I Arose

Saint Patrick's mountain and the miraculous presence of God

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, and though I am not Catholic or Irish, though I own absolutely nothing green, and though I have no interest in a Guinness, I do love Saint Patrick.

Do you know him? Ah, you really should.

Last year, aware I’d be spending Saint Patrick’s Day in Derry, Northern Ireland, I picked up a Patrick biography and read it (alongside some other early church history and Irish history) on a train from Dublin to Derry, beside the River Foyle in Derry, in one of the earliest Irish churches (also Derry), beside a lake in County Donegal, beside the Sea in County Donegal, in a church in Dublin after meeting the son of U2’s long-time chaplain, and finally, on the way to climb Croagh Patrick.

Patrick’s story is a testament to what happens when God calls you to do the unthinkable and you, in faith, say yes.

A wealthy British Roman, Patrick was captured by pirates as a teenager and forced into slavery in Ireland. In slavery (as a shepherd), He met God, spending hours and hours of each day in prayer. Eventually Patrick fled his slave masters (at God’s prompting) and made his way safely back to Britain. Later he would be called by God to bring the gospel to his former captors and would return to Ireland as a missionary carrying courageous love, unshakable faith, and 24 carat integrity. All Christianity in Ireland today owes a debt to the life of Saint Patrick.

Toward the end of our time in Ireland (we’d come to tour the Holy Ghost Stories Creation show), my family made a pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick in County Mayo. We did not climb the mountain as pilgrims do in June—barefooted—because it was March and freezing. But we did climb with a powerful sense of God’s presence; primarily because the mountain was wrapped in a cloud. Every step up was a step further into milky, misty mystery. I was delighted (as you can tell):

At the top, Justin pulled out a copy of one of Saint Patrick’s most famous prayers, and together we prayed it, he and I, London and Eve. We prayed it like people possessed, like people who’d been soaking for hours in the mist of God. The wind whipped. The freeze-y rain pelted. And we huddled outside a locked chapel at the summit smiling wide and practically yelling (the only way to be heard) words we’d learned from the saint who supposedly spent 40 days up here listening to God.

After we prayed we headed down. We’d taken something like 2 and a half hours to summit. The way down would be quicker but more treacherous. The entire path was made mostly of softball-sized rocks, quick to shift underfoot. I warned the girls to be careful. It wasn’t fifteen minutes before I slipped, pinned my foot between two larger rocks, lost my balance, and fell.

I knew immediately, I would not be able to stand on my ankle. I couldn’t even move it. How exactly was I going to get down this mountain?

My family rushed over as I considered my options. We could call for help—no cell service. I could wait for Justin to descend and get help and come back—the sun would set before he made it and I was already soaked and cold.

Justin made it to my side and immediately he knew—we were not going to solve this on our own. I said, “We’re going to need to pray.” My daughter London volunteered. She put her hands above my ankle and began, and while London’s prayers are most coveted I knew what she was praying wasn’t what I needed. I stopped her. I said, “Baby, we need a miracle here. This is that kind of prayer.” And before she could start again, Eve had started praying and was picking up a head of steam. I’d never seen her pray like this before, like the wild-haired conductor of a hurricane, but that was how she prayed. Threaded through her prayer were the words we’d just prayed from Saint Patrick:

Eve prayed,

Heal my mom with your mighty strength

By the power of Christ

Patrick prayed,

I arise today through a mighty strength…

Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism,

Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial,

Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension

Eve prayed,

Heal her

By your power in this mountain

The power in this mist

The power in these rocks

Patrick prayed,

I arise today, through

The strength of heaven,

The light of the sun,

The radiance of the moon

Eve prayed,

Heal her

By the power of the faith of every pilgrim who’s climbed this mountain

Patrick prayed,

I arise today

Through the strength of the love of cherubim…

In the prayers of patriarchs,

In the predictions of prophets,

In the preaching of apostles,

In the faith of confessors,

In the innocence of holy virgins,

In the deeds of righteous men.

Eve prayed and Patrick prayed,

Christ with us…

Christ in us…

And I arose.

Actually.

Literally.

I interrupted Eve’s prayer: “Now! Help me up!” Because suddenly, shockingly, I couldn’t suppress the urge to stand.

I stood up and walked down the mountain. Not without pain. Not without help. But down I went. We made it to our car just as the sun set. Then we drove to a pharmacy, bought a brace, and a month or so later I could walk without wincing.

I told a Northern Irish doctor friend the story, and he said, “I guess I’ll be prayin’ then before I do x-rays.”

Was I healed on the mountain? I don’t know. Maybe the bone was broken, and God turned the break to sprain. Maybe it was always only sprained, but God gave me the power to get down the mountain despite it.

I don’t know, but I do know what Patrick knew—this I think was his superpower—that though we will feel small and fragile and weak and broken there is a way to rise:

I arise today, through

God's strength to pilot me,

God's might to uphold me,

God's wisdom to guide me,

God's eye to look before me,

God's ear to hear me,

God's word to speak for me,

God's hand to guard me,

God's shield to protect me,

God's host to save me..

Christ with me,

Christ before me,

Christ behind me,

Christ in me,

Christ beneath me,

Christ above me,

Christ on my right,

Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down,

Christ when I sit down,

Christ when I arise…

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! May you always journey with Christ and in Christ. May you arise again and again and again.

-JL