Chapter 4: The Druids. Have you ever seen a druid? Patrick asks Sid one morning. From the time I was a little boy, I've heard about the druids. Ah, those mysterious priests of the Irish, Sid answered as he tied his sandals. Indeed, I have. In fact, I've seen them many times. I never have, Patrick responded. However, my grandfather, Potitus, told me that there used to be many of them in Britain. Your grandfather was right. In fact, at one time, Britain was the center of druidism.
However, the Romans outlawed the druids a long time ago. That's why you've never seen one. Why did they outlaw them? Because the druids were offering human sacrifices. Seeing the astonished expression on Patrick's face, Sid continued, "Well, we best start herding the sheep back home. The master wants his flocks at home for Lughnasa, which will begin in a few days. I venture to say that you'll see your first druid then, but don't worry, they won't be sacrificing any humans." Patrick's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"What's Lughnasa?" "It's one of the main Irish festivals, dedicated to the pagan god Lugh. It falls around August 1st on our Roman calendar." "I've never heard of Lugh before. What kind of god is he supposed to be?" "The Irish think of Lugh as a young, handsome man with marvelous abilities. He's not only a god of the harvest, but also a god of war, commerce, craftsmanship, and games. He's probably their favorite god. It's going to be quite a festival. There's always lots of feasting, even for the servants.
However, you and I need to be very careful not to get mixed up in the idolatry in any way." When Patrick and Sid reached home the next day, they discovered that Milchu's entire clan had already gathered. Milchu's other shepherds were there as well. For a few days, the people enjoyed themselves, feasting, drinking, and playing various games. Patrick and Sid feasted on mutton, beef, and various soups. However, the morning of Lughnasa found the people quiet and waiting eagerly for something.
"What's happening?" Patrick asked Sid anxiously. "Shh! The people are waiting for the arrival of the druids. Let's get behind that wooden cart over there and stay out of the way." After waiting for about an hour behind the cart, Patrick suddenly exclaimed, "Look! What's that coming over the hill?" "Those are the druids. It's easy to spot them because of their dress. They almost always wear simple white wool robes.
Their only ornaments are gold torcs worn around their necks." As the group of druids came closer, Sid pointed out, "See that man with the large white beard and balding head? He's their leader." While the people prepared the great feast for that day, the druids attended to the solemn duties of thanking the god Lugh for the summer harvest and appeasing him with animal sacrifices. Sid and Patrick refused to eat any of the food sacrificed to him. When the feast was over, they returned the sheep to the pastures.
As the summer slowly approached its end, the deep purple of heather colored the treeless mountains. Patrick continued to grow in body and mind, and in his faith and love of God. His shepherding skills were increasing, and he was speaking more and more Gaelic. Although Ireland had seemed like such a dark, foreboding place when he had first arrived, he could now appreciate the beauty of God's creation around him.
Everywhere he looked, his eyes were dazzled by the vivid Kelly Green landscape born of rain and lime-rich soil. Balsam choked the riverbanks. Tranquil lakes surrounded by fern-covered mountains mirrored the bright blue sky. That is, when the sky was blue, which it usually wasn't. Yet, even in the endless mist and drizzling rain, the landscape took on a mysteriously beautiful aura.
"You know," Sid mused one afternoon, "the climate here really isn't all that different from the west coast of Britain." "That's true," Patrick conceded. "However, back home I didn't have to live out in the weather. I was inside a warm house attended by servants." Sid chuckled. "Seriously," Patrick continued, "I think it's beastly of Milchu to make us stay out in the rain. Surely he won't make us stay out when winter comes?" "I'm afraid he will. At least, much of the time.
However, we stay closer to the house in winter, and we do get to sleep inside at night." "Well, hopefully I'll be gone by then," Patrick pondered. "I've been praying for nearly six months. Surely God is going to answer my prayers any day now." Sid shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Hopefully so, Patrick. Hopefully so." "By the way, Sid," Patrick continued, "did you ever pray to be rescued?" "Of course I did." "Really? But you're still here?" Patrick responded with a puzzled face.
"How long did you pray?" "I prayed for nearly two years." "Two years? You never told me I would have to pray that long." Patrick's irritation showed in his voice. "How long did that persistent widow keep hounding the judge?" "Jesus didn't tell us." "I still can't believe it. Two whole years, and yet God never answered you?" "Oh, but He did," Sid responded calmly. "After praying for two years, I concluded that His answer was no." Patrick was now visibly shaken. "You misled me," he accused Sid, his blue eyes glaring.
"Praying two whole years, only to be told no? In other words, prayer is a waste of time." Overcome with hurt and disappointment, Patrick walked away, kicking every pebble and stick that got in his way. He was deeply confused. He had put all of his hope in God, and now it appeared that even in God there was no hope. He didn't pray for a whole week after that. However, one morning, Sid woke up to find Patrick praying again. "I thought you had given up on prayer," Sid commented with a grin, his eyes sparkling.
"Well, I've thought it over and decided I'll pray for two years like you did. Maybe God's answer to me will be yes. Or maybe He won't make me wait two years. Either way, I've committed myself to pray up to two years if necessary." As the first of November approached, Patrick and Sid spent more time around the master's house. "What's going on?" Patrick asked Sid one morning. "It looks like everyone is preparing for some kind of special event." "You're right.
The festival of Samhain is approaching." "Oh, another festival? Is it just like Lughnasa?" "In some ways, but it has its own peculiarities. The Irish consider Samhain to be the most sacred day of the year." "Why's that?" "To them, it commemorates the creation of the world. In fact, it's New Year's Day for the Irish. Their New Year's begins on November 1st of our Roman calendar.
However, as you're about to witness, the main festivities occur on the night before Samhain." "Is it a night of feasting and revelry?" Patrick asked. "No, actually it's just the opposite. The Irish believe that the spirits of the dead return on the eve of Samhain and wander through the world of the living, so they're all deathly afraid. In fact, they think if the dead are not properly placated, they can harm the living." "So how do they try to placate the dead?" "Mainly by putting out food for them.
Things like oatmeal, grain, and cheese. We need to be sure to stay inside on the eve of Samhain." "Don't tell me you're afraid of spirits too," Patrick retorted. "No, of course not. I just don't want us to pollute ourselves in any way with what is going on." Not too long after the festivities of Samhain, the damp Irish winter set in with its cold drizzle and occasional snow. As Sid had warned Patrick, the shepherds had to stay out on the hillsides with the sheep on most winter days. "I'm shivering to the bone.
My face is chapped, and my clothes are soaking wet," Patrick complained to Sid, shouting over the cold Atlantic wind that slapped his face. "I know. I'm just as wet as you are," Sid counseled him. "But at least the master lets us stay inside at night. That's something to be thankful for." "Do you always have to find something to be thankful about?" Patrick grumbled as he walked about, trying to keep warm. "It's better than always complaining.
Listen, when we're back at the house, remind me to get you some wool clothing. It'll keep you a lot warmer than those linen clothes you're wearing. Wool even retains much of its warmth when it's wet." "Argh, I hate wool. It makes me itch all over." "Well, freeze to death then. I was only trying to help." "I'm sorry," Patrick apologized, changing his tone. "It was nice of you to offer. Sure, I'll take you up on it. Maybe God will help me get used to the itchiness." Sid laughed.
"Yes, I'm sure He will." As the days went by, the rain seemed endless. Day after day, it bathed the landscape in a gray mist. The fields were sodden and silent. As Patrick and Sid trudged through the muddy pastures and tended the sheep, vapor blew from their mouths. They watched the sheep through the lemon-colored lights of the winter afternoons, then brought them safely to their pens in the evenings.
At night, they lay on the cold floor of the servants' quarters and listened to the howls of wolves in the nearby wood of Voclut. Although unhappy about his living conditions, Patrick still prayed at least a hundred times a day. One afternoon, Sid and Patrick got caught outside in one of the many fierce Atlantic storms. However, rather than abandoning the sheep and fleeing for shelter, the two men faithfully rounded up their flocks.
Their eyes squinting hard against the rain, they finally led the sheep back home to safety. Throughout the winter, the men walked over frozen puddles and sloshed through thick mud. One sunny afternoon, Sid caught Patrick sitting and gazing at the blood-red berries of the holly trees, which stood out against the deep green holly leaves. "What are you thinking about?" Sid inquired, catching his breath. "These berries made me think about Christ's blood that was shed for us.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that I've been doing an awful lot of complaining. What He went through for me was a lot worse than herding sheep in the Irish winter. So I've decided, with God's help, I'm going to try hard to look for things to be thankful for, just as you do." Patrick was interrupted by a flock of blackbirds bursting out of a leafless tree. The two men watched them for a while, then Sid observed.
"You know, those birds flying away make me think of how your own soul is finally breaking free from the shackles of sin that have held it down." To Patrick, the cold, damp winter seemed to last for an eternity. Finally, February drew near, and with it, the lambing season. The days were longer now than at midwinter, yet the damp coldness was just as penetrating. "It looks like the master is getting ready for another festival," Patrick noted one morning. "Yes, he is.
This time it's the Feast of Imbolc." "What's this festival all about?" Patrick queried. "Well, it's in honor of Brigid, the goddess of flocks and fertility. The festival is supposed to ensure that plenty of lambs are born." "The Irish certainly seem to have a lot of gods and goddesses. Tell me more about their religion." "Well, as you already know, the Druids are their priests and spiritual advisors. I've been told that a man must train for twenty years in order to become a Druid.
They're the most powerful people in Ireland." "Even more mighty than the kings?" "Yes, because it's the Druids who make the laws and act as judges. Even kings must obey them, and everyone fears their magic. The Druids are the only Irishmen who know how to read and write." "Where are their temples? I haven't seen one yet." "That's because their temples are secluded among groves of trees. They believe that trees are sacred, particularly the oak and rowan.
They say these trees support the heavens and open a path to the gods." "Really? Have you ever seen one of their temples?" Patrick asked. "No, I never have. Not that their temples are very impressive. From what I've been told, they're built of wood and are rather modest compared to the Greek and Roman temples of old." "I see. What else do the Irish believe?" Patrick inquired, narrowly missing a mud puddle as he walked. "Let's see.
They consider pools of water to be sacred, and they say the number three is holy." "Is that right? What do they believe about life after death?" "Well, like us, they believe in the immortality of the soul. However, unlike us, they believe that souls wander from body to body after death." "That doesn't sound very appealing. Do you think they'll ever convert to Christianity?" "Yes, I do. I can't imagine why God would leave them out of His plans.
I've tried to witness to some of the other servants, but I haven't made any converts so far. Maybe you should try." "Well, I'd never thought about that. But yes, I will. I'm feeling more confident in my Gaelic now." Finally, spring arrived, and Patrick could enjoy many afternoons in the warmth of the sun. The blackthorn bushes blossomed in the thickets. The woods were covered with anemones and bluebells, and the hillsides once again began to wear the golden color of furze.
The marsh marigolds made a brilliant dash of color in the wet spring meadows. Patrick marveled at the beauty of God's creation, but he continued to pray to be rescued. "Get ready for another festival, Patrick," Sid warned him one afternoon. "Tomorrow, the people will be celebrating the festival of Beltane. This is held in honor of Belenos, the god of fire and war." The next day, Patrick watched with Sid from a distance.
"The Irish like to combine solemn rites with riotous feasting and rowdy games, don't they?" Patrick observed. "Now, what are they doing? The Druids have kindled two huge bonfires, and it looks like they're trying to force the master's cattle into the fire." "Well, not exactly," Sid explained. "One of the fires is from oak wood, and the other is of yew. What the Druids are doing is driving the cattle between the two fires.
The cattle won't be harmed in any way." "So what's the point of it?" "Well, it's supposed to purify the cattle. Look, now the Druids are offering the sacred Beltane oatcakes to Belenos." Sid shook his head. "You know, these Irish are more in bondage than you and I are. We may be slaves to them, but they're captives of their dark, demonic religion. They're in bondage to their superstitions.
They need deliverance from these things, just as much as you and I need deliverance from our slavery." "I see what you mean," Patrick agreed. "I'll pray that God will deliver them, that is, right after He delivers me from them." Sid threw back his gray-speckled head and laughed. The two of them then busied themselves away from the festivities. A few weeks later, one of the servants brought a message for Sid. When the servant had left, Sid walked over to Patrick. His usual smiling face was downcast.
"I've some sad news, Patrick. You've been here a full year now. Milchu says it's time for you to begin working on your own. I knew this had to happen eventually. But somehow I kept hoping it could be postponed." "You mean we won't be together anymore?" Patrick responded in dismay. "No, at least not on a daily basis. But we'll still see each other from time to time." Sid accompanied Patrick to the flock of sheep for which Patrick would now be responsible. The two men spent the day together.
The next morning, Sid embraced Patrick warmly before he had to leave. As he watched over his new flock of sheep, Patrick reflected on his year of captivity. It had seemed to him as an eternity, yet still no deliverance was in sight. "Father, how long must I stay here as a slave?" he cried out. But no answer came from God.