Chapter 10. How long, O Lord? Within a few days, the entire village knew about Patrick's plans to go back to Ireland. Men would shake their heads when Patrick walked by, and old ladies would whisper to each other, pointing bony fingers at the young man. They all thought he was a little crazy. Though Patrick had been spiritually transformed during the years he had been away, the people in his village had not. For the most part, they were still the same nominal Christians they had been before.
They couldn't possibly understand why anyone would want to undertake such a dangerous mission. "The boy is absolutely insane," they would say to one another. "Imagine him treating his parents that way, not caring if he breaks their hearts." Even Patrick's boyhood friends didn't like his transformation. "So, you're going to convert the Irish, are you? You'd have more success trying to convert a herd of cattle," they would laugh. Pointing to their heads, they jeered. "You must be a little insane.
But I suppose living six years among those barbarians would make anyone crazy." Although the insults and ridicule hurt, Patrick brushed them aside and focused on his studies. As he grew in his knowledge of Scripture, he also grew even closer to God. For now he knew God not only experientially but also through His revealed Word. During this period, a young man his age, named Marcus, befriended him. He was one of the more spiritual young men in the village.
Patrick had known him before going to Ireland, but back then he saw Marcus as being too pious to be any fun. Now he saw Marcus in a different light, and he and Marcus often prayed and read Scripture together. They even confessed their sins to one another. One day Patrick spoke to Marcus in private. "Marcus, for some time now we've been confessing our sins to one another. However, I've held back from telling you about one certain sin. It's a very serious sin. I committed it when I was only fifteen.
At that time in my life, I neither knew God nor hardly believed in Him." He continued, confessing his sin to Marcus. The two men wept and prayed together. If only Patrick had known what impact his confession would have years later, he might have never told anyone about it. "Here, I thought my training for the ministry would be a quick process," he told Marcus one day as they sat at Patrick's desk. "But now I'm finding out quite differently. It's been an entire year since God called me to return to Ireland.
I'm eager to go, but the leaders won't send me since I haven't finished my studies." Marcus paused from his reading and gave Patrick an understanding smile. "Don't worry," he consoled his friend. "You remember how long God made you wait in Ireland before rescuing you. Give Him time." "Yeah, I guess in comparison a year isn't too bad," Patrick admitted reluctantly. "But surely He won't make me wait six whole years again.
I don't think I would have the patience to go through such a long wait again." "I'm sure He won't," Marcus agreed. "By the way, how are your studies progressing?" "I've made great progress in learning the Scriptures. I really enjoy studying them, and my Latin keeps improving each month. However, to be honest, I'm having a difficult time focusing on theology. The presbyters are pretty disappointed in my progress in that area." "But surely you've learned the basic doctrines of the Church by now," Marcus responded.
"Well, I've memorized the Nicene Creed, and I think I have a fairly good grasp of the fundamentals expressed in it. But I guess that's about all that I've learned in the way of theology," Patrick admitted. Marcus shook his head. "How are your studies coming?" Patrick quickly asked, changing the subject. "They're coming along well. Perhaps we'll be ordained as deacons at the same time." "The way it looks, you'll probably be ordained before me," Patrick responded dejectedly.
Another year slowly passed by, and Patrick and Marcus were finally ordained as deacons. However, the Church leaders told Patrick that he needed much more training and experience before he could be ordained as a presbyter or sent to Ireland. Trying hard not to lose his faith, he continued to cry out to the Lord. "How long, O Lord? How long?" Patrick realized he needed to keep his Gaelic active, so he would occasionally journey with his father to London.
There, Irish merchants displayed their fine Celtic wares and sold cattle and grain. Patrick eagerly witnessed to the Irish merchants and seamen in their native Gaelic. Through this, he made a few converts to Christ and kept his Gaelic from getting rusty. However, Patrick's mission to the Irish was of little concern to most Britons. They had more pressing national concerns to think about. "I think the end of the world is at hand," Calpurnius glumly told his family one day after returning from a meeting in London.
Collapsing in a chair, he continued, "If not, it's at least the last days of Roman Britain." "What is it?" Conchessa cried in alarm. "Well, as you know, all of the Roman legions have been gone from Britain for years now. I've just returned from London, where I heard reports that the Picts and Scots are pouring over Hadrian's Wall in the north, pillaging, raping, and killing at will. Irish ships continue to raid the west coast of Britain, taking more of our people as slaves.
Now Saxon raiders are plundering the eastern shores of Britain. No place is safe any longer." "I don't think I've ever heard of the Saxons," Patrick replied with a wrinkled brow. "Who are they?" "I don't know very much about them myself," Calpurnius admitted, throwing up his arms. "They're one of the Germanic tribes from Europe. From what I hear, they're even more cruel than the Scots and Picts." "Dear Lord, help us," Conchessa gasped, clutching her heart. "What are we going to do?" "I don't know.
We're all at a loss," Calpurnius confessed, shaking his gray head. "That's what the meeting in London was all about. All of the remaining administrators and city councilmen throughout Britain were there. At the council, we discussed the fact that when we Britons became Christians years ago, we laid down our swords. Since then, we've had the Roman legions here to defend us. As a result, we've become a rather passive people." "Did the council come up with any solution?" Patrick queried. "Yes.
We sent an urgent message of appeal to Emperor Honorius, pleading for help. We're hoping to get a fresh supply of troops within weeks." Several months passed without any word from Rome. One evening, Calpurnius came home with a dejected face. "What is it?" Conchessa asked, grabbing hold of her husband's arm. "I've just heard that London has finally received an answer from Rome." "And?" "And the Emperor states that although he's sorry to hear of our plights, he has no troops to spare.
The Visigoths have invaded Italy, and they are now at the walls of Rome." "The siege in Rome?" Patrick cried in disbelief. "I never thought such a thing was possible. Rome has always seemed so enduring. If Rome falls, it will be the end of the world." "I agree," Calpurnius said sadly, motioning for one of the servants to bring him a drink. "Honorius said that we British will have to defend ourselves from now on.
In fact, he said that we'll have to manage all of our own affairs from here on out." "You mean, we're no longer part of the Roman Empire?" Conchessa asked. "That's essentially it. Britain is an independent nation again, through no wish of our own." The news that Calpurnius brought home from time to time continued to get worse. One evening, visibly shaken, he called his entire household together. "I've just received news that Rome has fallen to the Visigoths.
They've sacked the entire city." Several of the household servants began crying when they heard the news. "So Rome is no more?" one servant asked incredulously. "No. Thankfully, it's still there," Calpurnius sighed. "These Visigoths profess to be Christians, although they have a different understanding of Christ's deity than we do. So in their mercy, they merely plundered Rome rather than destroying it.
After several days of robbing and looting, they gave the city back to the Emperor." "Thank God," Conchessa burst out in relief. "Yes, that's one thing we can be thankful for," Calpurnius continued. "But I'm afraid there is little other good news. London reports that authority and structure are breaking down all over Britain. Our whole nation is fragmenting into tribal units, much like the structure before the Romans came." "What do you mean?" one of the servants asked.
"Well, if a man successfully battles the barbarian invaders in his area, whoever those invaders might be, he elevates himself into a petty king ruling a small territory. Some of these new 'kings' pretentiously call themselves by Roman titles, such as 'duces,' but they have no connection with the government in Rome." "It sounds like Ireland all over again," Patrick observed. "Speaking of Ireland, I haven't heard anything from the presbyters in a while.
I think I'll talk to them tomorrow." "Patrick, how can you think of Ireland at a time like this?" Conchessa exclaimed, glaring at her son. "With the world coming to an end, we need you right here." "If the world is coming to an end," Patrick replied determinedly, "the Irish need to hear the gospel first." The next day, Patrick visited the presbyters. "I can't believe you're talking about Ireland when our whole nation is about to crumble," Petronius began, echoing the words of Patrick's mother.
"We're struggling just to preserve the Church. As civilization crumbles around us, about the only thing that gives the British any sense of unity is Christianity. Yet, in these cataclysmic times, many of the peasants are turning back to their old Celtic or Roman gods.
There's no point in talking about taking the gospel to Ireland when the people need it more right here in Britain." "Besides that," another presbyter added, "we're also having to fight heresy in our own midst." "What heresy?" Patrick asked with inquisitive eyes. "The heresy of Pelagius. You've heard of him, haven't you?" Patrick sat with a blank expression on his face. "No, I'm afraid I haven't," he sheepishly admitted. "No, I suppose not," another presbyter interjected.
"You don't seem to grasp anything theological." Patrick looked up at the speaker. His name was Longinus Publius Quintus, a high-brow, well-schooled Roman. Quintus was only a few years older than Patrick and had only been a presbyter for about a year. Yet, he acted like he was the bishop. "Well," Quintus explained, condescendingly, "Pelagius is a British presbyter who teaches, or at least is accused of teaching, that humans can be saved without God's grace.
His teachings have caused great controversy throughout the entire Church. It's caused considerable embarrassment to the British Church." "I'm sorry, Patrick," Petronius stated, shaking his head. "But at the moment, the Church has much higher priorities than some idealistic scheme to save the pagan Irish." So the years slowly rolled by, and still Patrick remained in Britain, waiting on God. He continued to live with his parents, helping them as he was able.
They kept hoping he would forget about the whole matter of Ireland. "I spoke with Sextus today," Calpurnius remarked to Patrick one day. "You know, his daughter, Juliana, has come of age. She would make a godly wife, Patrick." "A wife? How can I possibly think of a wife?" Patrick responded in disbelief. "I could never think of taking a wife to Ireland. It's much too dangerous." "So it's Ireland again," Conchessa snapped, tossing aside a dress she was mending.
"Can't you ever get Ireland out of your head?" "No, Mother, I can't get Ireland out of my head." Patrick stood his ground. "I know beyond any doubt that God has called me there." "Marcus, Marcus," Patrick called to his friend one morning. "Do you know what today is?" Marcus thought for a moment. "No, I guess I don't. Today marks six years since God summoned me to Ireland in a dream.
You remarked once that God might make me wait six years to return to Ireland, just as He made me wait six years before allowing me to return to Britain." "Yes, I think I remember saying that," Marcus replied, scratching his head. "Well, anyway, the presbyters want to speak to me this morning. They didn't say what it was about, but I'm convinced they're going to tell me that they're ready to send me to Ireland. I'm on my way there right now." Patrick sat down before the presbyters in eager anticipation.
"Patrick," Petronius began, "it's been about six years since you began your studies for the ministry. At times, your progress has been slow." Patrick's heart began to sink. "Nevertheless, you'll be happy to know that the other presbyters and I have decided to recommend you to the bishop to be ordained as a presbyter." Patrick's whole face lit up. "Thank you, thank you," he responded as he embraced each of the leaders. "I'll commit myself to honorably carry out my office," he said resolutely.
"Does this mean I can go to Ireland now?" "No," Quintus spoke up. "We don't feel you're ready yet for such an important assignment. First, we would like for you to acquire some experience as a presbyter." Patrick's face fell. "However, this does mean," Petronius added, "that you are now authorized to preach here in Britain and to celebrate communion." Patrick smiled weakly, holding back tears. A week after his ordination, Patrick preached his first sermon.
"Do you know why we're beset by barbarians on every side?" he challenged the congregation. "Do you know why thousands of us have been taken to Ireland as slaves? God has abandoned us because we have abandoned Him. We put no trust in Him whatsoever. Instead, we trust our swords and the legions of Rome. Why is nobody converting the barbarians? If we brought the love of Christ to them, they wouldn't be attacking us in their hateful fury." A murmur went through the congregation.
Some of the people shook their heads and others rolled their eyes. Undaunted, Patrick continued on. "But most of you are saying that it would be too dangerous to go among the barbarians and try to convert them. You doubt the power of Christ to change hearts as dark as those of the Irish and the Picts. What's more, most of you totally ignore the teachings of Jesus. You ridicule His ministers. You're more concerned about your houses, your wealth, and your personal safety than you are about your souls.
Do we learn nothing from the lessons of ancient Israel? When did calamities befall them? Wasn't it when they turned their backs on God? Wasn't it when they ignored His commandments? Wasn't it when they worshiped idols either openly or in secret?" Patrick paused to let the import of his words sink in. "Yes, I know that many of you still worship the pagan gods of our ancestors. You profess to be Christians, but at night you go into the oak groves and worship Brigid and Lugh. What does Christ share with Lugh?
You can't sit at the table of the Lord and the table of demons." When communion was over, many of the people left in a huff. "He's nothing but a self-righteous troublemaker," one of the men grumbled as he walked out. The years passed by, and Patrick remained in Britain. Meanwhile, presbyters and bishops came and went, and most of them forgot all about Patrick's mission. Victoricus had died. So had Petronius, Patrick's most sympathetic supporter among the leaders.
The self-important Quintus was now the main spokesman for the presbyters. Nevertheless, Patrick continued to preach fiery sermons, although few parishioners paid any attention to him. He also continued to beg the British bishops and presbyters to send him to Ireland, but they continually put him off. "How long, O Lord?" Patrick cried out daily to God. However, God never told him how long he would have to wait, nor did God give him permission to embark on his mission alone without the authority of the Church.
Although deeply discouraged, Patrick persevered in prayer. "With each passing year, my love for the Irish grows only stronger," Patrick told Marcus one day. "You never cease to amaze me, Patrick," Marcus confessed. "I'm afraid I would have given up hope long ago. You must be another Moses. You know, God made Moses wait forty years before sending him back to Egypt." "Oh no, surely God wouldn't make me wait forty years. I'm not that strong." "No, surely not," Marcus agreed.