We end this collection of celtic wisdom as we began, with spring.
Spring is coming again.
We live in an era when everything is compartmentalised. The Celts could not have understood that. As Celtic art strikingly illustrates, they believed that everything is inextricably intertwined: the living and the dead; past, present and future; the beginning and the end; nature and supernature; the secular and the sacred; old and young; darkness and light; despair and hope. They believed in the circle of life so that the year never really ended – it simply rolled into the next one. In that spirit we return to spring to stress a crucial tenet of the Celtic tradition – the central importance of interconnections.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.
This literally translates as: people live in each other’s shadows. We are shielded from the sun by each other, we rely on each other for shelter. People need another.
This was one of the great insights of St Patrick.
The Voice of the Voiceless
While the Confession is the main element of Patrick’s literary legacy, there is one other addition. In his Letter, which he wrote to Coroticus, a king in southern Scotland who had taken some of Patrick’s newly confirmed Christians as captives, we see a different side to Ireland’s patron saint.
Patrick was irate because Coroticus, who professed to be a Christian, treated these Christians whom he had enslaved extremely badly. Patrick knew he was obliged to speak out against the injustice. In his Letter, he pulls no punches in his criticism of Coroticus and quotes liberally from the scriptures to justify his position. Moreover, the Letter was an open one. Patrick was anxious that it would be read out in public. It was actually addressed to the soldiers, but Patrick wanted them to read in the presence of Coroticus, their commanding officer. He had to be shown that he was responsible for what had happened. Innocent people were wronged and Patrick appears to have made their pain his own.
‘What am I to do, Lord? Lord, I am thoroughly despised. See, your sheep are torn to pieces around me and are carried off by the raiders, as ordered by the evil-hearted Coroticus.’
Patrick went even further. Not alone was Coroticus and his soldiers guilty, but anyone who colluded with them or supported them in any way shared in their guilt.
‘You must not associate with them, or seek any favours from any of them. It is not right to eat or drink with them. No one ought to receive any gifts or alms from them. Such fraternising must not take place until they make amends to God and pay painful penalties, until they set free these servants of God and these baptised handmaids of Christ for whom he was crucified.’
Patrick was not afraid to be sharply critical of society. He had the courage of his convictions and never hesitated to speak out – secure in the knowledge that what he was doing was what his Father wanted. ‘Let anyone laugh and revile me who wants to. I will not keep silence nor will I conceal the signs and wonders which have been shown me by the Lord.’
Patrick was unequivocally taking the side of the downtrodden, the oppressed and the marginalised, regardless of the personal cost or threat to his physical wellbeing. Can the same be said of his followers in Ireland today? Whose side are we on? What price are we willing to pay for championing unpopular causes or standing up for what we know to be right? While there is a remarkable generosity today towards organisations like the Peter McVerry Trust and Concern, are we, like Patrick, willing to really put our comfort on the line?
A central component of this new project would be to re-examine the place of symbols. The example of Mary Robinson as Irish president is instructive in this context. Her celebrated light in the window in Áras an Uachtaráin was an early indication of her approach. Little things really do mean a lot. A simple lighted candle encapsulated the reaching out of the president to all Irish people at home and abroad.
At her inaugural address as Irish president, Mary McAleese observed: ‘We know our duty is to spread the benefits of our prosperity to those whose lives are still mired in poverty, unemployment, worry and despair. There can be no rest until the harsh gap between the comfortable and the struggling has been bridged.’ One of the most positive contributions of Catholic theology in the last century has been its emphasis on social justice. This theological evolution was captured by Pope John Paul II with his emphasis on ‘solidarity’ and ‘the indirect employer’.
Perhaps, though, the time has come to revisit this whole area. The notion of ‘the option for the poor’ has brought a welcome focus on the fact that the social dimension is not an optional extra, but a constituent part of the gospel in a fundamentally formative sense. However, does this phrase not suggest a form of spiritual imperialism? Are we sure the poor really want us? Have we ever asked them? The problem with this phrase is that it suggests we should be the voice of the voiceless rather than helping the voiceless to find their own voice. Is it now time for us to take the option with the poor? Or, in the words of Peter McVerry, do we need a ‘radical imperative for the poor’?
Patrick challenges us to rediscover our prophetic role as Christians, a quality of life which attempts to give renewed heart to the Christian life by a radical commitment to simplicity, sharing and intimacy. He dares us to be double agents – people who observe the world as it is while in tandem imagining other worlds which might yet be. With his sense of symbol, his rich spirituality, his humility and his bold moral courage, Patrick has many important messages for us today.
Please come back, St Patrick.
Spring in the Celtic year is a time of thresholds, doorways in our lives that offer the possibility of beginning anew.