alone revealed, the Irish were not considered barbarians for nothing. And although Patricus claimed to be an atheist or just apathetic to Christianity, he couldn’t help harboring bitterness towards his Christian parents and ironically, their God. The timeless question swirled in his maturing mind: How can a loving God allow evil things to happen? The fear of being forsaken incessantly bore upon his fragile conscience too, for Patricus really was alone. Most of the slaves taken by the Irish were women and children as most men were not easily secured. Patricus wasn’t a boy, but he wasn’t quite a man. And yet, it was in this time of his life, against the backdrop of Irish captivity, that God would forge something powerful within him — something so unexpected and so beautiful that it would not only change his destiny but the destiny of an entire pagan country.

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But that was in the future. In the present, the very start of the the 3rd century, the only destiny Patricus was in charge of was the one hundred sheep he was made to shepherd in a cold and wet place somewhere on the west coast of Ireland. In coming to this new land it was like traveling back in time four hundred years. Although the primitive accommodations were difficult to get used to, it wasn’t long after arriving that Patricus’ anger surprisingly simmered down into a place somewhere between ambivalence and acquiescence. In the many days and nights that Patricus spend alone, the growing boy began to consider God, His will, His plan, and His love for the lost. But as he drew nearer to God, the shame of his past sins weighed heavily on him. One sin grieved Patricus in particular. With some time, though, he finally arrived at being at peace with God. He wrote about this process, “After I came to Ireland I watched over sheep. Day by day I began to pray more frequently — and more and more my love of God and my faith in him and reverence for him began to increase.”

After six years of captivity, the twenty-two-year old was now a young man and had been forged into someone new. He was a new creation of sorts; the faith of his parents and grandparents had become his own. Fasting and praying were regular practices in his new life as a Christian. Looking back, Patricus wrote,